Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Apotheosis ❯ Scattered Thoughts ( Chapter 8 )

The bullet plopped onto the sandy floor of the cave and rolled towards the fire, staining the ground a deep crimson. Sephiroth hissed and clamped his good hand over his collarbone to staunch the bleeding as he reached for a bandage. Bad timing had sent the projectile into his shoulder; bad luck had sent it against the grain of the muscle, and he had torn the wound badly hauling the girl out of the collapsing Temple and up the mountainside. It would have been easier had she been conscious and able to run, but her panicked hesitancy would have killed them both.

That would never do.

He wound a thin strip of gauze around the injury and under his arm, once, twice, three times, then knotted the ends together and began to pack up the tiny first aid kit. That done, he pulled the damn remnant of his shirt back on, wincing as his shoulder twinged, and surveyed the equipment laid out before him. Masamune, the two halves and slender quiver of the compound bow, and a host of smaller knives; armor stacked neatly against the wall of the cave, his cloak spread out beside the fire to dry, the aid kit, lock picks, a few belt pouches of miscellaneous items--the radio had unfortunately perished during the swim… and the girl, of course, who lay unconscious beside his cloak.

He sank down against the wall closest to the fire and began unbuckling his tall leather boots. Kicking them off, he slumped back, laying his face against the cool stone. The shoulder wasn't the worst of it; his joints felt as if they were full of jagged glass, a sharp, piercing pain throbbed through his temples, and his mouth and throat were so dry they felt like leather. Had been, in fact, since he had exited the Temple; and he had the horrible suspicion he knew why.

I am in no mood for threats.

But no crystalline, slithering voice echoed back mockery at him; bad as he felt physically, the low, jangling buzz that had filled his head since Nibelheim had been replaced by a warm, soothing silence. Had, in fact, since he had begun the climb from the Temple an hour ago.

Interesting indeed. He turned his head to regard the girl's prone form.

Had it not been for the slight rise and fall of her chest he might have thought her a corpse, so still did she lay. Wet, smudged with dirt, her dress tattered, she nonetheless retained her air of delicate, fey beauty. Her lip had been split at some point during their flight, although he had found no sign of a lump on her head where he had struck her against the pillar during the cursory examination he had given her; it almost seemed the split had closed slightly in the short time it had taken him to see to his own injuries.

Also quite interesting.

As he watched, she tensed slightly, breath quickening, and an eyelid raised fractionally. Then it lowered slowly, and her breathing resumed its steady pace, but there was no doubt she had awakened.

"Your skills as an actress leave something to be desired," he rumbled, and coughed. He really did not want to spend the energy to rise and nudge her into attention. Thumping his chest, he continued, "We really must stop meeting like this."

Ah, that worked. Her eyes snapped open and she slowly rose to prop herself on one elbow, her lips pressed firmly together with some powerful emotion. "This morning I lost everything," she said, her voice taut with intensity. "The place I have searched for all of my life, my friends, my chance to join my people--you kidnap me--and you tell jokes--" Her voice finally broke, choked with tears.

Sephiroth watched her display dispassionately. "Yes, I suppose you would have been much better off had I allowed your dear, true friend to murder you in cold blood."

She flinched and looked away. "And why didn't you?" she asked bitterly.

"Because you're a naïve, idealistic fool with no real idea of what you almost did today," he snapped. "Did you see the murals in the Temple? Do you know why your mother's people died out? God!" He raked a hand through his hair and pushed himself to his feet. "I would kill you myself if I thought it would help--I was sent here to kill you." The girl was cringing now, blue eyes wide with fear; this wasn't productive. He sighed, allowing his shoulder to slump. "Look, let me tell you a story, Aeris, a story about my mother.

"You know why S.O.L.D.I.E.R.s are S.O.L.D.I.E.R.s, yes?" He paused, waiting to see if she would respond, but her eyes had taken on a slight glaze. "Infusions of pure mako. The program is relatively new, going back around thirty years. Shinra was just discovering this area, figuring out how to best use it. They were up further north, actually, in the Crater. They found something there."

"Jenova," the girl breathed.

Sephiroth scowled. "What did you say?" But she was no longer listening; her eyes were unfocused, and for a moment, he wondered if she was experiencing some sort of delayed concussion. But her lips began to move, forming silent words. Sephiroth's attention sharpened; she had said her voice--the Planet--didn't speak to her verbally; but he would bet anything they were having a conversation now.

"That's its name," she said finally, rubbing her hands together nervously, her voice still distant, as if she were reciting. "Jenova. It was an alien… or a virus that grew intelligent… something awful. Thousands of years ago it pierced the skin of the world with a great spell, intending to suck the life from the Planet. The Cetra fought it, and many died, but they managed to defeat it and bury it in the ice." She swallowed hard and looked up at him. "You're saying that Shinra has its remains."

