Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Shattered Dreams ❯ Unbreakable ( Chapter 71 )

Warning: This chapter is very fast-paced. Just a warning. The final battle consists of about twenty different people fighting each other so... be prepared for rapid conflict.

 

Chapter 71: Unbreakable

Sephiroth tumbled across the ground, slipping and sliding in the mire. Rain eclipsed his vision before he finally ceased, sprawling ungracefully across the ground. A large form, several times heavier than his own leapt atop his chest. It was a strange, slavering creature that he had no hopes of beginning to describe. Talons and teeth seemed to be everywhere.

 

A fanged mouth snapped at Sephiroth's neck and he punched the maw with his fist. He writhed beneath the beast, desperate for escape. His free hand groped for his sword, only to realize with startling horror that he was laying on most of the blade - the only problem with wielding a long weapon. He had only his fists, it seemed.

Sephiroth snarled and punched the monster again as claws dug into his shoulders, strong enough to slice through his clothes. Blood seeped out, the wounds stinging but nothing compared to the taloned foot that slashed him across the belly. Sephiroth grunted before wrapping his fingers around the snapping muzzle, protecting his delicate throat.

 

He clamped the mouth shut as he violently twisted his body, shoving the beast to the side. He managed to free himself from the creature's weight and quickly sprinted to a crouching position. In one smooth motion, Sephiroth had wrapped one hand around his bleeding abdomen and drawn his sword, leveling it at the beast.

 

The monster rose to his feet a short distance away, allowing Sephiroth to get a good look at its ugly form. Six legs, much like a canine's except covered in dusky scales, lined its body. It held four milky white eyes and obvious poison seeped from its fangs, sticky saliva dripping to the ground and dripping like acid. The creature filled Sephiroth with horror, reminding him all too eerily of the monsters of Hojo's laboratory. Memories he had hoped to bury threatened to rise again.

 

“Doomtrain, the god of disaster,” Gilgamesh murmured, stepping out of the mist and appearing at Sephiroth's side. “He is a deity of pure instinct. Do not be fooled into believing you are facing only one enemy.”

 

The former General's brow furrowed. “What?” he panted, a cure already pouring from his fingers. It was only low-level but it sealed up the wound on his belly, leaving nothing but a faint, pinkish scar. He knew it would eventually heal completely however, thanks to all of the accursed substances running through his system.

 

He didn't know what all Hojo had injected into his body and when he had been reborn, it hadn't been removed. Sephiroth wasn't sure if he was supposed to hate that part of him or be grateful for the extra strength it afforded him. Either way, the truth of the matter was that he hadn't a scar on him, anywhere on his body.

 

He would like to be arrogant enough to believe it was because he was so skilled no one could ever touch him. No matter what he had suffered in the past, even if he couldn't exactly remember, no matter his pain or the agony, his body bore no marks. Nevertheless, Sephiroth had always felt broken.

 

Gilgamesh never had a chance to respond as the beast shimmered in front of them, appearing to break apart. Doomtrain split until there was two... then four... and then finally eight copies of the same hideous creature. Each seemed as real as the original, down to the dripping acidic saliva that hissed on the mud spattered ground.

 

His anima sighed and drew three of his blades, preparing for battle. “Do not let any of them bite you or you will be cursed with Doom,” Gilgamesh warned. “Only Ma'at or Hephaestion can heal of you his bite, neither of which are here,” he finished before placing the hilt of the third blade between his teeth and dropping into a battle stance.

 

Mossy green eyes narrowed. “Duly noted,” Sephiroth muttered and he suddenly sprinted backwards, avoiding the abrupt pounce of two of the monsters. They landed in the exact spot he had vacated, the ground beneath them splintering and cracking beneath their feet. Some of the rocks turned to dust.

 

Sephiroth's feet hit the mud and his boots slid in the slick substance. He fought to regain his balance, one leg falling back only to twist on a rock. He nearly tumbled to the ground before he salvaged the movement. Confusion filled his mind. He was not normally a clumsy man.

 

Yet, he had no more time to consider the strangeness of the situation. The two beasts pounced again, mouths agape and fangs gleaming. Sephiroth quickly withdrew his sword, his blade whipping through the air. One attack was blocked by the weapon as his other hand twitched with the summoning of one of the few working materia in his arsenal - Gravity.

The beast on the left howled when its body was torn apart, pulled in a thousand different directions from the force of the spell. It sputtered and growled, blood pouring to the ground in its death throes. Sephiroth hacked at the other opponent, nimbly dodging a violent pounce.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Gilgamesh had already hacked three of the canine-like creatures to pieces. They did not dissolve as he had suspected however, leading him to believe that they probably had to defeat all of the beasts in order to destroy Doomtrain. Either that, or the others were merely existent copies and they had to slay the true Doomtrain.

 

Sephiroth's senses prickled, alerting him to danger and he threw himself to the side with blinding speed, a gift of his bond. He barely avoided the poisonous maws of a third copy, which had snuck up behind him in his moment of distraction. Angrily, he sliced through the beast he had already struck before whirling around to face the last, a snarl pulling at his lips. His fingers clenched tightly around his sword.

 

Squaring his shoulders, Sephiroth flash-stepped across the field, a wonderful little ability granted to him by his bond with Gilgamesh. In a second, he was behind the slavering beast, his blade whipping through the air. He smoothly sliced through the Doomtrain clone, blood spraying into the air that he nimbly avoided. As that beast fell to the ground, he quickly whirled around, searching the battlefield. Yet, in the mist he could see nothing.

 

Then something flew out of the fog, heading straight for him. He leapt backwards, feet slipping slightly in the mud as something plopped to the ground in front of him, twitching visibly. A glance later informed him that it was another Doomtrain, only this one shuddered before dissolving into nothing but faint grey ash.

