Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ The Sins of Two Fathers ❯ Chapter 7 ( Chapter 7 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

"The Sins of Two Fathers" and the general overall concept of "The Sins of Two Fathers" is completely copyright Orin Drake 1999-2003, as are the character Kyrie Leonhart and Rodger Kinneas. The characters Seifer Almasy, Squall Leonhart, Quistis Trepe, Ellone (Leonhart?), Laguna Loire, Irvine Kinneas, Selphie Timett, Rinoa "The Great Big Bitch" Heartily (biased? me?), Sephiroth and Cloud Strife are copyright Squaresoft, as are the terms SeeD, gunblade, Trabia Garden, Griever, and probably a lot of other stuff I forgot to mention. Hell, if you played the game, you know. Enough said. Kyrie and Rodger are mine, the rest are not.
Background: To be completely honest, I had no idea this was going to turn into a serious story. All I started writing was as a free-for-all squickfic yaoi fan fantasy, but it got so out of my control that the characters are actually... endearing. What have I done?! Ah well. Lesse, there's a real obvious homosexual relationship, but they don't really do anything in this chapter, so... oh, there's language. You know me, I like my nasty language, so look out. It's innuendo city in this chapter, though. Spooky.

The blackness faded into gray slowly, like watching an old computer screen struggle to light up. From gray it finally turned flesh toned, and took on a feeling. Consciousness; it's not something you know you're missing until you wake to it.
She opened her eyes slowly, feeling just the last part of an unnatural weakness flow from her muscles. Sluggishly forcing herself to sit up, it took only a momentary sweep of her surroundings to know she was in an inn of some sort. A very expensive one by the look of things. The lamps, the fancy vases, sofas, soft bedding, two tables, a desk in the corner; she had a sneaking suspicion that she wasn't in Garden anymore.
Shit, she swallowed. Where the hell was she? Not even the smell of the room was familiar. Glancing to the side, she noticed the large front window was wide open, shutters dancing lazily and catching shards of late afternoon light in a warm breeze. She was in a place warmer than Trabia, that much was certain. But as for where, why, and what had happened...
And then something by the window moved. It had looked so perfectly pristine she'd mistaken it for a decorative statue; instead, it was a man with his back to her, dressed in a long black coat with perfectly silver hair. His body remained still but his head had turned, making his ankle length hair shimmer with the sunlight. Then those eyes. Those emerald green cat eyes. Beautiful, but sinister. The ones she'd seen before the blackness.
For once, she was struck totally dumb. Words were usually her way out, but even those failed to work. Strange place, strange man, and apparently a lot of lost time. Not good.
The man forced a flat smile and finally turned, walking toward her. She was taken for a moment by his graceful gait, an almost royal feel in his motions. Even so, dressed head to toe in highly flexible black leather, even covering his hands and arms, he was a threatening sight. The small amount of skin he showed was exceptionally pale, and the dull ivory complexion against the black clothes almost made him appear to be a ghostly vision.
When he sat on the edge of the bed, it was all too real for her. Too real, and too weird for words.
"Well?" he whispered smoothly.
What the fuck does he want? "Well, what?" a hint of annoyance was clear in her voice.
His diplomatic air gave way to a more forceful one. His eyes narrowed slightly, and there was no invitation about his suggestion. "Well, get up."
For a moment in time, she didn't give a damn who the lunatic was or what he'd planned on or already done with her. She glared at him silently, her mind finally firing back up to logical thinking. Turning her back on him was not an option. Neither was humoring him. Well, not entirely. She could take him by surprise, maybe. But he was watching her, closely. More closely than she'd ever felt watched in her life; that was saying quite a lot. Then again, there was nothing she could do just sitting on a bed. She may as well obey. Slowly, she slid her legs off from the side opposite the lunatic, careful to continue facing him. With slow steps, she made her way to the foot of the bed, closer to him, arms at her sides.
