Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Shattered Dreams ❯ Chapter 66: Sephiroth's Heel ( Chapter 66 )

Author's Note: I apologize for the absurdly long wait. I hated not having any internet but it was an unfortunate inevitability. But now I am back with plenty more to come! I appreciate all the reviews I received in my absence and I apologize for being unable to respond to each and every one. Thanks for reading and I look forward to your comments. Enjoy!

 

Chapter 66: Sephiroth's Heel

 

The air in Elysium was anxious and filled with foreboding. For every deity that had returned unintended and promptly sent to await his or her judgment, the tension rose up a notch… until it was so stifling that Erebus felt he was choking on it. It was especially worse where he stood at the present moment, nervously shifting from foot to foot as he sought out the forgiveness of his best friend. Standing in her father's garden, knowing that all the flowers in the world wouldn't suffice at this moment, he hated himself for seeing the hurt on her face.

 

She valiantly tried to hide it, of course, which only made it worse. It was rare that she ever sought to hide anything from him. Unbeknownst to her, since she refused to even look at him when he sought her out, his shoulders sagged as regret suffused his entire being. He should not have been so harsh.

 

Erebus cleared his throat, a sound that was all too noisy in the calm and relaxing atmosphere of the garden.

 

“Asclepius--”

 

Her response was quick and bitter, cutting off anything else he might have said. “I do not want to talk to you right now, Erebus,” she stated coldly, keeping her back to him as her fingers traced the outlines of one of her favorite flowers. Even her normally bouncy, mint green curls seemed subdued and listless. He had only himself to blame.

 

Erebus sighed, resisting the urge to hang his head. “I am sorry.”

 

“I thought I said I wasn't talking to you right now.”

 

He flinched, feeling his face flush. “You're acting--”

 

“What?” she demanded, suddenly whirling around as she unintentionally crushed the defenseless bloom in her grasp. “Like a child? Like a girl? Like a mortal? Tell me, Erebus, which one you think I am because somewhere you have gotten confused.” Her tone was sharp, but beneath it all, he detected the thin line of hurt and disappointment.

 

His shoulders sagged further as he raked a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he seemed to have picked up from being around the mortals far too much. “You misunderstand. I only meant to--”

 

Garnet eyes flashed. “You dismissed me,” Asclepius hissed angrily, tiny hands clenching into fists at her side, as though she was struggling to refrain from striking him. “You said, in no uncertain terms, where you believe I belonged.”

 

“I was right!” he defended, beginning to grow a little irritated himself. “You are not a warrior. Even you must recognize that your abilities are more suited to defense, Asclepius. It is only--”

 

She interrupted him yet again, cutting off his words with the same dismissal he had given to her in the Lost Grounds. Yet, he couldn't shake his aggravation. Would the woman never let him speak? How was he supposed to apologize if she kept blocking him out?

 

“I would have never been chosen as an anima if I were not capable,” she responded icily.

 

Gone was the chirpy, kindness he had associated with his dear friend, leaving nothing but the angered and cruel expression she had unfortunately inherited from her mother. It normally took much to draw out this part of her, and Erebus regretted that it had been him to do so. The only hope remained that deep within the timbre of her fury, he still detected the real reason for it all.

 

She cut her hand through the air. “I would expect as much from my father but not from you, Erebus.”

 

“Well, I'm sorry,” he snapped, losing some of the finer edge that most deities spoke with. “But what was I supposed to do? That damned thing had you pinned, and…”

 

“It couldn't kill me!”

 

Would she let him speak!

 

Erebus released a growl of pure frustration as he reached forward and grabbed her by the shoulders, somehow resisting the urge to shake her. “That's not the point! I do not even want to see you hurt, much less injured enough to be forced back to Elysium.”

 

Her jaw clenched, and the rebellious, inappropriate part of himself couldn't help but briefly notice that she was just damn cute when she was angry. “I'm a demi-deity, too! Or have you forgotten? I don't need protection!”

 

“Dammit!” His fingers tightened. “Do you even know how I felt when I saw you trapped under that creature?” he demanded, hating that his voice had risen past the point of civility. “My heart stopped, Asclepius.”

 

Garnet eyes widened in shock, but she was no more surprised than Erebus himself, who hadn't expected such revealing words to pop out of his mouth. He abruptly released her and turned on his heels, rubbing a hand over his forehead. Tension lined his shoulders, and at a glance, Asclepius could tell that he had meant it. A small measure of guilt for treating him so coldly stirred her heart.

