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year 5, quarter 3
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[attr=class,bulk] Sephiroth watched as Alexander processed his story. He didn’t seem bothered by the potential for casualties should Sephiroth somehow relapse to his supposed old ways. He merely nodded and then went on. ”Judging by how much you’re keeping yourself aloof and collected right now, I’m guessing falling to madness would be a fate worse than death for you.”
Sephiroth blinked. Slowly. Words formed on his lips and then died there.
What…was he supposed to say to that?
Sephiroth was so thrown by Alexander’s blunt observation that he only half registered the man wishing him the best or rising to his feet, stretching, before deciding their next location. A fate worse than death?
There were many worse fates. Sephiroth was intimately aware of them. There was torture at the hands of the Turks. There was the slow, desperate poverty that consumed the hope of those he sometimes passed in the lower plates. There was an assignment to Hojo for whatever dark thoughts twisted in that fool’s mind. But falling to madness…?
Madness was not a singular, all-encompassing entity with which one could be diagnosed. The word brought to mind the raving of lunatics, unhinged and unmanageable in their delusions. That, perhaps, would be a fate worse than death, but that was not the end of it. The madness that Sephiroth had seen had been in the eyes of soldiers who had seen too much, whose hands were too stained with blood, and whose demeanor had turned wild as they muttered to themselves and flinched at sudden movements. Had Genesis gone mad in his defection? Perhaps, but that madness had been driven by desperation and a singular, all-consuming desire for revenge with no consideration of the cost.
Sephiroth considered himself a rational man. He had suffered a temporary lapse in sanity not unlike that of the shell-shocked soldiers and their nonsensical mutterings. He had been driven by a singular, desperate purpose.
A purpose which even now eluded him. Perhaps he still preserved too much of his rationality to grasp it.
’No,’ he thought. ’Madness was not worse than death,’ but by then Alexander had already moved on and was starting out the door. Sephiroth bit his tongue of his thoughts, pushed back a handful of his hair, and followed.
The air was brisk as he followed Alexander from the town proper into the woodlands on the outskirts. He said nothing as they walked together, and uncharacteristically Alexander followed suit. Sephiroth listened to the clicking of their footsteps against the cobblestone roads that slowly faded to dirt and gravel as they left the public eye. He watched the trees for signs of movement in the shadows. He had not forgotten the bounty Alexander had sought in their last meeting, and this seemed a convenient ruse for an ambush. The leaves whispered in the late autumn wind. The trees creaked as they swayed, their branches half empty in preparation for the coming winter. Alexander came to a stop in a clearing spacious enough for movement and yet not so wide that it would draw attention.
Sephiroth watched him carefully, wary of any sudden indications of attack. It didn’t come.
Instead, Alex turned to him and raised his sword, readying himself for attack. ”Remember, like you mean to kill me!”
This time, Sephiroth did not laugh. Instead, he closed his eyes, grounding himself. He took note of his surroundings – the layout, its advantages and disadvantages. The foliage had turned dry and flammable in the autumn months. That would rule out the use of fire materia unless he wished to turn their arena into a deadly inferno.
He would keep the option open in the not unlikely case of Alexander’s betrayal.
Sephiroth unsheathed his sword and brought it before him. The weight felt familiar in his hand as he shifted instinctively to a combative stance. He cleared his mind of distraction. There was only himself, his opponent, and his instincts honed to the sharpened point of a sword’s edge.
He opened his eyes and set them on Alexander. And then he moved.
He dashed forward with a speed that only mako infusions would allow, and as he closed the distance, he brought his sword in front of him, prepared to use its length for a mid-range advantage. He struck with pinpoint precision, his sword a flurry of silver, too fast for the eye to follow and with the strength to knock back an unprepared combatant several feet into the dirt. He kept his stance light, ready to dodge at a moment’s notice or take weightlessly to the air.