His eyes were on her the whole time, taking in every detail. It went far and beyond just that; her motion, her heartbeat, her body temperature were all viable sources for judging how much of a bother she could become. She was a fighter, that was clear. But she was not entirely expert, or entirely ready for everything that could be thrown her way. He stood remarkably suddenly, stepping toward her.
She hadn't really the time to think. She was trying to look innocent, useless and exceptionally feminine while at the same time preparing herself for an all-out tooth and claw battle when he'd dashed with one powerful stride toward her and grasped Griever.
"Who gave you this?" he demanded violently, tearing the necklace from her, snapping the chain.
The strength it took to yank the chain to the breaking point caused a bruising pain in the back of her neck. She hissed at him, intense anger surfacing. She didn't give a fuck who he was. He broke her father's most sacred possession. Her most sacred possession. "It was my dad's."
A nearly sinful smile crossed the madman's face. "Your father's? You're a Leonhart?"
"And an Almasy." She spat, trying to rip Griever out of his hands. To hell with the chain, the pendant was most important.
He smacked her hand away with force. "And an Almasy?" he repeated, unbelieving. He suddenly erupted into a hellish laugh that made goose bumps rise on her arms. "Leonhart and Almasy. Now that is interesting."
She wasn't fucking around with this lunatic. She sent a fist flying into his solar plexus. It was enough to cause him to gasp sharply and release Griever, but it certainly wasn't enough to aid her escape. He straightened almost immediately, picking her up by the shoulders and throwing her into the nearest wall.
Pain exploded throughout her lower back and head, a dull blackness followed by flashes of bright white becoming her whole landscape for a short time. She came to completely only seconds later, when the silver haired freak had smacked her unceremoniously across the face. She tasted the blood, but was left with a burning numbness. It didn't matter. She had Griever in her hand. The most important thing.
"Stand up." The man demanded firmly, but calmly.
"No.", she'd have liked to have responded. But pain like that wasn't exactly her forte. Instead, she wisely kept her mouth shut and did as he asked, placing Griever obviously enough in her pocket. Pressing her weight against the wall hurt in little waves up and down her back, but she couldn't trust herself to stand on her own. There was a pulsating emotion that invaded every sensation in her body, and she didn't like it at all. It was a sort of helpless rage, closely related to fear.
The man stared at her conspicuously, slowly roaming his eyes from top to bottom. He measured her up in a number of ways; most notably that smell of close to desperate fear. It certainly wasn't the strongest he'd ever smelled out of a creature, but it was there. Complete advantage--somehow the daughter of Leonhart and Almasy, unarmed, weakened--that he welcomely took advantage of.
Kyrie had let her emotion control the rest of her. That was a no-no in such a situation, and she knew it. She cursed herself with the fires of hell mentally as she distantly saw the destructive glimmer in her captor's eyes. She couldn't have avoided it, then; he'd grasped one wrist already and had successfully captured the other, binding them tightly in one fist. She thrashed as she felt the heat of his body against her in an instant, and cursed herself more thoroughly for allowing him to pin her legs against the wall with his own.
That look of half-amused victory washed over every fiber of his being as he caught her eyes, gloating. Fun to be had, with this one. He'd thought as much, swiftly wrapping his free hand over her mouth. "You're older than they were when I indulged in their flesh..." he hissed into her ear, several strands of his hair lightly brushing over her cheek. "It's been so long since I've touched any living body..."
She didn't even hear him. She just bit into his hand, not stopping until her teeth came together.
He grunted, releasing her wrists with a painful squeeze and digging his strong fingers into the back of her neck. He couldn't feel pain like he used to. It was there, certainly, but it didn't affect him in the same way. It faded so quickly these days. But he certainly remembered that other creatures could feel it.
Even with the unbelievable pressure and pain, she didn't release until she got a mouthful of his blood. There was a primal satisfaction in that, in making him bleed even as he strove to hurt her. His blood tasted good. Only as her vision returned to polka dots of gray and white did she finally release, and even then it wasn't entirely on purpose. He'd begun leaning against her chest, constricting her oxygen to the point where she bordered on consciousness. This point between awareness and unconsciousness was becoming a little too familiar.