 

“It doesn't matter that they can't kill you,” Erebus continued softly, though he kept his back to her. “It doesn't matter that you will heal quickly. Not when all I can think about is how much it would hurt if you were gone. It is not impossible for you to die, simply improbable. That doesn't change the fact that I couldn't bear to see you hurt because I don't want you to have to suffer anything. Can you understand that?”

 

Silence descended between them at his revelations, and a brief breeze chose that moment to stir, ruffling his hair and carrying with it the scent of the flowering blooms that surrounded them. Erebus felt dangerously exposed, as if he had revealed a part of himself he wasn't quite ready to let go of. But there was no turning back now; the words had already been spoken. And if nothing else, they were the truth.

 

“I'm sorry,” Asclepius whispered in a response he had not expected. “I did not think. I didn't…” she trailed off, taking a deep, slightly shuddering breath.

 

A hand tentatively reached out, grasping Erebus' firmly clenched fist and wrapping gently around his fingers. The touch was warm and soothing. She clasped her other hand atop their enjoined ones and stepped up beside him, laying her head on his shoulder.

 

“I shouldn't have been so hasty to snap at you,” Erebus admitted quietly, glad that the antagonism between them was slowly beginning to dissolve. Outside of his mother and Baal, Asclepius was the first person he had befriended. Or to be honest, it was more like she had demanded his friendship whether he wanted it or not.

 

That had been seven hundred years ago, not long after Orthrus and Raidne had decided to end their tumultuous relationship. It was the only “divorce” those in Elysium had ever witnessed, and very few knew the true cause. It wasn't something that Erebus planned on ever asking Orthrus, especially since it was none of his business.

 

Still, despite how long it had been, he could remember clearly the day he met the bubbly young deity. It had been at the beginning of Baal and Orthrus' friendship, which was destined to be something more, and Erebus himself had been shy. With his birth father exiled to the Lost Grounds, Sylph had clung to her only child even more tightly, as if she feared he would leave her as well. She had only allowed him to leave when Baal accompanied him; otherwise, he had been kept at her side. Needless to say, he hadn't been given much of an opportunity to make friends.

 

Of course, considering his young age, it was understandable why his mother was so clingy and why the others whispered behind his back, even if Erebus himself did not understand. Asclepius' easy acceptance of him had been very refreshing, and if not for her, he might have remained the shy, withdrawn boy his mother had inadvertently made him.

 

Asclepius had latched onto him immediately, giggling as she grabbed his arm and tugged him out from hiding behind Baal's legs. She had said they were going to play tag, and though he had no clue what she was talking about, he had let her drag him along nonetheless. Despite there being only two of them, he remembered it was the most fun he had ever had.

 

The nuzzling of his shoulder, much like a cat, pulled him from his thoughts. He smiled softly, relieved to find all tension ebbing away from him. He turned, and a darkly clothed arm reached out, drawing Asclepius into his hold. She relented, sliding her arms around his waist and laying her head on his chest, fitting neatly beneath his chin. The apprehension that had gripped him mercilessly finally felt free to release itself.

 

“I'm still going to fight, you know,” she informed him after a moment of silence, voice muffled.

 

He grinned. “I know.”

 

“But I'll be more careful. I'd hate for your worry lines to get any deeper.”

 

The urge to laugh rose up within him, and he allowed himself a chuckle, knowing that she was intentionally teasing him. “Good.”

 

She fell quiet then, contemplative even. Despite all that was going on in Gaia, it was a moment of peace for them, the worries of the battle past and battle to come all but faded. It was fleeting at best but cherished nonetheless.

 

“Ne, Erebus?”

 

“Yes?”

 

Asclepius sighed, all notes of cheer gone from her voice. It was strangely uncharacteristic but not impossible considering recent events.

 

“What can I do for Ichigo? Is there any way to help Reeve?”

 

The older deity frowned. “I honestly do not know. If Seiryu does not know, then it stands that there may be nothing.” He paused in sudden consideration. “Fenrir has gone to ask Ma'at, not only for Reeve but for his animus, and Seiryu has sought out Hephaestion's guidance.”

 

“It just doesn't seem right,” Asclepius commented. “This all started between us, but it is the mortals who have the most to lose. Your animus is fated to either eternal loneliness or madness, whichever comes first, and Reeve and Zack might never wake up. We've already lost Raijin and the others on Balaam's side. The balance might never recover.” Her voice broke off suddenly as her body began to tremble.

