Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Revelations ❯ The Bells No Longer Toll for Those that are Forgotten ( Chapter 1 )

Revelations

Disclaimer; I do not own Final Fantasy VII or any of its characters, etc.

This is set after the game and the movie, just forget DoC ever happened when you read this. Thank you.

Chapter 1: The Bells No Longer Toll For Those That Are Forgotten

1

It had been three days.

The cape-clad nightmare wasn't sure when he would reveal himself, but he knew now was not the time. It would be soon, but not just yet.

Soon, he told himself. He itched to pounce.

He had yet to discover their bounty, but that was only a matter of time. A dark smile twisted his lips as he continued to survey their campsite from a shadowed canopy, not three metres from the nearest soldier.

They had progressed too quickly and were much too organised for opportunists, their black fatigues and all too familiar insignia marking them as more than just the average country travellers. And while travellers in these times often carried some form of weapon, he had seen none with suppressed semi-automatics strapped to their hips.

They where following orders, there was no question or doubt as to their next destination each dawn when they moved on. They never spoke to each other either, it was making his task most difficult. But more enjoyable.

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He would have to strike tonight, they had gotten far-enough and still nothing useful had slipped. The sinister smile he wore twisted further. Interrogation was not a skill, it was a talent. A talent he prided himself with. He could call the most ridiculous of bluffs with his hardened looks, but he could always smell a liar. And a rat.

And his rat was the man sitting closest to his current perch in a tattered oak. He wasn't aware what made this man stand out, being the same in every aspect of appearance as the others, but this hunter had learned long ago (from his father of all people) to trust his instincts. That man would be the one to break; he wasn't sure how he knew, he just did.

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This was the first night they had lit a fire, the first night they had been under cover of the forest canopy since the beginning of their journey. And it would be their last. The man in the shadows waited, watched and itched.

As the fire died three of the seven had slipped into sleep, a soft snore whistling from the one slouched against the base of the tree.

Soon it was four. Five. Six. The last was the largest, and from what he had observed the biggest threat. The man was looking around at the shadows too suspiciously for what he had tagged as oblivious prey. Then, too direct for coincidence, he looked up into the trees, and stared intently into the eyes of the shadow-man.

Fuck, the shadow's hand, always at his holster, twitched. He waited for the man to draw his weapon. Watched his hand fall down to his semi-automatic and rest upon the butt, all the time staring straight into the tree.

A moment before he jumped the man looked away, and the shadow let out a breath he hadn't meant to hold. He senses me and it makes him uneasy, he knows, he's just too stupid to realise. The shadow-man watched as the soldier took one last look around and then sat at the base of another tree, soon he too was asleep. And an hour later they were dead to the world. It was too easy, like candy from a baby; but a baby sporting a shiny new fire-arm.

They obviously weren't expecting to be followed or a watch would have been posted, but then again everyone thought this organisation was long gone. No-one would be looking for them, no-one but him that is. He knew it was too easy, the world would never get rid of scum like this, as soon as one is scrubbed out the next surfaces like the untreatable spores of a fungus.

Time to scratch that itch.

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The cloaked man swooped down from the branch and lifted a nearby pack. Nothing of use. He dropped it and searched through the pockets of the nearest soldier. He watched the soldier's face as he pulled a small tattered envelope from the breast pocket, just as it fell free of the cloth the soldier's eyes ripped open and his hand grabbed the invading wrist. Shit.

He un-holstered Cerberus.

2

It was cold, wet and the third time she`d had her head in the toilet. Half asleep, half hung-over, she clambered down the stairs.

Tifa could feel the acidic bile rising from her empty stomach, the room was still spinning, and she felt like shit. She paused rubbing her gut, mumbling as to why she'd bothered to get out of bed. But after ignoring the frantic banging for an hour, and deciding it wasn't just her head playing the drunken drums, she knew it wasn't going to go away.

Three minutes later she'd been forced to run to the bathroom anyway (she didn't want warm chunks of vodka on the bedroom carpet) deciding while she was up she should tell whoever was at the door to take a hike. I hope it's the grim reaper here to collect my drunken ass, only the dead could feel this rough. She was what Cloud liked to call a `light-weight' when it came to alcohol.

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The staircase spun and blurred, but she made it to the bar below where she steadied herself. The pounding on the door stopped and the drums in her head got louder. It was dark, dirty glasses still littered the coffee table in the corner. The empty vodka bottle had fallen to the rug beneath and a small pool of water had collected at the doorway. Another leak.