As her teeth released, so too did the hand on the back of her neck. It moved, instead, to the front, holding her against the wall but giving little pressure to her airway. The man quietly inspected his glove with a blank expression, not too thrilled to have it pierced by teeth of all damned things. Certainly not by his supposed victim. "That was rude." He commented.
Kyrie caught her breath and stared bitterly at the psycho. Unfortunately, his legs still prevented her own from driving a knee through his intestines. Being rather a victim for so long, one learns the ultimate victim's defense move swiftly. Her hands were free, but a lot of good that would do with his hand on her neck. As much as she hated to do so, as stupid as it outright seemed, she dropped her arms to her sides and waited for his next move.
"Good girl." He slowly lifted his hand from her neck, but did not let his guard down. Nor did he back away from her right away. She'd proven fast; not fast enough to take him when he had his goals in mind, but certainly fast enough to gain the advantage if he let an ounce of guard slip. She had been taught by his own students, she had damn well better be fast.
There were a million questions beating around in her head. But none of them surfaced above another. And she wasn't sure if she should waste the breath to ask them. No doubt he wouldn't answer. She wouldn't be able to pick a single question out of the long list to start with, anyway. But really, what the fuck was going on?
He backed away fluidly, but not out of anything resembling mercy. Not fear, either. He simply sat on the bed, regarding her as she stood there, glaring back, looking him over just as thoroughly. His eyes were glowing with an insane lust of... something Kyrie didn't understand. She'd never quite seen that look on anyone before. It was quite unnerving to say the least. Finally he spoke, his voice soft and smooth though he were almost trying to calm her down. "Are you a virgin?"
She was struck dumb at that, completely. What the hell kind of a thing is that to ask her? "You are one hell of a prick." She commented outright; obviously without giving it much thought.
This time he only looked at her, blankly. He didn't so much as raise his hand to warn her, or give her a dramatically cutting glare. Just looked at her, took several normal breaths, then commented in an offhanded sort of way, "I nearly destroyed a world. But I cannot seem to control a single, mortal, rambunctious young cunt."
Her temper flared like it never had before; in a very gentle, polite manner. "Maybe you just aren't trying hard enough."
He moved so inhumanly fast that she had no time to react; but she really should have been expecting it by then. He slammed his open hands against her shoulders, knocking her back against that fucking wall. He then pinned her again, heavier, harder with his body as she fought the loss of air in her lungs and the pain in her head, both hands tightly around her neck. "You don't know what you invite..." his lips pulled back in an animal growl.
Regardless of barely being able to talk, let alone her coherence for such activity under the circumstances, she gasped, "Save it." Her intelligence in the field of battle had completely fallen away to her stubborn nature.
He squeezed harder, his mouth right next to his ear. He whispered harshly, "Don't think you are immortal because my students survived Ultimecia."
"Your... students?" even with the impending loss of consciousness, she couldn't help but be appalled and curious at the same time.
His grin bared all of his teeth like a mad animal. "A Leonhart and an Almasy, you claim. They were both my students. I taught them how to fight." He looked away for a moment, seething. "I had hoped they would have chosen to stay with me... but, I suppose, boys will be boys." He slowly released her throat and let her lean limply against the wall.
She coughed, gasping for air as she steadied her legs underneath her. For whatever reason, the man before her allowed her time to catch her breath without interruption. She was about to blow that chance. "Maybe they would agree that you're a psycho."
"Shut your filthy mouth, girl. I could have been a god..." he growled.
She scoffed openly. A god? Him? He looked no older than her parents for one thing, perhaps younger. "You never could have been a god. You were born a man."
"I was born a god." He hissed. "I was made a man."
She threw her hands up into the air and met his tone exactly. "And now you're a fucking lunatic."
The malice in his eyes were enough to shush her for the moment. "I can be a god again. I have the ambition, the drive, the intelligence of a god..."