 

Though he couldn't see her face, he knew that she was crying, evident by the shaking of her shoulders. “I don't know what to do, Erebus. He's in so much pain, and I can feel every ache. It hurts like something physical, as if someone had skewered me with a spear.”

 

Erebus swallowed thickly, understanding completely. Vincent was in similar agony, but Erebus was not as compassionate as Asclepius nor was Vincent's lover in a coma. Not to mention her bond with Reno was much too new for her to have learned how to block certain aspects of it. The emotional torment would be shared, and there was nothing he could do to ease the ache.

 

“I know,” he soothed softly, placing a hand on her hair, attempting to at least offer some comfort. “I know.”

 

- - -

 

Orthrus peered around the edge of the wall lining his garden, watching as his daughter and Erebus finally resolved their little argument. It wasn't so much that he was spying per se but curiosity and concern had compelled him to be nosy. And he didn't think that Asclepius would be too keen on knowing that her father was watching, so he had been forced to secretly peek out from the shadows. Dark eyes widened in slight surprise as he caught sight of them kissing, not having expected ever to see that.

 

Suddenly, arms wrapped around him from behind and warm lips pressed to his neck. The faint tingle of magic in the air was all the information he needed as to the identity of the embracer, and Orthrus shivered as he leaned into the hold, his eyes sliding closed of their own accord.

 

“You're eavesdropping,” Baal murmured into his ear, his breath a warm whisper across the other man's flesh.

 

Orthrus shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he defended his actions. “It is a father's right to ensure his daughter's safety,” he replied defensively, dropping one hand to rest on the arm settled around his waist.

 

The winged deity chuckled and placed his chin on his lover's shoulder, peering over him to spy on his adopted son and Asclepius. “He really cares for her,” he mused aloud, able to see the adoration shining in golden eyes, even from the distance.

 

“I know. The feeling is mutual.” Orthrus sighed, welcoming the subtle weight on his side. “Soon, she will not be mine to protect any longer.” A comforting thumb rubbed over his robe-draped belly, teasing him with intentions that Baal was not going to follow through with at the present moment.

 

“It is coming eventually, true,” Baal remarked. “But you will always be her father. Loving Erebus will not change that.”

 

The other deity made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat as he turned from the romantic scene between the younger deities in his garden. Baal automatically took that opportunity to draw him away and pin him against the outer wall. Clawed hands settled carefully on his hips as his lover's lips unerringly found Orthrus' sensitive throat.

 

He hummed contently. “There is little more we can do for them now… is that what you are implying, Baal?” he wondered aloud, having a difficult time maintaining coherent thought as trills of rising arousal trickled down his spine. Orthrus loosely draped his arms over Baal's shoulders, gently stroking a finger down the velvet webbing of one wing.

 

A warm tongue slid along the God of Magic's skin, trailing upwards until it found the sensitive hollow just beneath his left ear. “I meant no such thing,” Baal responded, his breath a moist puff in Orthrus' skin.

 

The pinned male shivered, his body recalling all too eagerly his lover's touch. A fanged grin followed, wondering if he would be able to convince Orthrus to return to the mansion with him.

 

“I am simply stating the inevitable truth,” Baal continued, tracing his tongue along the shell of the other male's ear. He shifted his hips forward in that moment, lightly grinding their pelvises together.

 

When Orthrus gasped, he quickly took advantage of the situation, claiming the older deity's mouth with a hasty, possessive movement. His tongue slid inside, swiping around and relishing the delicate favor. Orthrus' moaned lightly into the kiss, pressing closer together and sharing a bit of body warmth that always seemed hotter than normal.

 

Orthrus squirmed deliciously in his hold. “Baal, not here,” Orthrus finally managed to gasp out as Baal's mouth fell away, only to graze his teeth and moist lips along the sensitive portion of his neck. “Although, I am pleased to see you pulled from your earlier melancholy…” His words trailed off as Baal's arousing motions abruptly ceased, his claws unconsciously tightening in their hold.

 

Baal's forehead shifted then, moving to rest on Orthrus' collarbone as his wings twitched faintly behind him. A breeze wafted by, disturbing the strange silence and carrying on it the scent of flowers and brief snatches of conversation just behind them. Orthrus frowned, realizing that he had inadvertently ruined the mood.

 

“Baal?”