His lips skinned back in a humorless grin. "Oh, better than that, they have me." He grinned wider as he watched the realization sink in. "And as I have recently come to know, they were not just remains." She stared up at him, wide-eyed. "It--she--is awake, Aeris, and she hungers. I am her chosen one, flesh of her flesh; through me, she wishes to work her dark miracle. But I won't let her. She isn't strong enough to make me. Yet." He shook his head. "But you are right; she is a disease, a virus, a cancer. She doesn't need to 'pierce the skin of the world,' as you so quaintly put it; all she needs is a weak spot, a place to seep in, to infect. The kind of weak spot created by, say, an Ancient dissolving into the earth." He laughed bitterly. "They say a man cannot serve two masters, but there are many who would have been glad had I done as I was told and run you through."

Aeris shook her head slowly, uncomprehendingly. "You're a S.O.L.D.I.E.R.," she said, "you're hers. Why do you care what she wishes to do? What do you mean to do with me?"

Sephiroth rubbed his eyes and sagged against the wall. Lances of pain shot through his skull, nearly blinding him. "I'll be damned if I know," he said dispiritedly, blinking at the dancing flames. "Will you fling yourself into the Lifestream anyway at the first opportunity, or get yourself killed in some futile gesture?" He shook his head dazedly and sank back to the ground, eyes slipping closed. "I don't know," he repeated. "I am more than a S.O.L.D.I.E.R., Aeris, I am a made thing. All of my life, my existence, my actions have been ordained for me by others. And now I find not even my thoughts, my soul are my own." He coughed weakly, struggling to keep his thoughts in order. "I'm going to kill her, and those responsible, and anyone else I can get my hands on who stands in my way." He cracked an eyelid to judge her reaction, but she had taken on her far away, listening look again. He closed it. "What does your voice say to that?"

Silence. A damp rustle of cloth. Then: "They say you're very sick."

"Quite observant."

"They say Jenova is the cause. It's turned against you."

He thought about opening his eyes, then discarded the notion; it was agony, and he was so tired. "Then perhaps she'll get me first, and you'll be able to kill yourself in peace. Won't that be nice?"

Silence again, longer this time; he may even have dozed. The next thing he was aware of was a cool cloth pressing against his brow. "It's only water," a soft voice at his left said. He licked his lips and tried to swallow. "No, be still. You're should be her reach here; this is still holy ground. I don't think she can make you worse here… b-but I may be able to make you better."

He may have nodded, but wasn't sure. Sephiroth was drifting now, almost entirely unaware… but hadn't she spoken to him not long ago, in a hall? He thought she had… the paintings there had been beautiful, but so, so sad… small hands gently pushed him down to lie flat on the ground.

Blankness again. Someone was tugging at his sleeve, rolling it up… shots? He hadn't had shots in ever so long… why had he returned to the lab, when he didn't have to any more? Fingers probed at his shoulder, sending a deep, pulsing ache through his chest. Not a test, then, they didn't hurt that way--

HOW DARE YOU LET HER INTERFERE WITH YOU?

His body spasmed, muscles contracting all at once in a brilliant flare of agony. He gasped, choking for breath, limbs scrabbling for purchase as his back arched, but it was as if a giant fist had seized his lungs and squeezed. He groaned.

SHE IS DEAD. SHE IS NOTHING. SHE WILL NOT SAVE YOU FROM ME,

FOOLISH WRETCH!

Someone cried out; gray waves began to roll across his vision; he tasted salt as blood flowed from his bitten tongue.

YOU WILL DO MY WILL, OR DO NOTHING.

He struggled feebly; if he could only sit up, get his legs under him, move this crushing weight from his chest--

--shock. Hands yanked open the front of his shirt and pressed against his bare chest, radiating a wintry cold that whirled through his cells, refreshing and enervating--he drew a breath, deep and clean and unrestricted.

SHE CAN NOT, WILL NOT--

He groaned again, shuddering and writhing as his muscles unclenched. He seized the hands pressed against him, reached up, pulled their owner down against him, pulled their owner down and wrapped his arms tightly around them, craving more of the frozen, purifying wind that blew through him--

--silence. A high, buzzing whine echoed in his ears, accompanied by licking tongues of pain, but that shriek, that awful, devastating shriek was gone… and soon even the echoes had faded, leaving only the harsh sound of ragged breathing. He opened his eyes, blinking at the girl he held crushed against his chest. She smiled weakly, brushing a lock of sweat-drenched hair from his brow. "You really have to tell me your name soon," she said, laying two fingers between his eyes.

Sephiroth slept.