"You certainly bleed like a man." She commented, infuriated and just a bit unsettled at his words. As if she hadn't been thrown around enough already, she felt the air rush from her lungs, saw the room spin amongst the green cat eyes that pierced her.
He pulled her away from the wall then slammed her right back against it, trying to drive his point home. "Aren't you sick of this wall yet?"
"I'll let you know." She spat back, trying desperately to ignore the bruises already covering her. They'd only get larger and darker with every one of her comments. But she could take it. She was sure she could take some bruises. She just wouldn't be able to wear that shirt again anytime soon.
The fists that held her grew even more taunt, then suddenly shivered, then slackened. His eyes blinked twice, totally losing their vicious sheen. They were still his eyes, alright. And they were still just as unnaturally green as they always had been. But they were so different, somehow. So... pure. Untainted. Like an entirely different entity altogether. "Help me..." he begged in a whisper, shaking her. "Help me, please..." A child's voice hidden behind that of a man's. It was goddamned unsettling.
Part of her was violently ill at this sudden raw emotion, wanting to push him away. Another part of her wished she could comfort him; wished she knew how to comfort him. But she couldn't bring herself to believe that it was anything but a trick. Those eyes, though. Those weren't the eyes of a man who'd kidnapped her...
"Make her let go..." he whispered roughly. He was choking on his own fear, shaking her shoulders in desperation, pleading. "Please, please... make her let... go..."
She swallowed, not sure she wanted to know the answer. "Her?"
"Jenova..." the man sobbed like a child threatened by monsters right in front of him.
The moment that word fell from his lips, she saw his eyes change. It was like they were lit slowly from the inside, those stark child eyes rapidly darkening in one way, brightening in another. The insane "adult" eyes shone back at her in a matter of seconds, the hands that had grasped her for comfort now shoving her away.
"What magic is this?" he demanded.
Utter confusion. Magic? Not her, not in this time and place. Being daughter of a sorceress carried only a wives tale of power. Not to mention all the shit that came with it. But he didn't know who her mother was. He didn't even know she was a Leonhart until she'd told him. "Magic doesn't exist anymore." She assured him firmly. "Not since Ultimecia."
His glare got more harsh with her words, but he seemed to realize she was telling the truth. Maybe he didn't know he was as fucking crazy as he actually was. He finally broke away from her entirely, walking absently to the other end of the room.
Hm. And now what? She could try to run... but where to? Not that it mattered. Away was away, after all. Slowly, as if she were doing nothing at all but being ever so innocent, she walked around the bed and to the window. Maybe that would give her an indication of where she was in regards to, well, the world.
Lucky for her the psycho seemed to be preoccupied with his own quiet mumbling. She stood at the window for a few seconds, contemplating just jumping out of it. But with the looks of the cobblestones and the unusually high drop from a second story window (Each floor must be triple fucking enforced or something)... it was unlikely she'd do anything but shatter some bones. Then there would be no fucking escape at all. Ever again, most likely. She was pretty damn certain that trying to race him down stairs was a pretty stupid move on her part, too. Not to mention she had the feeling the room door was locked from the outside, for some reason.
She held back an aggravated growl in her throat and stared at the sky. It was nearly twilight already. Not that it would help much; she wasn't at all knowledgeable in the constellations. But where the fuck was she? It was obviously not Esthar, the ground was covered too lushly with grass and flowers for that. And it was certainly not Trabia, too warm and too many trees. It was pretty fucking obvious it wasn't hot or barren enough to be Centra, either. The hill and valley view extended too far to be Balamb. So, by that logic, she must be somewhere in Galbadia. Great. Lovely. And how did she get there? And what part of Galbadia? It was green, lush, warm with a classy inn. Southern portion? She couldn't smell ocean, but that may not mean much depending upon where the breeze is coming from. Central-ish, maybe? It was definitely the mainland.
