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year 5, quarter 3
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Beside him, Sephiroth made a noise of agreement. Despite how intense the battle had been, it seemed Sephiroth had no desire to act out on any desire to brutally finish the blonde swordsman. It was another oddity about the situation; the man seemed to vehemently hate Sephiroth, and yet Angeal didn’t recognize him. He didn’t recognize anything about the ferocious blonde, other than the intense look in his glowing eyes. He couldn’t have been an ex-Soldier -- they would know him especially considering his tenacity and strength.
If he were a true threat to Sephiroth, then he’d be dead, no questions asked, right?
The questions left Angeal’s mind as soon as he heard a familiar voice speak up.
”We searched for you.” A pause, as the silver-haired soldier found his words. ”Genesis and I.”
Angeal turned to face Sephiroth fully, his eyes widening. There, right next to him in arms reach, was one of his best friends. To anyone else, Sephiroth would have seemed impassive in that moment, simply relaying a fact, or interesting information. But Angeal, who had come to know his fellow Soldier through years of learning to speak the same unspoken language, could sense the emotions that were hidden there, just under the surface, unsure how to show themselves.
And now … the very same mixed bag of feelings crept their way through Hewley. Surprise. Relief. A surge of intense happiness.
Worry.
He’d been worried the moment he landed, but bit it back considering the situation at hand. However, just over Sephiroth’s shoulder, was a black wing. The same ebony as the one that haunted Genesis. Yet, other than the damage from the fight, Sephiroth looked healthy. No greying, cracking skin. No permanent, oozing injuries that he could see. The cold, hard hand of anxiety gripped his heart. Sephiroth, too….
Yet, the worry would have to wait. He could ask about the wing later. For now, Angeal let the simple relief of seeing his dear friend in front of him, alive, rush through him. To know that Genesis was around as well, as complicated and terribly as that reunion may go, was still just as much of a relief. They were both here. They’d been together.
A giant weight was lifted from him.
Angeal’s hand found Sephiroth’s shoulder, in that just-enough space next to his pauldron -- the same place he’d clapped his friend time and time again after praising him -- and squeezed gently, reassuringly. He gave Sephiroth a small, crooked smile, his glowing gaze filled with sincerity, “I’ve been looking for you two as well.”
His smile turned a smidge sad. Apologetic.
“I’m sorry it took so long for me to find you, Sephiroth.”
I’m sorry I left you behind back then, was the unspoken apology that would have to wait another day, another meeting.
Suddenly, a terrible, blood-curdling yell broke the near-silence over the battlefield. The Soldier dropped his hand, eyes wide with surprise, turning to look at the collapsed structure. The scream reverberated off of what was left of the nearby structures, practically crawling its way up Angeal’s spine. It wasn’t the sound of a man dying. It wasn’t the sound of a man reacting to the massive amount of pain he must have been in. It sounded like a monster in a rage, when it was on its last leg after a long battle.
The rubble shifted and moved, blowing a small cloud of dust over the ground. And there, on the ground, an outline of a man crawled.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Angeal mumbled quietly, his voice laced thoroughly with disbelief. Blue eyes followed the outline of the swordsman as he located his weapon and managed to grab onto it with what little life he had left. How was he managing to move? Disbelief quickly turned to horror as the man ripped his sword from the rubble and began walking. The walk quickly morphed into a sprint.
The blonde’s focus was completely locked onto Sephiroth -- but the man hardly had any life left in him. Angeal grit his teeth and placed some distance between himself and the silver-haired Soldier, his hand coming up to rest on the handle of the Buster Sword. There was no need for him to be ready to fight, yet he moved into that familiar position anyway. The blonde swordsman barely had the energy to move. He was bleeding profusely. It was clear from the way that he moved that his ribs were indeed cracked.
Stop, Hewley silently cursed the stranger. He tried to give the young man an out. All he had to do was stay under the rubble in order to live. Sephiroth did not share his moral compass of mercy.
The gap was closing, and Angeal could do nothing but watch as the blonde ran headfirst to his death, unable to look away as Masamune expertly pierced through the young man’s chest. This was the end of it. He’d die, slowly bleeding out on the ground.
The young man’s sword fell from his grasp. He grasped the Masamune, like it would somehow help.
He should have … fallen, at that point. Knees buckled and collapsed. Yet, he didn’t. Angeal waited and instead he saw--
He saw … the blonde pulling himself forward, further impaling himself on the Masamune. The Soldier was frozen in his spot as he watched the horrific display, eyes wide with disbelief. What the hell was the man doing? What could he possibly hope to accomplish?
Angeal glanced at Sephiroth, but what he saw there wasn’t the cool, calculating gaze he expected.