 

“I apologize, Orthrus,” the winged deity murmured quietly, shifting closer to him and sliding his arms entirely around the other male.

 

Orthrus tilted his head to the side, resting it against silken strands of dark hair. “I do not understand, nali'min(1). You have nothing to seek forgiveness for.”

 

“I do,” Baal insisted, finally lifting his head as looked into dark eyes, which still managed to captivate him every time. “For brooding over a past that does not matter and something that never was when I have my future right in front of me.”

 

Orthrus shook his head, a surge of emotion rising up inside of him at Baal's words. “Matters of the heart are not so easily pushed aside, even I know that. You are well aware of the times that I regret my own failings.” He smiled briefly, though the action did not reach his eyes. He rubbed a finger over the spot on Baal's back where his wings joined the pale flesh in a comforting motion.

 

“This battle will not be easy for any of us,” he continued, raising his gaze to the landscape outside the walls of his home. “My only consolation being that Raidne has already been defeated. I was lucky in that regards; I did not have to face her on the field of battle.”

 

“You may be even luckier,” Baal stated grimly. “If your other does not listen soon, you will not be able to join the battle at all.”

 

Orthrus sighed. “Unfortunately, you are right. And with the others pulling their power from the materia, our mortals are distinctly outnumbered. I am tempted to say it is near hopeless.”

 

“Do not say such things,” Baal chastised, and surprised by the passion in his voice, Orthrus returned his gaze to his lover, finding that his eyes burned with determination. “Balaam will fall. Even if it must be my hands alone.”

 

Even if it broke his heart just a little bit more on the inside… but that went unsaid.

 

Orthrus understood all too well. He was silent for a moment before shaking his head again.

 

“I was not being pessimistic, dear Baal, merely realistic.” His voice dropped, lower and more intimate. “You have nothing to prove to me.”

 

“I know,” Baal replied on a quiet sigh. “I know.” He dipped his head then, pressing their mouths together in a gentle kiss.

 

Orthrus relented, parting his lips to allow his lover's tongue to slip inside. He pulled Baal even closer, despite the fact that he was well aware that this was not the place to be engaging in such actions. He just wanted to be close to his lover for the moment. His own emotions were just as turmoiled, half of it an offshoot of what his animus was projecting, the other half his own fears and concerns. He didn't want to lose sight of what was important.

 

Baal's hands slid around to his back, pulling Orthrus closer and bringing their pelvises together in an arousing grind. The God of Magic gasped into the kiss, his blood stirring within his veins as gentle fangs nipped at his lips.

 

“How long until the Conclave,” Baal asked somewhat breathlessly.

 

Inwardly, Orthrus groaned at the reminder. It seemed they were always short on time.

 

“Not long enough,” he responded with some regret.

 

A clawed hand began to work its way inside his robes nevertheless. “I can be quick,” Baal assured him, sliding his palm across Orthrus' warm flesh.

 

Onyx eyes darkened with lust as his eyelids shuttered closed, unable to even bring up a protest. Instead, Orthrus dipped his head forward and curled his tongue around the shell of Baal's ears, nibbling on the erogenous zone that he had come to know well since they had become lovers. Wings seemed to shudder with approval, and he was about to continue, when the sudden sound of someone clearing their throat made him freeze in utter shock.

 

Orthrus' eyes popped open, only to find both Asclepius and Erebus standing a few feet away. His daughter looked amused, a vaguely reprimanding look on her face as she stood with both hands on her hips. Erebus, however, seemed slightly embarrassed and was looking anywhere but at the two of them. Orthrus automatically felt himself flush to the roots of his hairs, despite the fact that he was far too old for such responses.

 

“Here I was thinking that you had come to make sure we were not missing the meeting, and yet, I find you necking like two horny mortal teenagers,” Asclepius stated in faintly bemused tone. She shook her head, though the twitching of the corner of her mouth belied her delight.

 

With one parting nip to the soft flesh before him, Baal extracted himself with much reluctance. “I know for a fact your father taught you respect to your elders,” he replied, not at all discomfited by their presence as he turned around. His gaze flickered to his adopted son, who had yet to look at him, before briefly registering on his lover.

 

Really, it was almost too cute.

 

“I take it back, Erebus,” Baal replied, humor etched into his expression. “It appears one never gets too old to be embarrassed.” He snuck a glance at Orthrus, who had put a hand up to his face and groaned aloud.

 

“Really, Baal. You are worse than the younger ones sometimes,” the God of Magic intoned, shaking his head.