She let a curse fly under her breath. This was fucking useless, trying to guess. She turned slowly to find that freak of an insane psychopath looking at her with a great deal of thought. About what, she knew she didn't want to know.
When he noticed her looking back, he let an unsettling smile cross his lips. "I suppose it's time to rest up. Big plans for tomorrow."
Ugh. Kyrie did not like the sound of that. She wasn't tired, first off. She didn't even know how long she'd been unconscious. And just what was he suggesting in the first place? She stared at him, expressionless, waiting for a proper answer to her unspoken questions.
He walked toward bed but in her direction, as though he weren't the single most hated thing in her existence. "I don't suppose you're going to be a good little girl and just stay cozy here with me, hmm?" a suggestive tone entered his silken voice. "It has its merits, I can assure you."
Nothing but the most spiteful glare he thought he'd even encountered met that suggestion; and that was truly saying a lot. It made him chuckle to see such a fragile mortal take on a god like she had. Certainly her parents' child. Only stupider. "Suit yourself." He whispered, very softly extending just his fingertips out toward her.
Oh sh-- was about the only reaction she had for that. She felt all of the muscles in her body jam as though overloaded, and the minutes became a blur of jittery, motion-blurred seconds. Magic. It must have been. Something to slow her responses, maybe? When time moved correctly again, she discovered the ultimate danger of being unable to defend herself against magic. She was sitting on the bed, her arms bound tightly behind her back--one atop the other so that her wrists touched the opposite elbows--with rope that obviously did not stretch. Maybe it wasn't rope. It was too tight to really get a feel for it, but just loose enough to not cause her limbs to completely lose circulation. She tried to move her legs to get balance, to find something that would slice whatever this was off of her--discovering that her frye boots had been well taken advantage of. A very long, woven leather rope had securely bound her ankles together, looping in and out of the metal rings for security.
And that bastard, that fucking lunatic who had done this, was sitting in a small sofa across from her, underneath the window. He was obviously in the process of getting ready for sleep, and she glanced outside at the misty stars. Just how much time had elapsed? Not much by the look of things, but... And what the fuck had happened in the mean time? Swallowing hard but trying not to show her concern, she ever so gently squeezed her legs together. Nothing unusual. Her back still hurt like hell and her shoulders had begun to cramp a little, but that was about it.
He grinned again at her reaction. Ah, that scent of worry, of fear. It was gratifying. He finished with the buckles of his coat and stood, folding it over the back of the chair.
He most certainly was not a god, but he was sure as hell sculpted like one. Not overly muscular, but statuesque; certainly enough to intimidate. He certainly could have snapped her neck easily a dozen times by now. She wondered what she was being kept alive for. It was obviously not political, as he hadn't even known her bloodline. It was also pretty obvious he didn't mind hurting her, but why not killing her?
And then he turned to look at her as he slipped his boots off. That look. That smirk. She was cold. Completely and utterly stone cold. Never in her life had she been so defenseless.
Slowly he pulled his long gloves off, folding and laying them on the cushion, the bite mark she'd made barely visible. Through all of his slow, deliberate actions, he did not interrupt his gazing at her. So many ways to silence that girl. So many ways to make it sting. He was nearly void of pain, but he hoped he wasn't void of pleasure.
A very viscous panic was creeping its way down her spine. There was no way she could stop anything he wanted to do with her. No way to prevent it when she couldn't loosen the bonds that held her. It had never been like that before. She'd always had a chance, always a defense. Even if it were her bare hands, that was something. But not here, not this time. All of her trust was left for dead in the frighteningly powerful hands of a psycho.
He slowly stalked up to her, very lightly sitting beside her on the bed. The guy was literally dripping with sexuality, lined with an undertone of simply bad intentions. He hid none of it from her as he grinned widely, moving his hand to lightly brush against the exposed skin of her back, the bruises making the flesh that much more sensitive. With the other hand, he roughly took a handful of her hair as he forced their lips close, but not touching.
She only growled. She would not beg for this bastard. Anger replaced fear; but it was still there, waiting in the background.