 

A sneer leapt onto the former General's face, knowing that Gilgamesh had been the one to throw the beast at him. He glared as his anima stepped out of the mist, sliding the last of his three blades back into one of his sheaths.

 

“Point me in the direction of the others, show off,” Sephiroth demanded a bit cursorily. He was still rather irritated by the secrets that had been kept from him.

 

Gilgamesh wordlessly raised one hand and pointed, vaguely to the east. Sephiroth nodded and started in that direction, allowing the rain to sluice the blood from his sword. His mind instantly turned to the others, wondering how they were faring. Nanaki and Reno had run off into the mist alone and he had sent Tseng after Apocalptyo. He wondered if the Turk had succeeded.

 

- - - - -

Vincent stared at Balaam and his cronies, wondering if there was anything left that the demi-deity had to throw at them. Five immortal opponents against their meager numbers was not going to be easy. Yet, before Vincent could even say anything, Balaam's attention was no longer on him. Instead, the Chaos deity's eyes flickered past him, centering directly on both Erebus and Baal standing at the former Turk's side.

 

“The traitors show their faces,” Balaam hissed derisively, one clawed hand twitching at his side as if eager to begin the battle. “I relish this chance to return the favor.”

 

Deep purple eyes were filled with remorse, wavering slightly in the face of the hardest decision he had ever made in his entire existence. “I was trying to save you, not betray you,” Baal responded, shaking his head. “You were--”

 

“Don't lie to save face in front of your animus!” Balaam interrupted with a snarl. At his side, Cactuar tittered and started forward, yellowish face and beady eyes gleaming with the urge to attack. Yet, Balaam shot him a glare, ordering him to stay his hand.

 

“He's not lying!” Erebus argued, slashing a hand through the air. He took a step forward. “What you're doing is wrong, Balaam!”

 

Dark eyes widened, Balaam visibly recoiling as if someone had physically struck him before his visage hardened. “You call me Father, son,” he growled, wings twitching irritably.

 

“I call you nothing,” the underworld deity hissed in return. “You abandoned Mother and I for your own selfish reason. The only father I need is standing right beside me.” He gestured sharply towards Baal, not knowing how that filled Baal with both pride and regret.

 

It was the worst of things he could have done. He had turned his back on the deity he had wished to claim as his very best friend, the deity he had loved, to do what he felt needed to be done. Instead of staying by his side, he had fought against him. And then worse, he had stolen his son from him in the dead of the night without so much as a goodbye. There was no worse transgression than to be both thief and traitor, at least, not in Baal's eyes. He did not deserve the honor of Erebus calling him `dad'.

 

If there were anything anyone could have said to invoke Balaam's wrath, those would have been the words. The Chaos deity literally shook with rage as his eyes narrowed accusingly at Baal. “You even took my son from me,” he muttered in a low, dangerous voice. It sounded like a promise, a promise to exact revenge.

 

Balaam took a violent step backwards, beyond the line of deities he had amassed. Gesturing towards them, his lips curled back over his fangs. “Destroy them.”

 

All hell broke loose.

 

Cactuar tittered and darted forward with glee, a sharp and shrill whistling noise spilling from his lips. The ground shuddered and shook as his brethren started to rise from the ground, jumping from beneath the surface and charging at the companions. They were smaller, but equally fast and powerful.

 

To Cactuar's left, the brothers surged to the fore. Minotaur swung a huge axe, cleaving the air in front of him and forcing Vincent and the rest of the party to scatter to avoid the blow. Behind him, Sacred slammed a fist into the ground. Shockwaves of energy not unlike Zack's attack caused the earth to crack; flying rocks careened into the air and became sharp projectiles.

 

Ifrit sprang into the air, chuckling darkly as he twisted and turned. Fireballs sprayed from his fingers in a wide arc, not even aiming just randomly striking the ground and narrowly missing the companions. He threw them in all directions as he charged forward, attacking from above.

 

“I'm going to enjoy this!” Ifrit shouted, flames dancing on the end of his clawed fingertips.

 

Around him, the others scattered. Vincent took a step backwards, his gun instantly raised. In an instant, he had taken out several of the smaller cactuars but there were even more surging forward, a prickly tide of foes. His fingers squeezed the trigger again, releasing a spray of bullets until a sudden fear of danger surged through his senses.

 

Baal abruptly dove in front of the gunman, wings fully flexed as a dark hole sprang to life. The fireball that had been careening Vincent's direction was immediately swallowed, disappearing into the void. Before the former Turk could even voice his appreciation, Baal was gone again, intercepting the two minotaur brothers who were heading this way.

 

Vincent turned, only to come face to face with the gaping, fiery expression of Ifrit himself. Immediately, he raised his gun, his own facade hardening into his Turk battle fury. On the edge of his senses, it became clear that all around was chaos, the battle proceeding with little organization. And Balaam merely watched from the background, content to enjoy what he believed to be a soon victory.

 

Chains sprouted from the ground, some even appearing from thin air as they were directed by Erebus, the underworld deity struggling against his fleet-footed foe. Cactuar was a much older deity, more learned in the ways of combat and even faster in movement. Erebus was having a difficult time keeping up with his intricate actions and his attire showed it.

 

Slash marks were visible in the dark fabric, long and ragged, giving off a very tattered appearance. He was breathing heavily with exertion, the metal chains clanking and clinging as they struggled to bind Cactuar's speed.

 

The other deity tittered and laughed, skidding through the mud and suddenly stopping his agile movements. He threw his hands out to the side and before Erebus could even comprehend the purpose, a thousand stinging needles were flying through the air at him. Acting quickly, he twirled his scythe in front of him, creating a shield of swords that blocked a good number of the barrage, sending them careening away. Yet, a few managed to break through his defenses, clipping his left shoulder, right temple and right leg.