 

Asclepius chuckled. “I would take offense to that if I hadn't just caught you two spying on us,” she teased, throwing an amused look at Erebus. “I should have known.”

 

“We weren't spying,” Orthrus interjected hastily, his hands falling down to his sides as he eyed his lover. “Right?”

 

Bemused, Baal shook his head. “He was spying,” he explained, gesturing towards the older deity. “I, however, was trying to convince him to return to the manor.”

 

“Baal!” Orthrus exclaimed, wishing he could put a muzzle over him sometimes. “Have you no discretion?” His face burned; he could feel it.

 

“Really, Father,” Erebus inserted, shaking his head in disbelief. “There are some things I don't want to know.”

 

Asclepius bounced on the heels of her feet, reaching around to lightly punch her friend on the arm. “I think it's cute,” she countered before winking. “Actually, the both of you are. Especially when you blush.”

 

Baal chuckled, opening his mouth to respond when suddenly a trumpet sounded from somewhere in the distance. The clarion call was clearly a summons, immediately informing the four that there was somewhere they needed to be. Their eyes swiveled towards the setting light, a frown marring Orthrus' rather youthful expression.

 

“We are going to be late,” he murmured, shooting a disproving glance to his lover. “The animus have already begun their meeting; it is time that we attend ours.”

 

- - -

 

Outside the meeting room, Sephiroth was intercepted by Elmyra who managed to detach Denzel from him… but not without a large measure of difficulty. A meeting to discuss battle was no place for the child, and after promising to visit as soon as it was over, Denzel reluctantly allowed himself to be led away. He watched the boy go before sighing and pushing open the door, finding that he was the last to enter.

 

Within, seven pairs of eyes instantly centered on him as the hushed conversation completely fell silent. Only seven, he noted grimly. Compared to the eleven of their previous meeting, seven might not seem like such a loss, but in this war, he simply couldn't call for reinforcements. There were none. And even the loss of one person meant that there was someone in mourning. That someone had suffered the loss of a person they held dear.

 

These were the sobering thoughts that crossed through his mind the instant he took his seat, and beneath their expected looks, he tried not to quail. Inwardly, his mind was awhirl with questions and concerns. He had to fight down the urge to rush back to the infirmary and never leave Zack's side. It wasn't in his nature to give up and give in, but for one moment, he had actually contemplated doing so.

 

Closing his eyes for a moment, just to regain control of everything that was spiraling out of his command, Sephiroth took a deep breath. It didn't do much for the shuddery, quaking feeling inside of him, but it gave the appearance that he was ready. That was all that mattered.

 

He opened his eyes, sweeping it over those gathered, who were expectantly waiting for him to speak. He cleared his throat noisily as he centered his gaze on the two who had been present in the city.

 

“What happened in Midgar?” he asked, jumping right into business.

 

Barret and Rude exchanged glances, but it was the former AVALANCHE leader who responded. “Balaam and his fuckin' cronies attacked,” Barret explained. “That's what happened. Cloud died trying to keep them away from Denzel.”

 

Sephiroth inwardly flinched at the man's tone of voice. There was accusation in there, as well as a certain measure of bitterness that he could not miss.

 

“What kind of forces did he have?”

 

“I suspect his entire army,” Rude inserted.

 

Elena shook her head, looking very wan and bedraggled. “Not all of it,” she interjected, her voice sounding dull. “Do not forget that he razed Icicle to the ground. If there are any survivors, they have nowhere to return.” Her gaze remained locked on the table, and her clothes were rumpled, some blood still spattered on them, as if she hadn't the time to do more than wipe off what she could.

 

The former General leaned back in his chair, frowning in contemplation. “And most of what we encountered at Barrier Island were regular monsters. Altered perhaps and obviously experimental, but few demi-deities. I think we fought eight at the most.”

 

“Not to mention the broken materia,” Archer commented, thinking back to the battle. He had tried to use a Fire spell, but the materia had cracked clear down the middle without a single cast.

 

Rude raised a brow, unable to keep his usual silence. “Broken materia?”

 

“Yes.” Sephiroth nodded, recalling the brief conversation he had scarcely listened to in the short and quick ride from the Lost Grounds to Fort Condor. “I don't know why, but some of our materia simply will not work anymore. Such as Lightning and Fire.”

 

Elena sucked in a sharp breath, her hand fluttering to her chest. “Lightning?” she questioned softly, almost timidly before raising her gaze to Sephiroth. “You said Lightning?”