"Come on now." He purred. "Be a good girl. Give in to temptation." He moved his hand from her back and softly pressed his thumb between her lips.
She clamped down hard. A spray of blood splashed against her throat, the metallic taste growing with the intensity of her rage. Again she savored every drop of it, every last indication that she had caused harm to him.
The man hissed and released her hair in favor of grasping her jaw, squeezing just enough to dislodge her teeth. He took his hand back and shook it, inspecting the dripping crimson. It was nothing compared to her eyes. Driven. Hate filled. The trickle of blood from her lip and the color of her eyes... all of it only served to remind him of another whom he'd unsuccessfully tried to murder in the most pleasurable of ways.
"You just love to bite, don't you?" he pushed her hard onto her stomach, tugged his belt off and and used quite a bit of controlled force to smack her bare back with it. The action left an instant red welt swarming around a trickle of blood.
Red in a field of black and blue; she must have looked like a fucking national flag by now. She yipped unexpectedly, well over the loud crack of the leather and flesh. Never had her parents needed to use such discipline. She had no idea what to expect, but it hurt a hell of a lot more than a sucker punch. Dazed with the pain, she didn't even struggle as the belt was looped around her head and pulled tightly to act as a gag.
"No more biting tonight." The man growled, satisfied. He leaned over her, clawing deeply at her shoulder, and ran his tongue slowly along her new wound. Blood for blood, it was only fair. "You just sleep."
The feeling of his tongue lingering on her flesh, even more heated than the wound itself, sent unwilling shivers through every part of her body. She clenched her teeth together, desperately trying to keep herself from making a single sound. Long after his touch left her body and he walked away, she could still feel it--crawling around on her skin, seeping past her flesh and into her blood stream.
"And I will be keeping this." He announced, holding her gunblade up just long enough for her to realize she was entirely without it. He dropped it somewhere on the floor on his side of the bed, and she cringed with the careless "thunk" he'd enticed from her weapon.
Asshole. She mumbled inside her head.

Her eyes were absolutely blazing. Had anyone told her that she would be tied up in a strange man's bed at any point in her life, she'd probably have used another of those famous right hooks. This was unbelievable. She was absolutely pissed. It didn't matter how gorgeous the shirtless man beside her was, or how smooth his voice was even when he murmured and whined with obvious nightmares. What mattered was that she wasn't at all where she wanted to be, with a world class maniac holding her against her will. That bothered her. A lot. He'd had the sense to gag her, which wasn't making her all that happy in itself.
Three words welled up in her mind: this isn't fun. Not that she expected it to be. But after the subtle conversations she'd had with Rodger, she'd hoped her first time tied up next to a guy would be, you know, fun. And just a little more consensual. She simply stared at his back and imagined what it would be like to rip his spine out with her gunblade. Or her bare fucking hands.
She chose to stare at the silver vase that she could see just over his body on the night stand, instead. It reflected the window, and the calm starry night. How she wished she was out there rather than in this place. She'd rather be at home. And she'd really rather be with Rodger. Hell, she'd rather be eating cafeteria food... alright, not that far, maybe. But close. Her dreaming was interrupted by a sudden flash of yellow.
She squinted, trying to focus harder on the reflection in the vase. Certainly there were no chocobos running around on the second floor of an inn, right? Then the flash of yellow appeared again. This time with a head attached to it. And bright blue eyes...
Cloud? From Esthar Airstation? Was that really him crawling through the window? Her captor had to have drugged her. That was the only explanation for this. The shop keeper of a store for mainly cross dressers, with a giant sword, crawling into the window of an inn in which she was being held against her will by a man who thought he was a god... who'd slipped her what? And how could she recover from this reluctant and horrible trip? Maybe she was dead. Maybe she was in hell. Or limbo. Or somewhere really bad.
He carefully, quietly stepped in through the window, catching a glimpse at the eyes desperately drawing his attention. "Kyrie?" Cloud mouthed silently, seeming to be just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
She didn't dare even nod. She wanted out. Now. But she didn't want the freak behind her to wake up in the process. She took a deep breath and hoped he knew what he was doing.