Something is wrong, a voice in the back of his head suddenly screamed. Sephiroth should have thrown the blonde off of his blade by now. He should have done something. Sephiroth didn’t just lock up in the middle of a fight, no matter how horrific -- !
His boots started to quickly move the short distance through the rubble. Angeal had barely picked up a pace, his heart racing with panic, when he saw the green glow of materia out of the corner of his eye.
No, it was a diversion tactic!
“Sephiroth--!” Angeal hardly got the warning out, coming to a sudden halt as nothing but pure, human instinct to survive took hold of him in the few seconds he had to prepare. He swung the Buster Sword in front of his body and drove it into the ground, ducking his head and bracing his hand against the sturdy steel.
Then, suddenly, everything went green and white.
A deafening roar and explosion filled the air. Angeal felt the air knocked out of his lungs as he was knocked off of his feet, losing his grip on his sword and all sense of direction as he was blown back by the explosion. His body his the ground once, tumbling and hitting it again, harder as he was forcefully rolled at a maddening speed. The immediate pains came flying in all at once, overwhelming his senses as his head hit the concrete once, twice--.
He wasn’t sure when he stopped. There was a persistent, loud ringing in his ears. He coughed, feeling the grit of dust drying his mouth.
Slowly, Angeal opened his eyes. The world was no longer a bright flash of color. The wind had settled. Dazed, the Soldier sat up slowly, painfully. He blinked the dust from his eyes, dislodging the bits of rock that had piled up with him. His head spun for a moment as the ringing began to slowly subside. Ground yourself, years of training blearily reminded him.
He looked down at the pile of rubble he was sitting on. A drop of blood fell and appeared next to his scraped and torn glove. Followed by another. Angeal brought his free hand up to his face and swiped across it, finding blood smeared across his more-intact glove. Oh. His nose was bleeding. Or broken. The same coppery taste slowly made its way through his mouth as well. Busted lip. Was … it dripping down from his hairline … ?
The ringing finally stopped, replaced by nothing. Angeal glanced up as the world righted itself before him. In the distance, now quite a ways from him, was a crater in the ground. Nearby the Buster Sword stuck out of a pile of rubble -- thankfully, still in one piece. His eyes scanned the area further, until a color other than brown and grey stuck out to him.
Askew, black feathers.
Angeal gasped and scrambled to his feet, before quickly grunting in pain. Shakily on his feet, his breath hitched in his chest as an angry, stabbing feeling pulsed through him, overriding all the other injuries from the blast. As his senses caught up with him, the Soldier detected where it originated from. He glanced down, seeing the two-inch thick piece of rebar sticking out of abdomen, just to the side of his hip. Angeal stared at for a moment before snarling angrily, taking the metal piece in one hand and ripping it out of his body, tossing it on the ground. Blood quickly seeped around the now open wound, but he knew it would heal enough long before he bled out.
Seething anger and frustration blended with worry as Angeal made his way across the battlefield, lifting the Buster Sword out of the rubble on his way. It had protected him from the worst of the blast, he knew, but other than the scorch marks and new gouges, it seemed no worse for the wear. But, it wasn’t the sword he was worried about. The weapon was quickly placed on his back as he picked up his pace, a near sprint through the pain.
Sephiroth lay in his own personal pile of rubble, hair and limbs askew, covered in dirt and dust and blood. Icy fear grip Angeal’s heart until he saw Sephiroth’s chest rise and fall.
How … did this happen? A man mostly dead, skewered halfway through a blade, and …
He swallowed his fury.
Angeal bent down on one leg, ignoring the tearing he felt at his own wounds. He gently placed one hand behind Sephiroth’s head, another coming to his friend’s shoulder to very carefully lean him forward just a bit, out of the rubble. He needed to scan Sephiroth for any grievous injuries before he could try and get them out of there.
“Sephiroth …,” Angeal muttered to his friend, his dear friend he’d only just gotten back moments earlier, his voice strong, but drowned in worry, “Sephiroth, are you with me?”
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
The woman gave no immediate answer as to her name. She only encouraged him further, helping to pull him along through the downpour and toward the humble little building. Angeal let his head fall for a moment; right, why would she give her name to something like him? A monster she felt forced into helping, because the children had mistakenly attributed him to something holy rather than something born from true sin.
The thoughts were ridiculous. A part of the Soldier knew that. Thankfully, he couldn’t dwell on them long, not with the pain and exhaustion so heavy in his limbs. He grunted with effort as the blonde woman helped him conquer the stairs, feeling the sharp pains in his legs from his collision with the boxes and concrete mere moments earlier. Again, he attempted to keep as much of his weight off of her as he could, yet he found himself leaning in for help more than he’d wished. The door was opened by the children, allowing them an easy and swift entrance.