 

“It didn't crack like the others. Instead, it grew dim and refused to cast not long after the battle with Byakko was won,” Nanaki explained. He reached for his armlet, plucking out the green materia and placing it on the table. It rolled lightly before coming to a stop, all eyes centered on the small sphere.

 

There seemed to be only the dimmest glimmer of light flickering within, barely noticeable to even the sharpest of eyes. Certainly, the aura of power usually exuded by the materia was absent. For all intents and purposes, it seemed… dead.

 

In response, Archer reached into his pocket and pulled out what remained of his Fire, placing the shattered pieces on the table as well. The sphere had broken into four shards, each portion splintered across the glossy surface in a spidery fracture.

 

“Raijin,” Elena whispered in understanding, reaching out and sliding her finger across the darkened materia. “He once told me that he was the Patron God of the Air and Lightning and that his power was lent to the Bolt materia.” She paused, picking up the small sphere and rolling it between her fingers, saddened brown eyes fixed on it. “It was a long explanation… and I didn't pay much attention, but he said that if he was ever destroyed and not just sent back to Elysium, then all that remained of his power would be contained in the materia. No more could ever be made from the Lifestream alone until another was born with similar abilities.”

 

Silence swept over the table as the others considered her words. The implications were worrisome. Sephiroth wondered what would happen if other deities lost their lives as well.

 

“It was a trap then,” Vincent inserted, briefly rubbing a hand across his forehead. “There is no other explanation. The person we mistook for Balaam was definitely not him.”

 

Mossy eyes flickered to the older man. “You know this for sure?” Sephiroth asked.

 

The former Turk nodded. “I can still feel him, and the pieces of his power that remain as well. I think that he is behind the dream, which led me to remember the Lost Grounds.” He paused, staring down at the table. “It is much too convenient otherwise.”

 

“Do you know where he is?” Tseng asked, sitting forward in his seat. There was a frown marring his face, and he seemed distracted, which made sense considering one of his close friends was in a coma in the hospital.

 

Vincent shook his head, gaze falling to the table. “No, I don't. It is just like before.”

 

Across the table, Sephiroth sighed, the urge to pinch his nose in frustration rising up strongly within him. At that moment, he dearly missed Cloud's presence. Although the arguments had not begun, he suspected they would eventually, what with Barret and his increasingly stormy expression. The former General admitted he felt a bit at a loss, uncertain what to do about the man's death, Zack's injury, and his own lingering feelings of failure and inadequacy.

 

He exhaled sharply again before turning his gaze towards Elena. “Why did you go to Icicle?” he questioned, hating how reprimanding his tone sounded. “Didn't I leave instructions not to leave Midgar?”

 

“Excuse me for not wanting to leave them to their deaths!” she hissed in return, eyes flashing. “And neither did Reeve.”

 

“And look where it got you,” Sephiroth countered, already sensing his irritation welling up, his usual unruffled demeanor absent. “Tuesti is in a coma, the ninja is injured, and Icicle was destroyed.” He gestured vaguely in the direction that Midgar once lay, to the North of Fort Condor. “Midgar is now little more than a heap of rubble.”

 

Nanaki frowned, not liking the extremely tense atmosphere. “You cannot blame that on their choice alone,” he inserted quickly. “Maybe it was a trap. Maybe it was all Balaam's clever ploy, but still…” He paused, shaking his head as he tapped a finger on the table. “I would have done the same. It is not in our nature to simply leave the innocent to their fate.”

 

“Yeah!” Barret cut in, snorting loudly. “If it's anyone's fault, it's your own fer comin' up with that damn fool plan!” he added, shooting Sephiroth an annoyed look.

 

He finally gave into the urge and pinched the bridge of his nose, an unsettling feeling fluttering in his belly. That was what he had feared… he was to blame after all. It had been his plan, his leadership, his mistakes. Now, the blood was on his hands, the failure on his conscience.

 

“That is not the issue right now,” Sephiroth stated calmly, trying to quell the potential dispute before it even began. His body began to tremble without his knowledge. “What is important is that we figure out where Balaam is now. The question of how remains--”

 

A fist slammed into the table before he had even finished the last of his words, Barret's low growl echoing. “It's easy to push it aside when the blame's on you, isn't it?” he sneered. “Well, Cloud's dead, Hojo Junior. And I'm blamin' you.”