 

Erebus hissed in pain, feeling blood immediately well up from the most likely poisoned thorns and gritted his teeth, narrowing angered, golden eyes. Cactuar only continued to titter, his rapidly moving feet stirring up clods of wetted soil. Above them, the sky clashed and continued to pour. It was truly miserable weather.

 

A shape flitted past Erebus, moving far quicker than he could comprehend and it was only with belated understanding that he realized it was ally and not enemy. Archer sprinted forward, flitting through the shorter cactus enemies, his hand briefly touching one before he moved on. Each that felt his fingers instantly grew mottled with poison, body seizing up and falling to the ground in convulsions. Above them all, Tiamat sprang into the air, transforming into her supine, dragon body mid-flight. Slitted, serpentine eyes set their attention on the wind goddess, Pandemona.

 

The two female demi-deities clashed mid-air, Tiamat's sharp talons aiming for Pandemona's tender belly. The other deity blew a great gust of wind, snapping the dragon's wings back and attempting to throw off her flight. Yet, Tiamat had already grasped onto the wind deity and now clung with stubborn tenacity, drawing deep wounds. Poison spread from her scaled touch, instantly weakening the deity.

 

Pandemona screeched. “Let go of me, hag!” she demanded. “It's because of you that my brother's gone!” Her words echoed harshly as she summoned up a great storm, thunder booming so close to them that it nearly deafened the dragon goddess' sensitive hearing.

 

Yet, she refused to release her hold. Trying to shake off the rattling in her ears, Tiamat snapped her fangs at Pandemona, attempting to draw blood. Acting with intelligence, the other deity kept her delicate face and neck far from Tiamat's deadly reach. Though the slither of poison through her body was distinctly unpleasant. A faint tingling of pain was beginning to radiate through her nerves as her grip grew weaker and weaker.

 

“If you had not begun this ridiculous war, no lives would have been lost,” Tiamat countered as they continued to grapple in mid-air, only their combined magic keeping them aloft.

 

Pandemona blew an unladylike noise from her mouth. “Silence,” she hissed, fingers tightening where they gripped onto the lady dragon. She moved her grasp, switching to the tender joints of wing and back. “I'll hear nothing of your lives. The faithful would claim anything to prove their justice.”

 

She viciously wrenched away from the dragoness, her fingers crudely wrenching on a delicate wing bone. Tiamat crooned in agony as she whipped up her foreleg and tore a huge gash in Pandemona's right leg, blood raining to the ground in a macabre, scarlet flood. In a flash, the two had separated to regroup and assess the damage, barely noticing the vicious battling beneath them.

 

A bullet of darkness and fire burst into the air, spilling a black flame down onto the deity of Fire. Another quickly followed as Vincent sprayed more and more of his ammunition in Ifrit's direction. Yet another perk of being bonded, his bullets automatically converted before they even left the barrel of his gun. He was also able to blend with the darkness, a useful skill, but essentially ineffective in the current situation.

 

His boots slid through the mud as he darted and ducked, unable to get a firm traction in the slippery soil. A fireball exploded to the left, throwing him off course and causing him to flip backwards to avoid it, squeezing off another shot as he did so. Ifrit barely managed to outmaneuver the bullet, it exploding ineffectually over his head.

 

“Heh, heh, heh, foolish mortal,” Ifrit taunted, flame practically spewing from its fanged mouth. “You cannot harm me with your puny bullets.”

 

It was with much disgust that Vincent realized the deity was all too correct. But he wasn't about to give in nor respond to Ifrit's taunt either. It was beneath him.

Instead, he fired another round and skillfully moved to avoid the spray of fireballs heading his direction. A well-cast Shield protected him from most of the damage when one slipped through his defenses.

 

Ifrit snarled and darted forward, leaving rings of dried out and crusted soil in his wake. Vincent prepared for the assault, his clawed hand twitching at his side. Suddenly, Ifrit reared mid-step and growled, thrashing about wildly. Vincent was confused until he caught sight of Archer, grinning like some damn fool and clinging tenaciously to the deity's back. Fingers dug into a hairy hide as poison seeped from his skin, immediately soaking into Ifrit's bloodstream.

 

“Take that,” Archer hissed, though there was a slight hint of mischief in his tone. He wasn't one to be daunted by a bit of battle.

 

Ifrit growled and swung his body about, hunching over before throwing his arms back with a wide surge of strength. Archer went flying from his back, dislodged by the move, and landed with a wet snap in a muddy puddle. A quick glance by grey eyes and Vincent was assured of Archer's health before returning his attention to the battle. In the distraction, he squeezed off a round, managing to catch Ifrit in one of his massive shoulders. The fire deity roared and darted towards him, tired of playing games.

 

Unbeknownst to the gunman, Balaam was finally tiring of merely watching the battle taking place. He licked his lips in anticipation as he thrust a clawed hand to the side, a gleaming pole arm swirling to existence in his grip. With a malicious grin, he stalked towards the fight and by proxy Vincent, his hatred for his former host greater than his anger towards those he had deemed traitors. The ex-Turk didn't even notice his advance, too involved in nimbly avoiding the sharp swipes of Ifrit's claws.

 

A short distance away, shaking the mud from his body and trying to blink the cascading rain from his eyes, Archer slowly rose to his feet. He coughed, ribs aching from the harsh slap into the unforgiving ground. Amethyst eyes raked the battlefield, only to realize Balaam's intentions with stark horror.

 

“Vincent! Look out!” Without even thinking, the engineer thrust himself to his feet, sprinting so quickly across the battlefield that for a moment he almost thought he was flying. His labrys flew into his hand as he skidded in between the gunman and the deity, at the very last second parrying the attack of the dual-bladed polearm. The metal met with a fierce clang, the sheer strength reverberating into his arms and making them go immediately numb.

 

He stared into angry dark eyes seconds before pain, sharp and agonizing raked down his chest, immediately covering him in a wash of warmth. Blood sprayed into the air.