Alexander had the advantage in this fight if there was one to be gained. Sephiroth had told him his abilities and strengths. Of Alexander’s, he knew none. There was magic, he expected, supplemented by the use of his sword. From their last encounter, Sephiroth knew he must remain ready for even the most bizarre of counters from his potential employer.
’Like you mean to kill me.’ No. Sephiroth would not kill him. He had the restraint for that, but restraint was not a weakness, and Sephiroth did not hold back. His first offensive would test Alexander’s confidence and learn his natural reaction in the face of an unexpected assault.
If he was to win, he must learn his opponents' attacks, his patterns, and his weaknesses. Sephiroth was nothing if not a strategist.
[attr=class,bulk] Angeal was silent for longer than was perhaps necessary. Sephiroth didn’t mind the silence. It was enough to simply sit together as his friend processed everything he’d said to its fullest. It was often like that between Sephiroth and Angeal. A few words spoken and then the silence of thought.
Angeal did not consider himself to be particularly intelligent. He had a limited education and a history of hard labor and poverty. It was Genesis who had taken to the higher arts of theater, literature, and poetry. Sephiroth was the strategist. From the outside, it seemed like Angeal was only muscle and a sword, but he held an entire inner world within him, one with more insight than his two friends could imagine. Sephiroth trusted that insight. He trusted his friend’s silence.
He was a man of few words, but the words he did speak were carefully chosen.
”What you’ve forgotten…We’ll figure it out. Together. But not tonight.”
Together?
Sephiroth laughed his short, quiet, almost transient laugh. His body rejected that laugh, and he winced as the pain in his side gave its sharp objection. Sephiroth was not used to fighting against his own body. He was not used to the sting of his own limitations.
Together…
Angeal had chosen that word deliberately. He had placed emphasis upon it. It was…strange. Perhaps stranger than the feral SOLDIER or the fight in the town square. Sephiroth was used to being alone. Even with his friends, he was…
Genesis and Angeal had known each other in childhood. They had always been close and had chosen to live together even when they each had the salaries to afford otherwise. Sephiroth appreciated his space. He appreciated silence. He had been grateful that the two of them had taken to him at all. They were his friends. They were his first and only friends. But he’d known that they would always, if given the choice, choose each other.
In the end, they’d left him behind without so much as an explanation. Sephiroth should have expected it, but it had still…
He coughed and then grimaced as his body protested against it. He sipped the tea. It was still too hot, but a little better than it had been before. It was a decent distraction.
”When I sleep, I remember,” he said finally. ”The dreams…”
Again, the sight of those eyes burned him like the blue-green light of…something. On a walkway of gunmetal gray. That primordial thing inside of him pulsed louder and hungrier than it had since he’d dragged himself from his bed, and he swallowed hard against it. His forehead prickled with sweat – hydration that he couldn’t afford to lose. His palms were slick against the warmth of his mug of steaming lavender tea.
He knew the word for what he was feeling. He’d seen it in the eyes of cadets after their first battles. In that moment, he felt like a child again, sitting in Professor Gast’s office as he was prescribed sleeping medication and meditation to help calm the memories of those early missions and the slick warmth of blood on his hands. He’d listened to the professor’s words with shameful, confused silence.
[attr=class,bulk] Sephiroth blinked slowly. He showed no other signs of expression. No other signs of acknowledgement. This man, it seemed, had no filter between his thoughts and his tongue, and it was apparent that his thoughts were not of the highest quality. He told Sephiroth all manner of information that he couldn’t possibly have any use for. If Sephiroth had been an enemy spy, he wouldn’t have even needed to try around Alexander Sorel.
It was clear that Alexander’s homeworld had an unlimited use of magic without the aid of materia. The mercenary looked almost embarrassed to point that out, as though somehow Sephiroth might take offense. Sephiroth had little interest in the man’s origins, only in his abilities which he assumed must be magical of some kind. He had first hand experience with the man’s manipulation of stone and his summoning of…aquatic life.