 

An icy feeling flooded Sephiroth's chest, and it was only through his intense self-control that he managed to refrain from showing his sudden surge of emotion.

 

“It wasn't my hand that killed him,” he disagreed, feeling as if his argument fell short and his words rang hollow. It was his fault; there was no turning around it.

 

The plan had been his, the leadership on his shoulders. Their lives, their trust had been in his hands, and he had failed. He had failed Cloud; he had failed Zack… He had failed everyone.

 

His gaze dropped to the table, a severe jerking and twisting in his belly filling him with nausea. His hands clenched beneath the table before he knew what he was doing.

 

“I didn't mean--”

 

“No, ya didn't,” Barret spat, jerking to his feet and causing his chair to scrape backwards so quickly that it slammed into the wall behind it. “No'ne in ShinRa ever means it. You're just like yer damn father, ain't worth nothin'.”

 

A failure! You are worth nothing to me!

 

Sephiroth jerked to his feet, a cold fire screeching through his veins so quickly it felt as if he had been set ablaze. “I'm nothing like my father!” he snarled, rage surging through his entire body. It turned into a white-hot fire as memories, far too many memories, which he would rather forget, started flashing through his mind.

 

Pain, so much pain, too much pain ripping through his body; screams torn from his throat but falling silent before they passed from his lips. He couldn't cry; he wouldn't cry. That only made it worse. It only meant he was weaker, even more of a failure. That his father would hate him even more.

 

It meant he was only useful for that other pain, the other agony that he couldn't escape. Sephiroth swallowed down his pain, the torture, and the flames across his body. The mako bath was like raging torment that he couldn't escape.

 

Ten years old… and he already knew the meaning of the word despair. If such an emotion hadn't previously been beaten out of him. Burned out of him. Trained and taught out of his mind.

 

And they were there every time he turned around. Every time he woke up. His tears burned at the back of his lids, but they did not fall. His body shook and wracked with unshed sobs, pain lancing through him, but he didn't utter a sound.

 

Sephiroth was sure that man liked it that way.

 

He couldn't fight back, wasn't allowed to do so. This was training… or so he had been told. You will be stronger. You will be my perfect little creation, the perfect soldier. He didn't even allow himself to cry at night when he was alone, curled up into the lonely cot, wishing for someone to save him.

 

Sometimes, he even wished for death…

 

A cold fear had tingled across Vincent's skin the moment that Sephiroth jerked to his feet, screaming in a voice that hadn't sounded his own. His heart leapt in his chest when eyes that had been a beautiful stone-green, now flashed mako jade, pupils oscillating. Sudden understanding clicked when a strange flame licked across the former General's skin at the same moment that he paled so deeply; he almost appeared to become a ghost.

 

Vincent rose to his feet, refusing to take his eyes off of the trembling Sephiroth. And the man's fingers clenched into the tabletop, as if it were the only thing holding him together.

 

“What the hell…?” Archer breathed, eyes going wide as he scooted back in his chair, gaze flickering to Barret. “What did you say to him?”

 

The dark-skinned man shook his head violently, backing away from the former General. “I told ya we never should have trusted him! Man's gone fuckin' whacked.”

 

“Get out!” Vincent hollered, slicing a hand through the air. “All of you! Get out now!” His voice echoed around the small conference room.

 

Six pairs of stunned eyes turned towards him, staring in stupefaction. He growled irritably, slamming his palm into the table and causing Elena to jump in her seat.

 

“Have you grown deaf? Get the fuck out!”

 

His uncharacteristic shout was enough to spur them to action. Rude was the first to the door, accustomed to obeying orders, and taking one look at Sephiroth, whose face was twisted unnaturally, Barret was quick to follow.

 

More flames licked across Sephiroth's pale flesh, green in nature and very similar to an Ultima spell. Gasping in surprise, Elena backed towards the door, cutting her eyes at Vincent before deciding he was the best to make the decision. Of course, she was helped along by Archer, who half-dragged her out.

 

Only Tseng remained, sweating profusely as he gripped tightly to the table. None of his barriers, none of his shields were strong enough for the emotions Sephiroth was projecting.

 

Pain, regret, self-revile, guilt, shame…

 

All of it flooded out of the man in palpable waves, which Tseng couldn't block. They pulsed at his mind, throbbing through his brain so violently that he had sucked in a sharp breath.