She could smell putrid vomit and stale alcohol on her breath. The going away party was a bad idea. A scuffling sound could be heard under the doorway, whoever it was, was still there. It couldn't be Cloud, she knew he'd be away for the next two weeks at least and he would have used his key. Everyone else she knew would leave it to a decent hour, even Cid. He wouldn't drag his ass out of bed for anything more than alcohol and cigarettes.

She almost fell asleep standing when the banging started again, this time louder. The door shook as though a stampede of rabid animals where trying to break it down. Who in hell knocks on someone's door that loudly at four o'clock in the morning? If it's that old bat from next door come to complain about the noise again, I swear to God I'm going to stick my fist in her mouth.

The white paint was peeling off the door with each thump. Thump, thump, thump. Whoever it was wanted in badly. The drunken feeling had lessened. She reached for Denzel's rickety baseball bat that stood in the corner and edged toward the door. Closer and closer. The thumping came harder and harder. She reached for the key in the rusty lock.

The second her fingertip touched the cool metal the thumping stopped. Silence, except for that terrible scuffling. Turning the key, she stepped back, raising the bat with white-knuckled grip. “It's open!”

The door didn't open and the scuffling had stopped.

Water continued to drop into the puddle on the floor.

A third hand grabbed the bat. A damp musky scent permeated the presence. With a gasp the bartender sent her knee into the mans groin and he jerked backwards with a grunt, letting the bat clatter to the floor, cracking a tile with its weight. Intending to lunge at him, fists balled, she threw herself into a jump.

One foot slipped on the puddle and she landed face-first with a bone-crunching crack on the grey slate tiles, the bone in her nose snapping loudly and almost coming through the skin like some mutilated piercing. As the room darkened she felt her weight pulled from the floor and her back meeting the granite surface of the bar-top.

3

She didn't worry some burglar might make off with her furniture and profits, didn't worry someone might break into her office steal her personal documents, she didn't even worry some psycho might rape or murder her, or both. She was just too damn tired to give a shit. She was aware of hot droplets on her face and the feeling of cotton wool stuffed in her ears; a buzzing hum filled her head.

Then a sharp clapping sting and searing heat brought her back to reality.

She clutched her cheek and sat up, “WHAT WAS THAT FO- Vincent?”

The drunken feeling had completely dissipated.

“You might have a concussion, stay awake.” The cape-clad man was dripping rainwater over the floor and the bar-top. Sopping wet, black hair stuck to his pale cheeks. He appeared unusually dishevelled and his face wore a wind-beaten blush.

“What are you doing here?” He ignored her and walked into the back room. Another droplet landed in the smeared puddle. She could smell the stink of tepid rainwater in her damp pyjamas and wasn't sure if the pounding headache was from the hangover or the fall.

The hung-over bartender touched her nose, flinched and tried not to sniff up the blood dripping from it like a tap that just refuses to stop. It throbbed, feeling grossly exaggerated and numb. He entered the room again with an armful of tissue, cotton swabs and aspirin. Tifa watched each drip land on the floor as he walked around the bar, he looked like a stray shaggy dog. But Vincent Valentine was just so proper, she found it hard to imagine him on all fours, shaking water everywhere.

He stared at her with a clearly unamused expression when she burst into laughter, effectively sticking a cork in her bubbling hysterics. “Hold still, it's broken, I need to set the bone.” In one loud crack and an even louder scream the bone that had been sticking out to the side of her smashed nose clicked back into alignment. He quickly stuffed pieces of tissue into each nostril.

Tifa swung for him., growling, “You prick!”

He ducked.

Vincent stood straight, grabbed her palm and slammed the painkillers into them, pushing a glass of water into the other. “You're going to have a black eye, perhaps two.”

Without asking he began to swab the blood off her face, now clammy and flushed with either hangover or anger. He wasn't sure which but he could smell stale alcohol and vomit from her breath. Vincent knew not to speak until she was calm, he didn't want to set her off on one again. She wasn't normally so unpleasant and irrational but he figured she'd had a bit of a rough night.

“How did you get in?” He didn't miss the biting tone.

“You should lock the back door. There are dangerous people about at this time of night.”

She looked, if it was possible, embarrassed, enraged, and insulted at the same time. He shrugged. “Have you seen anyone suspicious around lately? Or spoke to any old friends?”