His lips twitched at Alexander’s assumption that he had been a mere grunt in Shinra’s private army. It was an amusing mischaracterization, but he saw no need to correct him. Unlike some people, Sephiroth preferred to tell only what was needed for the situation at hand.
Sephiroth lost his composure only when Alexander mentioned his ’supposed hurling of a giant death rock at the planet.’ He sighed. That was all. Alexander didn’t give him room to react as he launched into another needless story about his homeworld. It seemed that every possible misfortune in existence had, at some point or another, happened to Alexander Sorel.
Sephiroth let him speak. Eventually, his story circled back around to a direct question. "Did you ever find out anything else about that meteor thing, by the way?”
Sephiroth couldn’t help a short laugh. It was all so…casual.
”I came across…witnesses,” he said slowly. ”Their stories were insane, but they were consistent. I have no memory of their claims, but I have no reason to disbelieve them.”
It was a non-answer. He was aware. But the mercenary had asked only if he had learned anything new, and not the nature of what he’d learned. Sephiroth had no interest in giving excess information.
”If their claims are true then it seems I had a temporary break in sanity which was made permanent by external factors. I would have neither the motive nor the means to repeat that…unlikely event here.”
This was above all else a kind of job interview. If the mercenary had reason to suspect that Sephiroth would reap mass casualties at a whim then it was best to dispel those rumors.
”You asked to see a demonstration of my skills.” Sephiroth touched at the hilt of his sword. ”I’ll follow your lead.”
[attr=class,bulk] There was something in the air between them. Tension and…concern. Still, Angeal was not beyond levity. Sephiroth’s lips twitched in a smile as his friend chided him. ’Perfect for resting.’ Perhaps. Perhaps Sephiroth was beyond rest.
Angeal turned to him, his eyes glinting with their deep mako glow in the dim light. ”I was looking for you two as well,” he said. ”I can’t explain it, but I knew you were both here. Somehow. Obviously, I wish I could have found you under better circumstances.”
Sephiroth frowned, considering his words for some time. Angeal had known that they were here. Perhaps he should have questioned that thought more thoroughly, but he found no reason to. Hadn’t Sephiroth known the same? In some deep, recess of his mind, inaccessible and yet thrumming with primordial power. It was a place that he chose not to examine too closely, and so he left the thought alone.
He turned instead to Angeal’s arrival on the battlefield. ”The circumstances are irrelevant,” he said. ”You couldn’t have come at a better time.”
The warmth of the tea permeated his hands, almost burning them. He gripped it tighter. ”He had the upper hand. I was…distracted. I’d seen him before.” He didn’t know how. Or where. But he’d seen him. He’d fought him. And it had ended terribly.
Deep within him, that primordial power pulsed, sickly and caustic to the touch.
”He had mako eyes, but he was no SOLDIER. His form lacked training. I think his mind was lost.” There had only been one thing in the man’s eyes – rage and a deep desire to kill. It should have been a simple matter to put the feral swordsman down, and yet…
Sephiroth closed his eyes. His breaths were ragged.
”I’ve forgotten something,” he said slowly. ”Something in my dreams.”
[attr=class,bulk] Vincent spoke well of the woman who was supposedly his mother. Sephiroth watched him carefully, eyes slightly narrowed, searching for inconsistencies, weaknesses, and contradictions. What he found instead was a new surge of confidence in Cissnei’s contact. Gone was the fidgeting, awkward man who seemed adverse to eye contact. Now, Vincent spoke with a renewed passion. ’She was brilliant.’
Sephiroth glanced away, processing the man’s words. He hadn’t said many of them in total – not about his supposed mother – but what he did say was…telling. He and this woman had been close. She had been his “light.”
He had nothing to say on the subject of Sephiroth’s attackers. Vincent merely paused, lips pulled into a slight frown before he finished the rest of his wine and started into his own story. Sephiroth took note of that. It was a topic that Vincent would rather keep his distance from.
The story itself was wild and dramatic, involving near death experiences and live human experimentation. Perhaps it should have been unbelievable. It wasn’t.