The rain stopped pounding against his skull, but the errant thoughts did not. As Angeal dragged his boots along the dilapidated floor, he kept his glowing eyes down. He couldn’t bear to look up and see the gazes of the children in the room, nor could he meet the eyes of his savior. His large, white wings were weak and stretched out fully, bogged down with water, feathers being dragged along behind him. The young woman murmured orders to some of the children, but Angeal was unable to focus on her words.
Around him the world warmed, if only a little. The light was dim, but present, flickering. The sounds of footsteps moved around him as the woman led him further toward the warmth -- to a blazing hearth. Hewley glanced forward and noticed a sad-looking couch, which he was being slowly taken to. It was awkward and difficult, and not without a few pained gasps from Angeal, but somehow he managed to lay down on the bedraggled couch. His right side, where his two wings protruded from his back, stuck on slightly on the edge of the couch, allowing the appendages space to lay uselessly on the floor.
The Soldier let out a long, steady breath as he settled into the lumpy cushion, his hands trembling as he forced them over his chest. Angeal blinked his glowing eyes once, twice, before the young woman appeared in his line of sight again. She smiled at him, warmly, and lightly touched his shoulder, before getting up and wandering away.
I’m not going to leave you.
Those words kept Angeal grounded to his spot on the couch -- not that he could have lifted himself up easily, anyway. The thoughts swam in his head, most self deprecating, but many wondering how he could quickly leave, as well. The woman was kind, but she didn’t need to be wasting her time on something like him. There were children around who needed her, and many of them, if the sounds of the footsteps in the home had indicated anything.
The longer she stayed away, the more his senses returned to him. Through the aches and pains he felt the sting of a frigid cold from his soaked clothing. His hair was ungracefully plastered to his face. Angeal could hear the steady drip, drip, drip of water falling from the feathers of his wings as it hit the ground. He was soaked to the bone, trembling like some sort of back alley dog left out in the rain.
The young woman returned, and with her came a warmth he hadn’t felt in quite some time. She pressed a warm cloth to his head, causing Angeal to shudder violently. It felt leagues hotter than the rest of his body. How long had he been flying in the frigid air before he’d gotten into that storm..?
Rosa, the young woman finally identified herself with a kind, nurturing smile. Angeal stared at her, speechless, nothing but a storm of conflicting emotions hidden deep within his blue eyes. He swallowed dryly as she asked about his pain, struggling to find any words, as if his mouth were filled with cotton.
Finally, he managed something, the words coming out as barely more than a hoarse whisper, “I’m … fine. You need to go change … out of those clothes.”
Angeal was clearly far from fine, as he trembled on the couch, each breath hurting a little more as it moved his aching back. But, he couldn’t stand the thought of her risking her health for him. Those eyes … Those, kind, caring eyes. The pain squeezed at his limbs, and he grit his teeth. Still, he persisted.
“You’ll get sick. You have children to worry about. I’m fine.”
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
Angeal kept his wandering gaze on the sky, too nervous to glance over his shoulder at the redhead. What would he see there, if he looked into her eyes at that moment? Something cunning, something teasing? Something soft? Doubtful. For the moment, the Soldier did nothing but admire the scene before them -- all the spectacular colors and hues, the lights fading in and out as they burst in the sky and then fizzled out, slowly, slowly.
It would probably be an ironic reflection of the evening, but Angeal wasn’t near poetic enough to make the reference. That was something Genesis would notice.
When the Soldier finally took a brief glance at the Turk out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smiling. His mouth quickly twisted into a confused frown as a hand wound its way around one of his suspenders, and the bulky Hewley was forced down closer to Cissnei’s level. She leaned forward, and immediately, Angeal felt his face flush. What was she doing-!?
The moment her breath kissed his cheek, Angeal froze like a schoolboy caught doing something wrong. His own air restricted itself, caught in his chest. Cissnei’s lips never made contact with his skin, instead tilting her head just enough so that her too-soft skin pressed along his stubbled chin. She wormed her way toward his ear, breathing out a purr of a murmur. What … did he have in mind? His favor? Angeal finally found his breath and sharply inhaled, his cheeks burning hotter than they ever had before, he was sure of it.
A hand was pressed against his chest, and Angeal found himself sitting back in his former posture, shaken to the core. Leave it to a Turk to find a weakness and take complete advantage of it. Cissnei’s words were as tantalizing as they were dangerous. You fought so hard for it. What was she implying? What did she want him to do? Did she want him to do anything, or just watch him suffer?