“What? No, why? … what do you mean by old fri- Why are you here at this time of night anyway? and what the hell possessed you to sneak in back? You scared the-”

“You didn't answer the door.” She sniffed at the tissues. She could hear the smile in his voice, and wanted nothing more than to punch it out, like kinks in metal.

“It was four o'cl-” Vincent threw the bloodied cotton swabs into the bin.

“Nevermind what I meant, I acquired some information.” He sounded angry, but Tifa knew it wasn't at her. She noticed an odd bulge in his cloak pocket. The tattered rag looked ready to burst under the strain.

“What information? What does it have to do with me and what is that in your-” She raised a hand to point, but almost toppled, so settled for nodding her head at it instead.

“I think I should show you, I`m not quite certain myself.” He produced a beige business envelope, sopping wet and peeling in furred layers from the corners. Then, like the rabbit from the magician's hat, he reached in once more and pulled out a heavy, awkward looking gadget. Best she could tell it looked like some version of a recording device. Whatever it was, was ancient, probably older than Mrs. Metworth next door. She hadn't seen such outdated technology since her fathers collection of antique clocks.

“Before I show you this I need to know where Cloud and the children are.” She looked ready to question him and slightly angry again. But before she could start shouting he leaned into her face and growled, “Now.” Instead of looking intimidated, she looked even angrier but she closed her mouth with a clink of teeth before anything other than an answer to his question came out. Now was not the time.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she spoke, “Cloud's on a delivery to Wutai, he left around eight last night. The kids left with Barret after the party, he's taking them to Costa Del Sol for the week. He promised Marlene, and Denzel wanted to go as well. ” It would only occur to her later that Barret having the kids may have saved her life, but for now she felt a sick loneliness. She hated being alone, when she was around other people she felt important, had a place to belong. Other people gave her a sense of purpose she supposed.

There was more to this emptiness but looking deeper might have made her realise what she already knew. She was always alone.

4

He noticed her distant gaze, but not knowing how to deal with it pressed on. He handed her the envelope, he wasn't sure if she knew it was in her hand because she just sat there looking dumbly at it. He had to admit, she looked awful. Her dark brown hair was a mess, her face clammy and pale, and she stunk of vomit and vodka, to top it all off her nose looked like it had met the end of someone's fist and her eyes where turning black with bruising. She kept sniffing at the two pieces of tissue that hung pathetically from each nostril. There was a large bruise on her elbow as well, but it didn't look broken.

She wasn't moving, and wasn't aware that he felt awkward in the silence. “I heard rumours from a traveller in the Kalm inn that there had been people emerging from the Sleeping Forest. When I asked him to describe them he said he hadn't got a good look, but that they didn't look like any travellers he`d ever seen. I already knew they wouldn't be travellers, most people are too superstitious to go anywhere near that place, and anyone who does go in never usually comes ba- Tifa, did you hear me?”

Tifa looked up at him, “Yes, but what does this have to do with-”

“I followed them, the people from the forest. The traveller at the Kalm inn was right, they definitely weren't the average travellers.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I don't often see travellers with semi-automatic desert eagles in their holsters.”

“What! Who where they?” She looked at him for a moment, then shook her head. “No not, not ShinRa?” Her voice squeaked like a seventeen year old boy's when he grimly nodded. “Why would they be in the Sleeping Forest? They must have been after something. Is it something to do with Aer-”

“No.” He sounded so resolute that she jerked back from his voice. “They aren't after Aeris, but you're right they are after someone. I followed them for three days to assess whether they where following orders or if they where just rogue ShinRa looking for a cause. When they had set up camp around the North Corel area, in the forest bordering the Corel Mountains, and I had gained no information, I decided it was time for confrontation and interrogation.”

His eyes flicked to the envelope which had soaked a wet patch onto her lap. She swallowed with a dry click in her throat, and looked down at her hands. It had already been unsealed, when her finger ran under the tacky edge it opened easily. Tifa looked back at Vincent and then slid a hand in, pulling out a wad of photographs, now wrinkled with damp.

She looked at the first, it was a monochrome photo, obviously taken through a professional zoom-lense camera, of a shop she knew that sold childrens' clothes just around the corner; Grey's Boutique. She had been there last week to get the kids' clothes for Costa Del Sol.

“Oh my God.” She clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the sharp gasp that came anyway.