Sephiroth was silent for a moment. There were the obvious questions about Hojo and his ambitions. There were clarifications about his supposed mother and the research that had led to Vincent’s apparent agelessness. Sephiroth sifted through them, setting aside the irrelevant, the uninteresting, and those with answers he could conclude for himself. He measured Vincent’s claims against all of his others, and finally lifted his eyes to meet Vincent’s own.
”You claim this…Lucrecia to be my mother, and yet you were comatose for some time.” At the table beside them, a woman laughed. He could hear the clink of glasses and the distant splashing of a decorative water feature. ”How would you know? You said that you knew her before I was born.”
It wasn’t necessarily a contradiction. Vincent could have misspoken. There could have been any number of explanations, but it felt like a solid place to start.
[attr=class,bulk] Alexander Sorel chastised him for his suspicion. Sephiroth ignored him. It mattered little to him if the unscrupulous mercenary thought that he was too untrusting. The man was childish, Sephiroth decided, and that trait further demonstrated itself the longer that Alexander went on.
His spell was that of a mimic, and this did nothing to warm Sephiroth to the idea. His skills were his own, honed like a sharpened blade over the course of his lifetime. He doubted that any magic could replicate it, but even so, he refused to lend even a portion of his strength to a stranger. No matter how convenient it would have been for him.
Sephiroth’s expression didn’t change as Alexander goaded him. His eyes were cold and snakelike in their sharp precision. He owed this man no concessions, and his unprofessional behavior was…discouraging.
What exactly had he signed on for?
Alexander gave him his instructions and trailed behind the counter to retrieve a sword. The blade was unremarkable in its design, a simple bastard sword with an unadorned guard and a well-balanced grip. He twirled it between his fingers expertly before setting it into the floor, leaning on it as he took a seat on a bar stool. ”I’m something of a fighter myself. So, you know, like you mean to kill me.”
Sephiroth let out a short laugh, hardly more than a breath. ”Understood.”
Even with Alexander’s insistence, he had little doubt that no lives would be lost today. Sephiroth had the restraint not to kill unless he had such a goal in mind. Should he be thrown by unexpected circumstances, there was always his Revive materia.
”I have ten years of experience in Shinra’s SOLDIER program,” he said. ”I quelled rebellions and monster uprisings across Shinra owned territory until the start of the Wutai War when I was promoted to the rank of general.” Sephiroth paused. He felt ridiculous, stating his qualifications for simple mercenarial work that he was far beneath him. It was unlikely that this man would understand the gravity of accomplishments or the controversial nature of his previous work. He wondered where Alexander stood on the topic of war crimes.
”In combat, I take a largely offensive position and rely primarily on my sword though I am also trained in the use of materia. Currently, I have lightning revive, restore, and fire materia equipped.”
He was aware that another potential recruit of Alexander’s organization might have taken the time to detail their abilities or perhaps sell them better. Sephiroth had nothing to prove, and so he kept to the basics. He had briefed him on the range of his abilities, at least, for everything except…
Sephiroth hesitated. ”...I can also fly.”
It sounded ridiculous. Unhinged, even, and simply stating it aloud gave him an uneasy feeling of vulnerability. Still, it was relevant to the conversation and this was better, he thought, than Alexander learning it by surprise and showing disbelief later. It was best that he prepare the man beforehand.
[attr=class,bulk] Sephiroth had no idea what to make of Alexander Sorel.
His instincts blared with suspicion at the man’s strange, overacted demeanor. What was he hiding behind that plastered on grin, the quips, or the intentional misreads of Sephiroth’s words? He was either trying (and failing) to put him at ease or he wanted something and wasn’t particularly skilled in persuasion. Sephiroth watched him carefully, scanning every movement, ready to dodge an unexpected strike. But if this wasn’t an act…If this was just how Alexander acted normally…
Then Sephiroth concluded that he disliked the man immensely.