A few carnal desires passed through his mind, and Angeal found himself promptly squashing them. How embarrassing. He wasn’t an animal for god’s sake -- but he was a man, as he felt horribly reminded by, his gaze tracing her devilish smile. He wanted to shake some sense into himself, but all he could really do was stare at her in utter disbelief.
What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to ask for?
What did he want?
He didn’t want favors. He didn’t want anymore teasing glances. He just wanted …
Something simple.
Angeal tossed aside whatever was in his hands, not caring at all what it was or where it went. He was chasing a bold feeling, and if he didn’t follow through with it, he never would -- the regret would eat away at him. He tilted his head as he looked into Cissnei’s brown eyes, slowly bringing a hand to gently touch her cheek. His hands seemed just too callous and large to ever properly touch her … Funny, given how she was just as dangerous as he was, if not more.
He quickly closed the distance between them, chasing the only thing he really wanted. For his lips to meet hers, to share that warmth and human connection, if only for a brief moment. To feel his heart flutter in a way it hadn’t in a long time. To have something to remember her by, on the off-chance that he didn’t see her again for quite some time. A memento. Something sweet, simple, and kind.
It was a quick, chaste kiss. Angeal wasn’t one to try and push any boundaries any further than he already had. When he pulled back to his own space, he seemed as shocked by his actions as she likely did. Or, maybe she saw it coming; who knew what went on in the minds of Turks. The red flush on Angeal’s cheeks didn’t fade, even as he searched for some words to try and explain what was going on in his head.
“That’s …,” Angeal stumbled over the words he wanted to say, as they all tangled together on his tongue, “That’s all I want. If that counts as the favor, I’m fine with that.”
It was partially a lie, but wholly a truth.
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
In the middle of the fray, Angeal detected the sounds of weaponry and the near-distant screeches of the griffons that hadn’t yet circled back toward him. Caius was up and about it seemed, at least managing against the monsters that had flown to take him on for his burst of earlier magic. It didn’t seem too terribly many of them had flown ahead to Caius’s location, but enough to certainly be a bother. And many of those had experienced the lesser effects of his fire magic.
Meanwhile, Angeal was trapped within his own circle of razor sharp claws and pointed beaks. He rolled to dodge another swipe, heaving the Buster Sword to slash at the flank of a bird that had come too close. Griffons were very intelligent, and they slowed their attacks, watching him carefully through terrifying, slit pupils.
Angeal kept his guard up all the same, making sure to time all of his strikes and movements in the direction of where Caius was still fighting. Closing the distance between them gave the two swordsmen the best chance of taking all the beasts down. A griffon launched forward and Angeal stepped back, allowing it to push him further back to Caius’s location. They were intelligent, but not capable of understanding that it was dangerous to let the two men become closer in proximity.
For the monsters, it seemed like putting the two troublesome prey in the same circle was a good idea.
The heat from Caius’s earlier attack faded as Angeal stepped further away from where it had happened, but as the griffon’s launched into their next flurry of calculated strikes, the Soldier was stopped in his progress. He huffed in effort as the Buster Sword flew to cleave another neck from a set of shoulders, another twist and roll to dodge the next attack coming at him from the left. A clang of metal rang out as claws scraped against the mighty blade, and Angeal hissed as one set of talons slipped through to gouge against his bicep. It stung, but it wasn’t deep enough to cause him much concern.
Hopefully, Caius had the same plan, and had moved in closer. Together, they could finish off what remained of the flock.
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
Though Angeal hadn’t taken his eyes off of their target, Sephiroth’s acknowledgement of his command eased his tension. It was hard to tell what kind of mood Sephiroth was in, during the heat of a battle. Sometimes, just like Genesis, the man got too wrapped up in his own head and chased after the thrill of the fight, consequences be damned. He wouldn’t have had a choice here, it seemed, whether or not to fight or flee. The blonde wasn’t allowing him such a choice.
Across the battlefield, their opponent bristled. Angeal narrowed his glowing eyes, solidifying his stance in the rubble. The blonde would be forced to come to them, which would present the opportunity for the best decisive strikes. There were two of them, and only one of him.
Deep down, Angeal prayed the man would turn tail and run. That he would acknowledge he was clearly outmatched with two 1st Class Soldiers staring him down.
But, those eyes… Something within the blonde’s similarly glowing eyes burned like an inhuman fire. He grabbed his sword and suddenly had two swords. Having worked with two blades most of his career, in order to keep the Buster Sword pristine, Angeal was familiar with the tactic. But, it wouldn’t work here. It would only leave the blonde man’s more vulnerable areas open for longer.
What was he thinking?
A brief glow enveloped the blonde -- a barrier. Hardly enough to keep him safe for long against the two of them.