 

“Archer!”

 

Vincent called his name, Kyle dimly realized as he gasped, feeling as if someone had stolen his very breath. He must have successfully alerted the ex-Turk to the back attack. Then something exploded in front of the engineer, both bright and dark at the same time, driving Balaam a short distance backwards as Archer sank to his knees. Weakness spread through his entire body and he faintly comprehended that he might very well be seriously injured.

 

Yet, he couldn't afford to die. Not while the battle still raged. “Don't worry about me!” Archer ordered, already groping around with his unnumbed hand for his dropped weapon.

 

Balaam laughed, the paltry bullet not enough to affect him. “Your attempts are really quite pathetic.” He sneered viciously, less amused and more annoyed. “Why Kami lets you mortals have freedom I'll never understand,” he commented before violently kicking Archer in the face.

 

The engineer went crashing backwards, unable to defend from the attack, his grip on the labrys lost completely. He slid across the mud before sprawling, falling unconscious. Blood streamed from his broken nose.

 

Balaam's dark gaze centered on Vincent, who was now attempting to divide his attention between both of his foes. Suddenly, his eyes widened and he sprinted to the side, danger flaring up his spine. His wings aided his movement as he barely avoided the vicious slice of one of Gilgamesh's swords.

 

“I have only myself to blame for your actions,” the older deity hissed, beginning to stalk towards his son with a blade ready in each hand. His once bright crimson cloak was nothing more than a tattered, mud-encrusted cloth. “I must be the one to stop you.”

 

The Chaos deity grew taut with anger. “You would even raise your blade to your own son?” he demanded with incredulity. “How the faithful have fallen!”

 

“Don't speak to me of propriety when you are trying to kill all those that ever loved you!” Gilgamesh snarled, springing forward. Not even the mud was a deterrent to his skilled feet. Father and son meat with a deadly clash, a brilliant sparkle of metal on metal that reverberated through the air.

 

Meanwhile, nearby to the familial duel, Vincent was slashing at Ifrit with his golden claw, just managing to catch the deity across the forearm and draw blood. Ifrit snarled and retaliated, shoving a hand filled with fire towards Vincent but the gunman was not waiting around to be struck.

 

He flipped backwards out of the way, ragged and dirtied grey cloak flaring out behind him. He squeezed the trigger as he did, an exploding darkness bullet clipping Ifrit through his left side. Something like poison but not nearly as debilitating began to spread through the wound. Vincent neatly landed but promptly slipped in the slick mud, barely managing to catch his balance.

 

Something went flying past him, the huge bulk quickly defining it as Minotaur, only for him to careen directly into Ifrit, knocking both deities to the ground and subsequently, a rather large puddle. Still somewhat reeling, Vincent quickly dropped to one knee, reacting on instinct alone. His fingers rapidly formed a sign of some unknown origin against the muddied ground.

 

It pulsed and throbbed upwards before rippling towards the collapsed demi-deities. Chains sprouted from the soil, clanking as they wrapped around them. Within seconds, the two were restrained.

 

Before Vincent could even begin to ponder on this, Baal appeared at his side, shoving one palm towards the captured enemies. A ball of dark energy gathered in his grip, swirling and crackling with shadowy force. When it had grown sufficient size within seconds, Baal shoved it towards them. It quickly enveloped the two demi-deities in a void of nothingness, twisting their bodies in unnatural ways.

 

It was both horrifying and amazing to watch until Minotaur and Ifrit dissolved into nothing, presumably returning to Elysium. With that taken care of, Baal offered a clawed hand down to his temporary animus and quickly hauled Vincent to his feet. The ex-Turk thought to voice his thanks when an abrupt and sudden strike of fear splintered down his spine.

 

He swung his gaze across the battlefield, catching sight of Erebus losing ground against Cactuar. Somehow he had gotten his back to a wall of prickly plants and had nowhere to maneuver. Vincent surged forward, with every intention of helping his animus against his foe, until Baal's arm gripped him by the shoulder pulling him back.

 

“What are you doing?” he demanded, whirling on the winged deity in the same moment that he rapidly reloaded the Hell Fire, popping bullets into the cartridges faster than he could count.

 

Baal merely shook his head. “Your aid is unnecessary for that battle,” he explained, dark purple eyes watching as Sephiroth joined Erebus against Cactuar, holding the swift-footed menace at bay long enough for the Underworld deity to get the upper hand. It was mere seconds before Cactuar was dissolving away into a greyish mist.

 

Vincent wrenched his shoulder from Baal's grip, irritated with the deity's seemingly cold order. His senses prickled.... he could still hear the sounds of battle, the unmistakable downpour of the rain and in spite of that, beneath it all, an eerie silence of his instincts that didn't speak well for their victory.

 

It was a silence only broken by the worried cry of “Archer!” from somewhere above them. Vincent and Baal immediately looked up, finding Tiamat shimmering as she glided to a landing beside her animus. Archer still lay motionless on his back from where Balaam had kicked him.

 

There was a surge of power, subtle yet obnoxiously potent. From beside Erebus, Sephiroth swung his gaze to the east. His eyes widen when he caught sight of something invisible striking into Tiamat, forcing the goddess several steps backwards. She didn't even have time to utter a warning before she froze in place, each movement carefully detailed as though trapped in a box of ice.

 

Another deity, this one robed in deep scarlet landed in the direct center of the battlefield, delicately touching ground. Still, she somehow seemed untouched by the elements, lacking both mud spatters and wetted clothing. It was as if the rain feared to strike her. Pale eyelids shielded her gaze.

 

“Even the Goddess of Order finds herself lacking!” Balaam cackled madly, his former opponent nowhere in sight. Were it not for the lack of sudden emptiness inside, Sephiroth would have feared that Gilgamesh had been defeated. “Against Elysium's best kept secret you are nothing more than flies!” he continued, slashing a hand through the air as chaos glinted in dark eyes. “Persephone, take them down! Show them your fury for your imprisonment.”