This was not new for Sephiroth’s potential employers. He had spent his entire life working on behalf of those who he had little respect for. So long as the offer stood, Sephiroth would take it.
He said nothing as Alexander concluded something about Sephiroth’s guilt. He simply raised his eyebrows, watching him coolly. After that, Alexander finally straightened, rolling back his shoulders as he grabbed the book and set it in front of him. Sephiroth glanced at him, paused for only a moment to consider the potential ramifications if anyone chose to track him through this place, then accepted the risk and signed in his small, concise script.
’Sephiroth’
No surname. No embellishments. It was enough.
The next step was a test of skill. That was the usual standard for such work, but Alexander went on to insult him. He didn’t know what a ‘morbol’ was, but he had the social grace to read between the lines.
Alexander raised a hand, glowing with magic. Sephiroth eyed it suspiciously. His fingers wiggled with a strange and almost unseemly eagerness. To touch him. Alexander took a step forward. Then another.
”No.”
Sephiroth grabbed Alexander’s outstretched arm by the wrist, twisting it away as he dodged around him and put distance between them again. ”You can ask me questions or you can see my skills for yourself,” he said. ”That’s all.”
[attr=class,bulk] Sephiroth expected condemnation. He expected punishment. But it never came. Angeal reassured him and left to handle the tea. Its whistle pierced his stupor, a rude and unexpected visitor, until it came to an abrupt stop. The cabinets creaked open one after the other. He heard the clinking of glasses.
Angeal said nothing. Sephiroth could feel the eyes that were not turned to him.
His pulse quickened. Sephiroth had made a mistake. He knew that, as pitiful and vulnerable as he was, and he could not hide that vulnerability. He was an open target, half-slumped on the couch, vision waxing and waning like the tides, head spinning with the pain of his wounds striking him in its own erratic rhythm. He had made a mistake in battle. He had made a mistake in the night. He had made a mistake, and it had been discovered, and now…
Now he could feel the eyes that were not turned to him. And it felt wrong.
Sephiroth winced as Angeal approached, placing the tea in front of him. A chair creaked as Angeal sat beside him. ”After you finish your tea, you have to get back in bed. I’ll carry you back in there if I have to. It’s not often I have any advantage over you.”
Sephiroth let out a short hum of laughter. It felt…natural. It felt like Angeal.
”That won’t be necessary,” he said, and he hoped it was true. He would make it true. Sephiroth finally raised his head enough to look at him, half-shadowed in the moonlight, sitting in a chair that was too small for him with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked tired. Sephiroth wondered if he’d slept recently.
The mug in front of him was still steaming. It was too hot to drink, but Sephiroth leaned forward, gritting his teeth against the sharp stab of pain in his side as he shifted, and he took the mug in his hands. Its warmth was comforting. Its scent rose to meet him.
”Chamomile,” he said. ”And lavender.”
It wouldn’t have been his first choice among their collection of tea bags, but Angeal had been considerate enough to handle that for him. It was a choice that spoke of his concern. Both herbs were meant to ease anxiety and insomnia.
He breathed in the steam slowly, thoughtfully, and then brought the mug to his lips. The tea was still far too hot, but he took the smallest of sips anyway. It helped.
”We came here looking for you,” he said, lowering his mug. ”I’d heard you were alive.”
[attr=class,bulk] There was movement. Heavy footsteps on creaking wood. Sephiroth stood by the counter, idly inspecting an open book opened from the other side. From here, he could see a few signatures, upside down from his viewpoint. At the top, there was Alexander Sorel. Then someone named Cassandra who was crossed out three times in a different color of ink.
Interesting.
A man stopped in the door. Sephiroth kept his eyes on the book. In his peripheral vision, he saw blonde hair and a red button down shirt. He tensed, ready for an attack.
Instead, Alexander Sorel clapped his hands together.
”Sephiroth! My friend!”
Sephiroth looked up, eyebrows raised. His…friend?