Their opponent let out a scream of rage and quickly closed the space between them. Angeal growled in frustration as he took the first block, feeling the clash of steel shake him once more. However, with Sephiroth at his side, the need to be completely on the defensive was thrown out the window. Angeal’s feet moved faster than his mind when working alongside his long-time friend, immediately stepping in to provide an ultimate defense while Sephiroth took a more offensive side.
They worked in tandem; a dance practiced time and time again until it was perfected. Sephiroth’s steps were light and quick, a compliment to Angeal’s powerful and measured blocks and blows. The blonde didn’t take damage from their first strike, but it threw him off of his own practiced rhythm. His movements transitioned from calculated to desperate. The openings came quickly, more and more at a time. Though their opponent was striking with all of his might, it wasn’t enough to break their teamwork.
Not by a long shot.
Angeal’s own strikes consisted of trying to crush the damned blonde and stop him in his tracks. Immobilizing an opponent was a Hewley specialty, and it was why he was consistently sent to deal with people who weren’t to be assassinated, but eventually dragged back to Shinra. Non-lethal tactics were something he’d proudly passed on to Zack, and as many others as he could. Their opponent was making it difficult, however, and as Angeal stepped aside, Sephiroth immediately took his place for an offensive flurry. Together, they could take down the most powerful monsters on the planet. Yet, here was the blonde swordsman, sneaking in blows when he could in their barely-half-moments of switching tactics.
There was the sting of sliced flesh, but Angeal hardly noticed. It was not near enough to cause any real damage to him. If the blonde could land a truly powerful hit on him and him alone -- maybe. But, that wasn’t possible. Not with Sephiroth at his side, flawlessly transitioning to block hits before they could land on Hewley. There was no need to communicate audibly; Angeal knew what Sephiroth wanted to do next by the mere twist of his wrist, the shine of his sword, the crunch of gravel under his boot. He knew Sephiroth’s movements as well as he knew his own. The streak of silver next to him, movements flawless and perfected down to each muscular exertion, felt like an extension of himself, and vice versa.
For the first time, in a long time, Angeal felt alive. Comforted, by the presence of his friend, and his blood roiling from a good fight. The nagging sensation of needing to end the battle, though, was at the forefront. He’d never given into the carnal desire to play with an opponent, never dragged out a battle to an unnecessary point. And he wouldn’t start today. Though his blood was pumping, the sweat dripped down from his hairline, the adrenaline ran to its highest points … he wasn’t a machine.
The blonde swordsman gained his footing and came in for a powerful strike, but Masamune was there in an instant to block the attack. Angeal stepped forward quickly, a huge momentum behind his powerful form, as he turned the Buster Sword to its blunt edge and swung it with most of his might --
He felt it dig into their opponent’s ribs in that breath of a moment. The blonde didn’t stand a chance against the momentum of the Buster Sword, and Angeal’s unconscious aim was right on target. The damn blonde wouldn’t stop, no matter how many times they’d struck him, and so Angeal hoped to put him down for good. Right into the center of a building that had already been damaged by their earlier fight. The blonde was thrown from the battlefield like a ragdoll, and his body disappeared into the concrete structure across from them.
It crumbled, scattering dust and debris. Angeal rose a hand to block his eyes, his ever trained ears strained to catch the sounds of movement. But, he initially heard nothing. He took a deep breath once enough of the cloud of dust had vanished, straightening his posture. Angeal glanced to Sephiroth, and for that brief moment, he let the relief flood his senses.
But, the alarm bells were still ringing in his mind. While being trapped under a building, on top of a certainty of cracked ribs, should have kept the blonde at bay … Well, Angeal knew a thing or two about being desperate to die.
“Alright,” he breathed, placing the Buster Sword back on it’s magnetic clasp on his back, “Let’s move. Before we attract any more unwanted attention.”
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
Angeal withheld a strong sigh, lowering the map that he’d had pressed into his face for a good half-hour or so. Thankfully, his rented chocobo was well-trained enough to keep straight on the path to Provo while he languished in silence over the impossible amount of tiny roads, small farming villages, and odd structures unmarked by names on his map. The bird’s steps didn’t falter as the Soldier adjusted in his seat, folding the map and tucking it back into his pocket.
He was on a fool’s errand, Hewley could readily admit to himself, searching for his friends with near nothing to go on. Yet, he’d spent too much time in Torensten without a whisper of a word or a sign that anyone would find him there, or that anyone was coming. Other than the odd strangers and friendly faces that he’d met in the city, Torensten felt too out of place, too estranged. At night, when he tossed and turned and contemplated life, Angeal felt nothing but cold. Distant. Something was telling him that, what he sought was not there.