 

The woman's eyes suddenly snapped open, full of golden fire and staring directly at Baal. A vicious smile curved at the corner of her lips, still somehow managing to be seductive. Murder hung there, just waiting to be unleashed. Sensing this, Baal reacted on instinct alone. He had just enough time to violently shove Vincent out of the way and into a portal of his own making before he intercepted an aggressive, psychic attack, much like being slammed into by a shield made of pure rock.

 

Baal was only able to slow his backwards propulsion by thrusting his wings out to the side, head spinning from the painful blow. He slumped to the ground, coughing up blood as something shifted wetly inside of him. The damn goddess had broken at least one, if not several of his ribs and one had punctured his lungs. Blood dripped wetly from a huge gash in his side where his flesh was now missing. It would all heal in time, but he feared he wouldn't be given enough time to try. And he highly doubted Persephone cared for the old laws. She would kill, not defeat.

 

“Dad!” Erebus snatched up his fallen scythe, fear gripping his heart. He turned, determined to rush to Baal's aid, but Balaam unrepentantly intercepted him before he could get two steps.

 

The Underworld deity snarled. “Get out of my way!” he demanded, swinging his scythe without second thought. However, Balaam was far older and far stronger. He caught the weapon in his claw and wrenched it from the younger's hold, tossing it uselessly to the side.

 

Without further ceremony, he gripped Erebus' shoulders with his hands, claws digging through the tattered, black fabric. “You are my son!” Balaam roared in his face, flashes of regret and despair blanketing his expression. He was practically shaking the other male in his distress. “Not his! Baal is nothing more than a foul traitor! A deity who would desert his closest friend.”

 

“And what does that make you?” Erebus shouted in return, wincing at the pure strength of his biological father's grip. He couldn't wrench free even if he wanted to. “You who were blind to even the simplest truth?” His eyes desperately darted past the immovable force of Balaam, catching sight of Persephone blasting Baal once more, a seductively evil look in her eyes.

 

Baal was barely able to block the blow, having scarcely enough energy and concentration to call up another darkness void to pull in the attack. Still some snuck through his defenses, putting tatters in his wings. The Gravity deity was no match for a goddess who was the eldest among them. It was likely only Seiryu or Isis could stand up to her might, or even the extinguished Kronos.

 

“You abandoned me!” Erebus continued, his eyes flashing fire in his anxiety to get free. Persephone meant to destroy Baal. “Not the other way around.”

 

His words had the desired effect. Balaam recoiled in shock, his grip loosening enough for Erebus to summon one of his chains and strike the older deity with it. Distance was gained and Erebus summoned more and more of the metal links, attempting to bond the much stronger deity. Balaam grunted and strained, flexing enormous muscles before shattering the chains as if they were nothing more than strings.

 

He thrust his hand to the side, summoning up a pole arm. “You care about him enough to attack your own flesh and blood?” Balaam demanded, shaking off the remains of the links and stalking forward.

”It is no more than you are doing to me!” Erebus countered, casting his gaze about for his earlier tossed scythe. “I made my decision long before I stepped into his battle.” He paused in his retreat, squaring his shoulders. “I am fully prepared to do what must be done.”

 

“And that is to be my purpose,” a voice declared, suddenly appearing at Erebus' side. It was Gilgamesh, bleeding from a cut in his shoulder and missing one of his three swords. Otherwise, he appeared unharmed. “Your folly is my own, son,” he finished.

 

Dark eyes darted between his family members, claws tightening around his pole arm. “It has come to this,” Balaam hissed. “No matter. Just like you, I, too, have chosen my path.”

 

- - - - -

 

On the other side of the battlefield, Sephiroth surged out of the stormy mist, blade poised to attack Persephone. He was the only one capable of coming to Baal's aid.

 

He couldn't be certain if it was his feet splashing through the mud puddles or if Persephone had incredibly enhanced senses, but before he could get within twenty feet of her, she turned to meet his attack. Golden eyes glinted mischievously as she raked her gaze over his form, watching with interest as he gritted his teeth in determination.

 

“Don't you hide some pretty secrets,” she purred before raising her eyes and locking gazes with him.

 

The world seemed to spin and then freeze all in a moment. Sephiroth's sword fell to the ground from nerveless fingers. His body began trembling before he abruptly screamed an unearthly sound, clutching his head as if to hold it together. Terror and shame poured from his lips while Persephone watched on, completely impassive.

 

“No!”

 

Needles, filled with something bright, filled with something gleaming.... but most importantly, filled with something to make him burn. Then a jagged scrape and a question.

 

“How fast do you heal, boy?”

 

Another and another, blood welling up, glowing even in the dim of the laboratory. And pain. He cried but he was slapped so he stopped. He cried on the inside, burning gulps down his throat to keep the fear contained.

 

“Stop!!”

 

Hands... always so cold, gripping tight enough to leave bruises. He hated those hands; he loathed their presence. He loathed what they did to him. The touch should have been slimy, but was cool and dry. It felt slimy. He wanted to wash himself, to bathe in boiling water and scrub with lye soap until his skin peeled away.

 

But he knew he would still never feel clean. Nothing could wash away this taint. It was like a tattoo, branded into his skin, like a festering, invisible scar that no one could see but he knew was there. Nor would he scream, he kept each outcry behind his tongue, even going so far as to bite down and draw blood if only to keep his silence. He refused to give that man the pleasure.

 

“Make it stop! AHHHH!” Sephiroth threw his head back, screaming as green flames started to lick across his body. The memories were coming faster now, a terrible tide of his past that he had wanted to forget but now knew he couldn't. They were etched into his soul.