An absolutely venomous look of hatred washed over his eyes as he glanced at the back of the silver haired man. A connection between the two was obvious, but he left it alone for the moment in favor of untying Kyrie. And that, she was glad about.
"Sshh." He whispered lightly, unbuckling the belt that gagged her and placing it quietly on the floor. He tried at the knots at her ankles for quite some time before he realized he'd just plain forgotten how to go about this whole thing. Instead, he reached for a small knife in his boot and sliced Ms. Leonhart free. As the last loop was cut, he whispered barely above his breath, "Don't move."
A cold feeling clasped her chest, but she didn't feel that it had been a threat. She hoped very much that he'd come to actually help her, and chose to put all of her faith into that thought for the moment. She only stared at the lunatic's back, imagining her teeth sinking into him, wanting to hear his scream of pain before she gutted him. She wouldn't mind tasting his blood again, either.
Cloud was stalking silently around the room, searching for something. Something he was obviously rather annoyed that he couldn't find. He was convinced Sephiroth would never have left Masamune behind, no matter the circumstance.
With a sudden gasp, the silver haired man turned violently in his sleep with so much force that he rolled atop Kyrie. That in itself actually wouldn't have bothered her. It was the fact that he had some... obvious intentions by the feel of things. He hadn't just rolled on top of her. He was on all fours with one suddenly very snug arm around her, grinding somewhat violently against her and making his intent feel quite clear. Not screaming was easy. She was a little too beyond conscious sounds. But not fighting back was not an option. She grasped both sides where the shoulder and neck met and dug tore with her fingernails.
His eyes flashed open, overcoming her with their color alone. Surprise and overwhelming malice swam in those depths rather than pain, and it was paralyzing.
"Sephiroth!" Cloud screamed, his sword already piercing the man's side.
Kyrie saw the sword appear, bloodied, on the other side of the man's body. The momentum from the power of that hate filled thrust alone was enough to disengage her unwelcome parasite. Sephiroth...
She didn't know how it happened, but it did. Somehow the shock and surprise that was still pressing down inside of her chest just ceased to exist for a moment. She rolled and leapt off the bed on Cloud's side, knowing exactly where her gunblade was. There was no second guessing, no insecurity. She just grabbed the handle and unsheathed it, glad to hold it's weight and power in her hands.
Cloud hoped to the highest heaven that she knew what the hell she was doing with that thing. Darting away from her, he paced over to the end of the bed and closer to Sephiroth.
Snap open, six bullets from her leg, load, close, aim. It was like second nature. Her weapon pointed surely for the place at which the psycho would rise from the floor. Almost instantly as her finger rested on the trigger, she saw a small burst of light and Cloud fly backward. That man, Sephiroth, rose so quickly and used such forceful magic that her trigger finger didn't even have the time to squeeze in reflex before she felt a similar burst of light pass through her. It was quite like whatever had caused her muscles to jam and her conception of time to change earlier, only with an electric shiver of painful pins and needles through every bit of her body. It was so intense that her gunblade slipped from her hand; but she was utterly determined to keep it in her grasp. The burst of pain only lasted for a second, and she was able to regain her grasp with both hands on the end of the hilt.
Unfortunately, it was not in time to actually take a shot at the bastard. "Sit, child." He ordered, spreading his hand out toward her. An invisible, icy chill spilled throughout her directly from that hand. She completely lost control of her body only long enough for her legs to give out underneath her, folding her perfectly into the chair directly behind her. She found that this time, with agonizing dismay, her hands were completely immobile. She couldn't even unwrap them from around her gunblade, which was pinned toward the floor as if stuck on a powerful magnet. Shit. She was useless.
"And as for you..." he continued, paralyzing Cloud just an instant before he'd have used that giant sword to slice the man in half from top to bottom, "You are even more of a nuisance to me."