And so, Angeal bid a farewell to Rosa and the orphans, promising to someday return. Tucked away in his bag were his familiar map, some provisions, a change of clothes, and a list of names of the people he’d met. Simple things, for a simple man with a complicated journey ahead.
Unfortunately, traveling without a real idea of where to look for his fellow Soldier’s had led to … few results. At every little stop, every village where people were willing to speak, Angeal asked about a man with long silver hair in a black coat, or a red-head in a red coat, both with impressive swords and strange personalities. Zack, unfortunately, probably blended in well enough that he’d be hard to find on a physical description alone.
If he could even stand to see Angeal.
Question after question went unanswered, and the journey stretched from days to weeks. The strange, cold emptiness never quelled, like a fire without fuel. Why Angeal was so drawn to searching for his friends, he couldn’t say. He was a good friend. Maybe. Well, not really, was he? Maybe it was the thousands of apologies that had bubbled up inside of him over the weeks following his discovery of his memories, of his death, what he’d done to everyone. But, it didn’t feel the same as shame. It felt like … like …
Something was calling.
... I’m here …
Angeal tugged on the reigns of his chocobo, causing the bird to squawk in alarm as it came to a halt. His mouth fell open in a light gasp, mentalling grasping at the feeling that had just passed through him. A signal. A sign. Words somehow familiar, despite there being no voice behind them. He could almost picture the silver hair and familiar, green eyes.
... Find me…
The Soldier nearly threw himself off of his chocobo. The bird would be fine. It would find its way back home.
Find. Home.
Large, white wings unfurled from Angeal’s back, and without a second thought, he quickly took to the air. There was no way to explain the feeling he had. There were no words. His glowing eyes were wide as he flew, further and further into the sky, darting as quickly as he could toward the source of that wordless call. His heart thrummed in his ears, beating faster and faster with each beat of his wings. Far below him the landscape looked more like the map in his pocket, trails like pencil drawings and people hardly visible below.
It was Sephiroth. He didn’t know how, or why, but Angeal knew -- Sephiroth was close by. Finally. Finally.
Despite the chilly air in the clouds, Angeal broke a sweat in his haste to find the source of his strange feeling. By the time he’d crossed over the aerial boundary of the familiar Provo, the muscles of his back throbbed angrily. There was no telling how long he’d flown at his max speed, Angeal hardly cared to notice. He felt like a man possessed.
Yet the city, painted in grey hues, seemed alive in all the wrong ways. As the Soldier flew lower, he heard panicked screams, and the sounds of destruction. A clear focus shoved itself back into the forefront of Hewley’s mind, tucking away that incessant need to be here, right here, in this moment. He’d found what he was looking for, apparently, but what was going on? Ahead, in the city square, a vortex of heavy materials appeared, then dissipated as it met with a target.
A wing beat.
The sounds of clashing steel.
Another beat.
A desperate, angry cry.
Another beat.
A strange glow …
Angeal saw Sephiroth first; his green eyes narrowed in concentration, deftly moving Masamune into a block. In the next moment, he saw his friend’s blonde-haired opponent -- face contorted into rage, his broad sword behind him, glowing ominously. There was a split second to react, and in that moment, the three of them would be in the same space. Angeal pushed through the air, his arm pulling the Buster Sword from his back effortlessly as he kept his speed, throwing himself into the fray.
“Enough!” he shouted, his blade meeting the stranger’s with all the force behind his speedy, aerial entrance. Though he was powerful enough to stop two 1st Class Soldier’s with nothing but his own raw strength, seeing Sephiroth on the defensive forced Angeal’s hand to deliver a blow that would surely send the stranger back a pace or twenty. The clash of metal, of force on force, was strong enough to send a reverberation through the Soldier’s very bones. For all of a split second, it seemed like his arms would become jelly.
What in the hell kind of strength did that blonde have?
Angeal planted his boots into the ruined concrete as he came to a stop, the Buster Sword raised as he eyed the blonde he’d knocked back. Sephiroth was behind him, safe, and though Angeal wanted nothing more than to drop his sword and acknowledge his dear friend, he knew the situation was far from safe. This fight would continue, until that blonde man was either dead or they made a getaway. There was no time to throw questions around, no time to figure out what the hell was going on.
And around them, the destruction lingered.
“We should leave,” Angeal spoke quickly, loudly over the battlefield. He didn’t dare turn to speak to Sephiroth directly. He’d seen the kind of twisted, hell-bent rage in that blonde-haired man before. He’d felt it. Experienced it. It would only lead to death.