 

Persephone laughed as she furthered her concentration, entrapping Sephiroth in an endless scream of all the nightmares that haunted his sleep. It was almost natural for her to use such an attack and as such, provided her with the chance to build up for the use of her final attack. It was a psychic pulse, strong enough to wipe clean the mind of any mortal in a three-hundred mile vicinity, leaving them with little more function than a newborn. They wouldn't stand a chance then.

 

Amused golden eyes watched as Sephiroth curled into himself, arms clutching around his body as if to hold himself together. The scream had faded into a silent sobbing with the echoes of the last scene and his knees had buckled. Then he began to laugh, low and maniacal. It was a frightening noise that chilled the blood of all those within audible range. Except for Persephone, of course.

 

Bang!

 

Persephone suddenly grew stern as a gunshot resounded around them, Vincent striding forward with his gun raised purposefully. He headed to Sephiroth's side, his eyes flickering towards the former General in concern before returning to the seductive goddess. “Whatever you are doing to him, stop it right now,” he hissed in demand, firing off another round. It flew by her head, detonating harmlessly in the air. However, Vincent knew his aim was true so he couldn't be certain if he missed or if she dodged it. The female was an anomaly.

 

The smirk was quick to replace the grim look, brought upon only by surprise. “Should I play with you, too, I wonder?” she asked rhetorically, her eyes feeling as if they looked straight through Vincent and into the depths of his soul, where every tattered and scarred piece of him hid in the darkness.

 

“There are some interesting truths hiding in your head. Shall I make you relive the past as well?” Her gaze slid past him, looking at something that stood just beyond his stance. Vincent stiffened when he realized just whom was there. “Or maybe this would be more amusing instead?”

 

It wasn't until then that he realized Sephiroth's strange and frightening laughter had stopped, to be replaced by an eerie silence that crawled on the air. Vincent's senses prickled, flaring to life so quickly they felt almost tangible and he ducked, dashing to the side and narrowly avoiding an enflamed fist. He whirled around, finding Sephiroth with empty, slitted eyes, shining a brilliant mako green. His lips, curled into a vicious sneer, and the rest of his stare were so reminiscent of the final battle that Vincent almost believed that he were back in the crater, fighting Jenova once more.

 

... Jenova? Had their suspicions been true after all? But he had no time to ponder on this... he barely had time to dodge.

 

“Sephiroth! What are you doing?” Vincent demanded, jumping backwards to avoid another strike as Sephiroth swung at him with an Ultima-enflamed fist. Vincent recognized that greenish fire now.

 

There was no response from the former General, causing Persephone to laugh, though it was a cruel and taunting jibe. “He can't hear you, my dear. All he can see are his memories.” Her lips curled into a dark smirk. “He thinks you are the cause and reason for his pain.”

 

Sephiroth flung himself forward again, with little regard to his own safety causing Vincent to leap backwards. His fingers were rapidly switching cartridges in the Hellfire, trying to find something that was incapacitating and not deadly. Perhaps if he could capture Sephiroth in the chains, he could restrain him without hurting him.

 

“You bitch!” Vincent hissed angrily, shooting her a firm glare. He could only wonder what horrors Sephiroth faced in his mind, especially if they were anything like Vincent's own.

 

The goddess only licked her lips, unperturbed by the obscenity. “You are beautiful in your anger.” She paused, very obviously raking her gaze over his body. “I wonder... do you scream as deliciously now as you did then?” One finger curled towards the gunman, beckoning him. “Should I find out? Should I--”

 

Her words suddenly cut off mid-thought. Persephone's eyes bulged as her entire body appeared to freeze in place, as though a Stop spell had been cast on her. Golden orbs blazed with fury and the sound of glass shattering pierced the air, much louder than the pounding rain.

 

Vincent wasted no time in pondering on the circumstances. He turned a backflip through the air, avoiding Sephiroth's attack and firing a round midflight. The stun bullet flew true, slamming into Sephiroth's shoulder and causing him to jerk in surprise. Using the momentary paralysis to his advantage, Vincent landed smoothly and dropped to one knee.

 

His palm slammed to the ground as he once again summoned the chains. They sprang from the mud out of nowhere, wrapping around the former General's body and binding his arms to his side. No expression registered on Sephiroth's face; he didn't even put up a struggle. He merely slumped in defeat, falling to his knees and hanging his head. His body was visibly trembling.

 

His reactions were so completely different to what they were before that Vincent had the sudden thought that perhaps the mental onslaught had ended. Grey eyes flickered to Persephone, finding that her face was drawn with anger. Perfectly manicured fingernails twitching but she was making no large movements, as if something was holding her in place. Yet, vincent could see nothing.

 

Confused, he scanned the battlefield, his eyes widening in surprise. Behind his line of sight, a battle of a different kind had been waging. Erebus had somehow overcome Balaam and had rushed to Baal's side, helping the injured and bloodied deity. But more importantly, Balaam was in equally dire straits as Persephone, under the restraint of a beautiful woman unlike any Vincent had ever seen before. Her loveliness was more serene, giving off a loving aura more than Persephone's seduction. And she stood before Balaam, not even touching and still somehow keeping him in thrall.

 

The winged Chaos deity shook with anger. “What are you doing, mother?” he shouted, face crunched as he tried to wrench himself out of invisible bonds. “Release me!”

 

Vincent could only watch the proceedings from the corner of his eyes as he slowly circled towards Sephiroth, whose head continued to hang. He was certain that if he managed to catch the former General's expression, shame and regret would both be present. Losing control of himself was a fear that Sephiroth suffered from, and without Zack there for stability, he had no one to fall back on.

 

Around them, the rain was gradually beginning to lessen in its intensity, as if whatever power had been driving it on had finally loosened its hold. The sky was lightening with the coming of the day but it could not erase the cold chill that seemed to have permeated the island.