The blonde growled, trying his damnedest to get that sword just an inch closer. "I thought I killed you!" he yelled in complete frustration.
The man scoffed calmly. "Looks can be deceiving. I certainly wasn't expecting to see you again." He crossed his arms and rested his chin on the backs of his fingers, talking as though he were trying to communicate to a slow child. "You should know that I am forever tied to this planet. As long as it exists, so do I. So does Mother."
Kyrie sat back, watching this whole exchange (as if she had a choice in the matter). Cloud was as old as Sephiroth? Interesting. They'd battled before, as well. It was like watching a soap opera just a little too close to real life.
"Don't give me that mother shit." Cloud growled.
Sephiroth only grinned, almost shyly, acting flattered. "Still quick to anger. So long and still so much the same."
The shop keeper grunted as the sword moved just slightly, barely forward. But it was a sign that the magic was far from permanent, or as powerful as it could be. There was hope. "The same goes for you, you fucking..."
"I am not an unfair man." Sephiroth chuckled to himself, interrupting. "I'll give you as fair a chance as you gave me, you pathetic reject." A ball of black energy erupted outward from his body. The next thing Kyrie knew was that way too goddamn familiar blackness, surrounding all senses. Complete and utter blackness.

She groaned quietly, becoming completely aware of what had just transpired. It was a slow process, like having been drugged. Familiar in all the worst ways. And when her eyes finally opened and adjusted the barest hint of a lightening sky, there was another moan. Aggravation, defeat, regret. It sucked to have been taken so easily. And with no real defense against magic--it just sucked.
She looked over to see Cloud, still asleep and collapsed at the foot of the bed. There was absolutely no sign that that crazy jerk had even been there; even the fucking bed was made as neat as any hotel maid could have dreamed. Well then. What to think of this situation. It was certainly new and different.
She rose quietly, sheathing her weapon that had fallen to the floor. No damage done, but it was still loaded. She thought she'd certainly better put the safety on. Better at this point to keep it loaded and at the ready. Just in case. Sephiroth may not be around, but if he had magic, he may be able to control... things. Hell, she didn't know. All she knew were stories from her parents, pictures, history lessons. Sure monsters still existed, but not quite the way they used to. They were pretty much completely restricted to the uninhabited islands and forests, these days.
And as for Cloud... well, she didn't feel threatened by him. In fact, she truly believed he'd helped her out of the goodness of his own heart. She felt she'd soon find out how much of an idiot she was; he'd taken a deep breath and turned slightly. What an ordeal. Part of her wanted to lay on that bed and sleep for a long time, then take a nice, strong, caffeinated drink and ponder what had just happened. But there wasn't really time for that.
She walked over to the window, careful not to hurry Cloud's waking up. She wanted to see what sort of situation they were involved in, first. The most unfortunate sight met her eyes, however. Even through the darkness of pre-dawn, she could see bodies strewn about the cobblestones below. Several. One had on a maid's uniform, and one looked like a doorman. That's all she cared to see; they were in trouble. Possibly the only ones left alive in the building. Shit, the whole town for all they knew. It was pretty certain that Sephiroth was long gone.
She sighed with a bit of disgust, trying to fully wake herself up. The welt on her back was unbearably stiff and still stinging, joining the orchestra of bruises. Most especially when she tried to stretch her arms over her head. She mumbled a strong string of curses to herself and walked up to the mirror on the far side of the room, turning away from it and looking behind her. Her back didn't look that bad, she supposed, but it sure as hell didn't look great. She looked like she'd been in one hell of an interesting accident, at least. There were also a few small black and blue marks on her face from when the freak had backhanded her, but it wasn't too much. She just looked fully like a domestic dispute victim.
"You got pretty banged up, there..." Cloud commented groggily.
She gave him an understated, agreeable glance, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. "I take it you're not just a mild-mannered shop keeper."
He stood slowly, his head still spinning a little. "Yeah." He agreed, sounding almost defeated. "You could say that."