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
Angeal is dumb and doesn't think anyone would want to help him
As Angeal struggled to hold himself upright, a presence came to his side. He glanced down, rivulets of water streaming down his face as he took in the sight of the small, blonde woman propping herself underneath his side. She gently hooked his arm over her shoulders as if she’d done it a million times before, and gave him a reassuring smile.
The Soldier stared at her for a moment, in complete disbelief. He was clearly in pain, yes, but he was a monster who had crash landed in an alley, made a mess of things. She was soaked to the bone, with her own little burdens to consider, and yet … She stepped in to help him, immediately, without a second thought. If he had the energy, Angeal wasn’t sure if he’d thank her or admonish her for being so naive.
Don’t be ridiculous, a little voice in his head growled, You’d do the exact same thing, monster or not.
“Thank you,” the appreciation came out as a hoarse whisper over the heavy rain. The boys that were with the blonde moved to grab his sword, and she warned them to be careful with it. If he’d had the energy, Angeal would have cringed at the thought of his sword being dragged across the concrete -- but in the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He could fix it later. If it was worth it.
The blonde woman moved with him, and Angeal only used her to balance himself when the aches and pains became too much to bear. Otherwise, he kept all of his massive weight to himself, not wanting to cause the wholesome young woman any pain or struggle. He kept his head down for the most part, and his glowing eyes caught sight of her reassuring smile once more. It was like a ray of sunshine parting through the miserable clouds, both literally and metaphorically. She provided a wonderful distraction from the mental torture and anguish he’d been putting himself through.
They passed a window on the outside of the building, and Angeal took a brief glance at the inside. Light. Warmth, probably. There was still the little voice in the back of his head that told him off, --you don’t deserve this help, you should leave and just let the elements take you, don’t burden this woman--, but for the moment, he quelled it.
“Who are you?” the Soldier found the strength to ask as he dragged his boots along the pavement.
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
Angeal’s boots struggled through the sands in his quick pursuit of the back flank, but not near enough to slow him down. He rounded the edge of the dune, taking a quick peek at the nest just on the other side. By his inner clock, Caius would be using his magic in the next ten seconds or so. The Soldier took the very short breath of opportunity to count their numbers, to try and identify how many may get struck down by magic alone.
In the next few moments, a scream came over the otherwise still air of the desert. All the creatures looked up for a moment before breaking out into angry cries. The brief appearance of light was all Angeal needed to know to duck back behind the dune. He took cover for a moment as the roar of intense fire spread throughout the griffon’s nest. Underneath the sound of the powerful magic was the pained cries of the monsters, struggling to recover from the sudden attack.
The moment the intense light began to fade, the griffons began to beat their singed and scorched wings. The ones that could still fly lifted themselves from the ground while the others scrambled toward the source of the magic, their beaks snapping angrily at the air. A couple didn’t move -- either dead from taking the blast of magic head on, or temporarily stunned. Either way, with all of their backs turned, it was the perfect time to strike.
Though the angry, lingering heat from Caius's attack nipped at his skin, Angeal leapt over the side of the dune into the nest. Moving quickly despite his size, he swiftly pulled the Buster Sword from his back. There were no mighty roars of combat from him, simply the grunt of effort from his first strike, cleaving into a weakened griffon’s back with his heavy blade. The bird shrieked, and it’s fellows turned to observe the problem. The Soldier moved to his next target, removing his blade from the beast with a sickening squelch. He could take another two, maybe, before they all turned their sharp claws to him. He could handle a few like that, until the others that were further ahead turned back to help. Hopefully, that would be enough time for Caius to get in and help him.
Otherwise, this had turned into a very bad idea.
The griffons that had been able to fly circled around, switching targets to the more immediate threat. Angeal felled another weakened beast with a chop to the back of its neck. They were beginning to turn now, and the Soldier turned defensive, blocking a swipe of claws behind his massive blade. He ground his teeth in a growl, twisting to the side to dodge another swipe from a different griffon. Now things would be a little more difficult, until the flank was completed.
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
Cissnei hummed in response to his heartfelt confession, and Angeal couldn’t really bring himself to be surprised. Whatever her reaction was, it would be a mystery to him until she revealed herself. They’d played that back and forth all night. He turned his glowing eyes to her, catching sight of her licking and nipping sweet marshmallow from her fingers. The Soldier blinked once, before turning his gaze away; his pulse quickening uncomfortably. She’d been doing that to him all night as well, and he wasn’t even sure if he was into that.
At least she admitted to it being a fun night. Angeal accepted the messy smore from the Turk, not immediately concerned with the sticky residue that coated his fingers. Smores were fun because they were messy, and it was certainly no accident that they’d been provided for the date-night occasion. Cissnei turned her gaze skyward, and the Soldier took the moment to appreciate how the firelight kissed her red hair, brightening it further. He liked that color.