 

The unidentified female, a goddess judging by the sheer power that emanated from her form, shook her head. “No, my son. I cannot.” Her face was beautifully solemn and full of sorrow. “It is my burden to stop you... even if it means taking your life.”

 

“Isis!” Gilgamesh moved towards her, slogging through the mud, only to stop when she reached out and held a palm towards him. “But the law--”

 

Her expression said enough. “--does not matter to me,” Isis finished for her husband. “I cannot allow this to continue any further. Balaam has done so much....” she paused, turning back towards her eldest child. “Too much.”

 

Coal-crimson eyes narrowed. “Even you?” Balaam snarled, hands clenching into fists so tight that blood dripped to the ground. “Even you would raise your hand to your child?”

 

“It is a parent's duty to take responsibility for the actions of her child,” Isis responded, a strange look glinting in her eyes. She dropped her arms as she took one step towards her son, a pulse of power skating across the ground and

slamming into Balaam with enough force that he jerked.

 

Surprise registered quickly. “Mother! That is--!”

 

Isis nodded. “Yes, the forbidden method. But I have broken one rule already, by stepping foot on this soil. And I will break more if only to end this madness.”

 

“You'll kill him!” Gilgamesh argued, slashing a hand through the air. “You'll kill yourself as well. Stop Isis! This isn't the only way.”

 

But the tawny-haired woman merely shook her head, dismissing his pleas. “It is,” she responded softly, moving towards Balaam with slow and determined steps. “He will never cease his foolish misunderstanding and he is deaf to our pleas.” Her eyes swung to the raging and frozen Persephone briefly. “And her madness can only be stopped in this manner as well.”

 

Gilgamesh paled so quickly that he could easily be mistaken for a ghost as he whirled around, scanning the battlefield. A fear had settled in his heart, along with the realization that there was nothing he could do. He could not stop his wife and risk setting Persephone free once more, nor could he change Isis' mind. She was stubborn and in many ways, Gilgamesh knew that she was right. It had taken Kronos the time before...

 

“All of you, get out of here now!” he ordered, swiping his hand as he hurriedly sheathed his swords.

 

The ground began to rumble and the subtle buzz of power through the air became a dull roar. His hair stood on edge and his spine crawled as if a million currents of electricity were dancing on it. Isis was going to destroy Persephone and Balaam and herself in the process. There was no way, despite her great strength, that she could control that amount of power. It was impossible.

 

“I'm not leaving without the others!” Vincent yelled as he released Sephiroth from the chains.

 

It was obvious that the former General was no longer under Persephone's influence, but he was now acting little more than a puppet. He was listless, obeying Vincent but otherwise doing and saying nothing at all. Vincent couldn't be sure if it was shame that kept him locked inside, or if the onslaught of memories had broken him.

 

“There is no need, Vincent. I evacuated them to a safe place prior to arriving here. You are all that remains.” Isis' eyes flickered to her husband, softening with the extent of her emotions. “Take care of them, nali'min.”

 

Gilgamesh bit his lip, trying to keep his composure as anguish filled his heart. “You're telling me to leave you,” he uttered lowly, shaking his head. “You know I can't do that.”

 

“Shut up!” Balaam screeched, growing increasingly terrified. “Just shut up, the both of you!” He jerked violently but was still unable to move as freely as he wanted. He concentrated and flared his power, trying to break the invisible bonds that Isis had entrapped him with.

 

She cried out softly, recoiling slightly as pain stabbed through her mind from his attempt. Yet, she remained strong as the feeling of power continued to build. It was like static electricity, thick in the air and invisible. The entire area pulsed and throbbed with it.

 

“This sappy little moment tires my patience! Release me, mother!”

 

“It pains me,” Isis murmured, visibly trying to regain herself. “It breaks my heart, Balaam, to see that I have failed you in such a manner. I thought I had taught you the truth but I see now that I was mistaken.”

 

She closed the distance between her and her son, wrapping her arms around him. To Vincent's surprise, she was taller than Balaam. None of that mattered; however, because the moment they embraced the feeling of energy became stifling, almost choking.

 

Tiamat, freed from the Pandora's Prism by Isis' appearance, shook her head. “So it has come to this,” she murmured, eyes filling with sadness. She swiftly blinked her way across the battlefield to where Sephiroth and Vincent were working together to heft up Archer.

 

She cupped Archer's face gently, relieved to find that he was only momentarily unconscious. He would awaken soon and have a headache, but he would not be trapped within a coma. Tiamat glanced over her shoulder at the continuing drama.

 

“What is she doing?” Vincent questioned, hunching slightly to accommodate Archer's shorter stature.

 

Tiamat shook her head, the beads in her hair clinking quietly. “She is doing what she believes is right to save her son. It is not my right to deny her that need.”

 

The gunman's brow crinkled in confusion. “I don't--”

 

“It doesn't matter,” the goddess interjected, rubbing a finger over Archer's face in concern. “It will be explained in due time.” Before Vincent could question her again, a murmured `Migro!' transported the four of them out of the area.

 

Feeling Tiamat evacuate the others, Gilgamesh turned towards his grandson. “Erebus, get Baal out of here!”

 

The Underworld deity nodded as he hefted up his adoptive father, holding Baal's injured weight on one of his shoulders. “I understand.”

 

Baal shook his head however, resisting the movement. “Leave me behind, Erebus,” he murmured raspily, dark purple eyes set on Balaam. “I betrayed him once... it is my duty to try and save him since I am much to blame.” He sagged a bit, finding it increasingly difficult to breathe under the press of magic. His wounds were healing far too slowly. “I should have stopped him before this all began.”

 

Erebus' jaw set with anger as he grabbed Baal's arm, jerking it ungently and ignoring the state of his adoptive father's wounds. “You are an idiot!” he hissed, paying no attention to proper decorum for speaking to an elder. “Leave the past where it belongs. You are no more to blame than Isis!”