 

Yet, Vincent paid him no mind. With the others gone, he finally circled around the table, slowly approaching Sephiroth, who had yet to move. He couldn't deny that a small treble of fear rose within him, especially when he saw madness reflected in Sephiroth's eyes. But he also knew that if his instincts were correct, then he had to somehow stop the former General before it was too late.

 

For what, he didn't know.

 

Suddenly, Sephiroth let out a snarl of rage, swiveling his maddened gaze towards Vincent. Emerald flames raced across his body, screeching towards his hand as Sephiroth's fingers clenched into an angry fist. He whirled towards the former Turk.

 

“Sephiroth,” Vincent attempted, but there was no sign of recognition. Gritting his teeth, the gunman took a step forward, trying again. “Sephiroth!”

The former General lunged without preamble, and Vincent twisted his body to the side, barely missing the man's quick movements. However, Sephiroth quickly spun on his heels, a fist flying out only to be caught by Vincent's golden claw. A growl emanated from Sephiroth's throat before he lashed out with his leg, Vincent barely turning to the side in enough time to avoid it.

 

He yanked on Sephiroth's arm, throwing the disorientated man off balance. He quickly latched onto him, trying to pin Sephiroth's arms to the sides as he mentally reviewed his materia. As the former General struggled in his hold, an almost desperate edge to his movements, Vincent quickly whispered a Sleep.

 

Only to have it fail.

 

A quick glance informed him that the materia was working, but Sephiroth's armlet prevented it from taking effect. Yet, Vincent couldn't get it off the man on his own.

 

His eyes flickered to the only other person in the room.

 

“Tseng!” he barked before suddenly gasping when an elbow jerked into his belly. He stumbled backwards, a cough escaping his lips as stars danced in his eyes for a brief moment.

 

A weight barreled into him, knocking him into a nearby wall, and only his quick reflexes saved him from the fingers wrapping around his neck. He grabbed Sephiroth's hand before it could reach him, twisting it towards him. That forced the former General towards him, even as another hand aimed a hit to his head.

 

Vincent ducked to the side, nimbly avoiding the blow. Slitted jade eyes flashed in a dangerous fashion as Vincent surged forward, sending the both of them careening to the floor.

 

He was lucky. If Sephiroth hadn't already been half out of his mind and disorientated, he would not be able to come out top.

 

After wrestling around for a few tense seconds, Vincent finally grabbed the man's arms and pinned them to the ground. He snapped his head up, finding that Tseng was staring at the two of them in horror, visibly shaking.

 

Cursing under his breath, Vincent glared. “Tseng, you have to pull off his armlet before I can cast Sleep!” he snapped, wondering why in the hell the usually unflappable man was suddenly deciding to be absolutely useless.

 

He received no response.

 

“TSENG!”

 

Silver eyes blinked before the Turk seemed to respond. He nodded once and quickly knelt at Sephiroth's side. The former General thrashed beneath Vincent, a strange look gleaming in his eyes and more flame racing across his skin, miraculously not burning anything.

 

He was beginning to mumble as well, words that made very little sense, but they reminded Vincent all too eerily of the time Cid had described to him when Chaos had tried to break free from him. As if his memories were attacking him one right after the other.

 

With a start, Vincent remembered all too clearly what memories had caused that reaction with him.

 

But in that moment, Tseng yanked off the armlet, and without pause, Vincent followed it up with a cast of Sleep, grateful when it took immediate effect. Sephiroth slumped beneath him, eyes shuttering closed.

 

Vincent sighed, shifting his body to the side, where he slumped against the wall. Beside him, Tseng stared, scraping a shaky hand through his hair. Grey eyes fell on the unconscious man, an uncertain, nauseating feeling settling in his belly.

 

What had Hojo done to his son?

 

“What happened?” Tseng asked, after a moment of silence.

 

Vincent shook his head. “I don't know. I honestly don't know.” He sighed, finding that his body was shaking without him even realizing. “Can you help me move him to a bed?”

 

“Bed?” the other man repeated somewhat dumbly.

 

“Yes, a bed,” Vincent replied somewhat shortly before eying the Turk Commander with some concern. “What is the matter with you?”

 

Tseng rose to his feet, brushing nonexistent fuzz off of his clothing. “Nothing.” He paused as he frowned. “I believe there are sleeping quarters just down the hall.”

 

Vincent's gaze flickered between Sephiroth and Tseng for a moment. He was certain something was going on that he didn't know about. However, he simply sighed and stood.

 

“Very well then.”

 

- - -