The moment passed as soon as she winked at him, of course. Angeal turned his gaze away with a light, but good-natured scowl. Whether or not he’d enjoyed her spoiling him, even he still wasn’t sure. Needing a distraction as Cissnei spoke, Angeal took a bite of the warm smore he’d accepted from her. It was sweet, a little too sweet, but delectable nonetheless. He swiped at the drip of chocolate that had gotten trapped on his bottom lip with his tongue, before it traveled any further.
“Turks are certainly more fun than I’d ever given them credit for,” the Soldier replied as a half-joke, giving her a small smile, “It’s still hard to imagine someone like Tseng having fun, though.”
Cissnei drained her champagne flute, and Angeal found himself not far behind her. It was bubbly, sweet, but dry. A decent contrast to the tooth-rotting smore that … he suddenly wanted another bite of.
What would he do after? Well, that was a good question. Earlier he’d been sulking … Lonely. Lost. Cissnei had literally flipped his mood completely around, tugging him into things he’d never done before, teasing him, making him laugh, challenging him. It suddenly dawned on Angeal that this was temporary. That, in a matter of minutes from now, it would be over.
Before he could answer, the fireworks boomed. Dazzling colors filled the night sky, reflecting on the ground. The familiar smell of smoke drifted slowly through the air, the kind of thing a Soldier would smell for days on end out on assignment in a rough area. But all the beautiful colors painting the sky, the ground, all of them -- that wasn’t something he got to see often. The booms would fizzle out, crackling, their excitement short lived.
“I guess I’ll go find my next chance meeting,” Angeal admitted, over the sounds of the fireworks and the ooh’s and aaa’s of the small crowd, “Whenever this one is over.”
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
The man froze on the spot, his attempt to leave effectively halted by the simple question that hung in the air. Angeal watched, curious, as the man turned only his head to acknowledge the strange tension that filled the space between them. There was something so … familiar about the stranger. Though the eyes, the hair, the face weren’t immediately placable, Angeal could have sworn he knew him.
But the stranger responded with a quick, efficient, and cold no. The Soldier deepened his frown as the man elaborated, making it more than clear that he had no intention of seeking any further knowledge on the matter. Angeal wasn’t sure what to do, or what to say. If the man truly didn’t know him, had no idea who he was, why respond so coldly? Why not just turn a curious eye and shake your head, apologize maybe. Maybe he’d caught the stranger at a terrible time.
… No. No, that wasn’t it. If that was the case there wouldn’t be that strange sensation of familiarity.
Before he could come up with a response however, someone else popped into view through the crowd. Angeal turned his body to maybe step away, but froze when he saw the young woman -- the Queen of the Fae. The costume was just enough of a shock to keep the Soldier’s boots in place, his glowing eyes wide with confusion, caught off guard. The young woman moved closer to the stranger, equally as confused, asking what she’d missed.
Angeal shook his head, intending to back out immediately, before he saw the girl’s eyes turn to his own. She gasped, clutching her clothes. A bubbling panic began to brew within Hewley as he recognized that look. She was scared. He didn’t even have wings present at the moment and yet she still knew he was a monster -- how!? Angeal put his hands up and took a step back, “Sorry, I mistook him for someone I know--.”
The Soldier was cut off by a loud and over-dramatic gasp. Bouncing into the space between the three adults was a little girl -- Victoria, all wide-blue-eyes, a hand full of popcorn that was beginning to fall to the ground, forgotten. She tugged on her braid uncertainly, turning to look up at Angeal as she stepped closer to him, “M-Mister Angie, it’s the Queen!! She’s alive!”
The little girl immediately reached for his hand, and Angeal let her. Her hand was sticky with popcorn remnants, but she was shy around strangers. Her bewildered expression slowly faded to something hidden, tucking her eyes to the ground, her free hand balling into her hand-me-down dress. The excitement could only bring her out of her shell for so long.
“Y-yes,” Angeal acknowledged Victoria’s outburst softly, before glancing back at the two strangers, “-- Sorry to interrupt your evening. We should get going.”
The Soldier crouched down to the little girl’s height, best he could, anyway. He straightened out her dress with an expert hand as Victoria shyly glanced back to the Queen, the immense curiosity evident in her eyes. Angeal glanced back to where she’d come from, squinting, “Where are Andrei and Luca? You shouldn’t have run off from them…”.
But, Victoria was tearing up. Oh, god, what had happened? Angeal wiped away a tear from her rosy cheek as she quietly asked, looked back to the Queen of the Fae once more, “Is … Is there really n-no more magic in the w-world?”
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