 

Baal's eyes widen in surprise but it still felt as if his heart were breaking. Even more so for knowing that it would have pained Orthrus to hear the words he had said. Yet, Baal couldn't help his heart. There were unrequited feelings there, things he had never confessed. And a part of him would always yearn for his best friend, the deity he had loved for a little over seven thousand years.

 

“Don't make the same mistake,” Erebus continued, his voice low with anger. “Don't betray another!”

 

The sky crackled around Erebus' words but it was only because Persephone had shuddered, managing a single step through Isis' hold. She was fighting it... and gradually succeeding. Isis could not afford to delay any longer.

 

Gasping, Isis to some extent sagged but managed to clutch onto Balaam all the tighter. “Go!” she cried, her knees buckling. The ground beneath her began to crack and crunch, splintering under the force of the combined energies.

 

At a loss, Gilgamesh swallowed back his tears as he took a step backwards, away from Isis. “We'll meet again, nali'min,” he murmured, before blinking across the battlefield. He grabbed both Baal and Erebus and before either could utter another word, he was teleporting them away.

 

He aligned their appearance with where the others were located, able to find them by the feel of their energies. Gilgamesh blinked into existence on the top of a mountain of a small island in the lagoon which overlooked the other. From that distance, they could not pick out Isis and the others, only able to locate them by the column of crackling energies that was rising into the sky.

 

Baal slumped to one knee as they appeared, his strength failing him in both heart and body. Immediately, Orthrus rushed to his side, having been freed from the prism earlier by Isis. Erebus stepped aside and let the older deity take his spot, moving to see to Asclepius' health. He had been worried for her during the battle. Kneeling on the ground, Baal allowed Orthrus aid but couldn't bring himself to meet Orthrus' dark eyes. They were all too much like Balaam's.

 

“What is going on?” Vincent questioned again as he helped Archer to sit beside both Reno and Tseng, all three men under the gentle care of Asclepius as she worked to heal their wounds. “What is Isis hoping to accomplish?”

 

“The greatest sin of our kind,” Erebus murmured in response, shaking his head. He would be losing both his biological father and his grandmother. “As Raijin, Fujin, Iblion and others with them, Isis is destroying Balaam and Persephone so that there will be nothing left of them on Gaia. Nothing but the magic of their materia.”

 

Silence descended on the tiny group, all eyes turning towards the island except for Baal who couldn't bear to watch. Sephiroth stepped away from the others, silent steps taking him beside his anima. He was still reeling from the effects of Persephone's attack and as such, couldn't seem to force any words through the tightness in his throat. Instead, his eyes, now back to their greyish-green shade, watched as the island rapidly began to crack and crumble. The sky was even thundering and booming with deafening noise, belied by the bits of sun peeking through the formless grey.

 

“It was her choice,” Gilgamesh whispered in a low tone, his voice thick with grief. “I knew she was distressed over the loss of Bugenhagen but...”

 

The former General had no words to say. Lingering remnants of his past circled throughout his mind and he knew of nothing comforting. It would only sound hollow coming from his lips. However, he was saved from commenting when water suddenly shot from the cracks in the island, forming huge, steaming geysers.

 

The island began to sink, rumbling as water spilled over its banks. A giant explosion suddenly rocked the land, flaring brightly and tearing up sheets of rock meters thick. They rippled outwards in the wake of the oncoming destruction, turning to mere powder. The entire island cracked in two as a giant crater spilled water into the air and the mass of land began to sink beneath the water.

 

“May you be reborn, my friend,” Tiamat whispered, lowering her head in sadness. “And let us meet again.” She stepped forward, placing her hand on Gilgamesh' shoulder and squeezing it companionably. “I am sorry, Gilgamesh.”

 

The God of Destruction blinked back tears. “She blamed herself for Balaam's path and nothing I ever said dissuaded her.” He sighed heavily, sorrow evident in his expression. “Perhaps it was meant to be.” He felt a pang in his heart, a deep emptiness where once there was a wellspring of affection.

 

Gilgamesh turned away from the sunken island and raked his gaze over their injured and barely survived team. The fate of the others at Fort Condor came to mind. “Sometimes I wonder if victory is worth the cost.”

 

Reno was the one to stir at this, his injuries not enough to render him unconscious. Aquamarine eyes were sorrowful, but the evident recklessness was gone, replaced by a resigned melancholy. “Don't be ridiculous,” he sputtered, not caring that he was chastising a god. “There's no such thing as flawless victory!”

 

“He speaks the truth!” A voice echoed from around them. “Believe it or not, Reno actually has a brain up there, yo.”

 

Each deity present stiffened at the recognized voice but the mortals were confused. They looked around for the perpetrator, finding none until a form suddenly appeared in front of everyone, landing at the height of the mountain highland they were perched on. He was rather unspectacular compared to the other demi-deities, wearing a set of brown, cotton robes and standing shorter than every deity present other than Asclepius. Soft green eyes were ringed by straight brown hair.

 

However, at his appearance, the immortals instantly dropped to their knees. “Kami-sama,” Tiamat breathed, bowing her head. “My lord, it has been centuries.”

 

Vincent's eyes widen as his gaze darts between Erebus and the others, but they do not see it, all of their eyes trained on the ground. “This is Kami?” he asked incredulously, gesturing towards the plain-faced male.

 

The man smiled broadly. “None other!” he declared brightly before suddenly disappearing, only to reappear next to Vincent. He leaned closer as if to whisper in his ear, one hand up to block his mouth from prying eyes. “I know everything, yo. Can you believe it?” He winked.

 

The moment Vincent turned away to look at him, Kami blinked back to his original position. He looked down at his demi-deities. “Rise, immortal ones. I have much to say to you.” Pale green eyes lifted to the mortals. “I have much to say to everyone, yo.”

 

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