Alexander Sorel looked almost giddy with a strange eagerness that caught Sephiroth off guard. He’d leaned forward, hands on his hips, foot tapping. It was a strange, almost suspicious behavior. It was clear the man wanted something. He reminded him, somehow, of a used car salesman.
For a long moment, Sephiroth watched him without reply. Then his eyes drifted to the window. It was the best escape route should the man try to ambush him.
”Six months,” he repeated slowly. ”That’s how long it took to heal from my injuries.”
The scarred and broken plaza behind him was evidence to the battle that nearly took his life. The other swordsman, Cloud, had taken far worse damage. Yet in his desperation…
Sephiroth shut down that line of thought. He was in potential enemy territory. There was no room for error.
”When we last spoke, you offered me a job. I’ve come to take your offer.”
It felt strange, saying it aloud. There was some prideful part of him which recoiled at the sound. He was better than this. This place, this man was beneath him, and yet…
Nothing better had presented itself. He could only remain passive for so long.
Genesis found a seemingly endless supply of money through some wealthy and unscrupulous patron he wouldn’t identify. Angeal did minor mercenary work, protecting the weak. Sephiroth had been a drain on them both.
[attr=class,bulk] The morning was quiet, more or less. It was the kind of time that Sephiroth preferred, somewhere between dawn and when the city would awaken and start its bustling towards industrious ends. He could hear the birds at this hour, twittering away in their autumn-faded trees. There was less to worry about, comparatively, when it came to unexpected and hostile encounters. That aspect was most important, he thought, as he stood on the edge of the square and watched it for suspicious activity.
Much work had been done on restoration for the central plaza of Provo. Debris had been cleared away. The road had been patched and paved. The city had healed just as Sephiroth himself had – slowly, painfully, but steadily until only scars remained. The western side of the square had taken the most damage. What had once been a three story building was nothing now but a patch of gravel and dirt. He could still see here his sword had struck the ground, cracking the street in two. It wasn’t wise to be here again. He had for months chosen less traveled paths, clothed like a civilian so as to draw fewer eyes.
That was not the case today.
Today, he was fully armed. His clothes were meant for a SOLDIER, something entirely irrelevant now, but he felt most comfortable in them, and for the first time since he’d turned this square into a battlefield, he felt as though he knew who he was. He liked the warmth of materia pulsing through his sleeve. He liked the weight of the masamune at his side. He liked what he saw in the mirror, a demon in a black leather coat. For the first time in a long time, he felt complete.
Still, he couldn’t bring himself to move further.
He’d come for a reason, not just to survey the damages. He’d come based on old information told to him by an unreliable source. He was being reckless, he knew, but it wasn’t the danger that kept him paralyzed on the edge of the square.
’Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul Pride is lost Wings stripped away, the end is nigh’
Sephiroth smirked to himself. He had spent far too much time around Genesis.
Genesis would not approve of his plan. Angeal would have approved even less. But Sephiroth needed money. He needed something to do with himself. And he had exactly one lead for both.
’And while I think I know your answer, I’ll offer anyway; if you’re ever looking for work, I can line up a couple jobs suited for your skills.’
Sephiroth started forward.The Rising Stones looked much less smashed than the mercenary had claimed.
The door wasn’t locked, and a bell chimed as he walked in. The place seemed more like a bar than a mercenaries’ guild, with a counter and tables crammed inside the space. The front room was empty at this time of morning which was advantageous for him. He took the time to note three separate escape routes that he could utilize if the mercenary chose violence.
The floorboards creaked as Sephiroth stepped further inside. He saw movement near the back of the room as something dark streaked into the hallway. A cat?
Sephiroth said nothing as he took his time examining the room and its layout. He would be noticed eventually, either from the sound of the bell or when the guild’s owner came out this way by coincidence. Sephiroth had nowhere to be and no desire to hurry this along.
And so he waited, a dark shadow on a quiet morning. Outside, the birds chittered indifferently.
