Ladies and gentlemen; *this* is emphasis.
########
after
It was over now. All over. The battles, the fighting, the struggle. All
over. It had happened so fast, in the end, and the downward ride of this
emotional rollercoaster felt like nothing so much as disappointment. The fear
and the anger and the mere effort of survival had brought them and bound them
together. And now there was little more to face than a ravaged world, strangely
empty without their enemy.
Their enemy. A spawn of--of what?
Of that damned woman, Lucrecia? Or of whatever the hell it was that Jenova was
supposed to be? Maybe some semi-human combination of the two.
What did it matter now? He was gone, and all that was left of him was this big
hole in the ground, this crater; proof that the last few month had been more
than a dream; more than a vivid hallucination. Odd, how fast those nightmarish
days seemed to be fading, even now. As if they were memories from years ago,
not days.
Cid
grumbled. Cid kicked at rocks as stomped around the rocky perimeter, wary of
the smoking stone, of the loose rubble. He’d meant this battle to be his swan
song, a grand finale to a life of unmet dreams. It was a little confusing to
have survived it. He hadn’t expected to be faced with the prospect of figuring
out what to do next.
It could
wait, though, he thought. It could wait at least a few days. There was really
no goddamn reason why his brain had to be trying to mull this over now. Not
when the others were still sprawled on their backs, catching their breath and
wondering that they still had breath to catch. Not when Yuffie had yet to break
into an inevitable victory celebration. Really, he thought, he could at least
wait until the first whoop had sounded.
Down in
the crater, through the mist, a form moved. Graceful, slow, and Cid came to a
grumbling, cursing halt as he paused to peer down, squinting, his gut
tightening at the prospect of further battle, at the prospect of Sephiroth
having survived all that and coming back for more. Had he really, minutes ago,
been mourning this new peace? Fuck. What an idiot he was.
But the
wind shifted then and cleared the smoke and steam and dust enough for him to
get a good look. A good enough look, at least, for him to identify who it was
moving around down there.
“Hey! Vin!”
No reply,
but then he hadn’t really been expecting one. Unfazed, he made his way down to
the depths of the crater, slipping and sliding on loose rubble all the way,
cursing every time he nearly fell or twisted something. “Shit. Just what I need. To die tripping in a pot hole. God. I’m too fucking old for this.”
Vincent
was clearer now, a decidedly dark shade in the midst of all that smoke. No
longer moving, but on the ground. The blurry shape of his
head below Cid’s eye level instead of above. Cid frowned, called, “Vin?
That’s you right? Are you okay?”
“It’s me.”
Enough of a reply. Cid stormed forward, ignoring the curling, dancing tendrils of whatever the hell it was rising
out of the ground all around them, “Well, hell. You scared the hell out of me!!
What are you doing down here anyway? You better not be--Oh.” Cid stumbled to a
halt, eyes wide, breathed, “My god.” And fell silent.
Sephiroth’s
coat was almost gone, torn apart into black tatters that clung possessively to
his body and the straps and metalwork of his shoulder guards and equipment. The
rest of him, though, was nearly unscathed. Bruised, yes, but
whole. His hair a tangled, silky mess across the rocks and dirt and
gravel, his hands bloodied, but intact, loosely curled, one on the stone by his
side, the other in Vincent’s hand.
And the wings,
those damn inhuman wings of his, one folded and limp beneath him, the other
spread out like a downy blanket. Snowy white. And unharmed, except for the stray feathers dancing slowly on the
same currents that blew the smoke about. His face, in death, was
relaxed, calm. Like a child asleep at long, long last.
“Vin?” Nothing. Vincent reached out
a hand and rested it on Sephiroth’s hair, gently smoothing out the tangles he
could reach until soft, smooth bangs again framed Sephiroth’s face. He said
nothing.
Cid
tried to say nothing. Remained silent for an admirably long while until it
simply could not be borne any longer, then spit out, “Vincent, are you okay?
Can we get the fuck out of here?”
“Go.”
Vincent didn’t turn to face him; one hand stayed holding their fallen foe’s, the other kept slowly brushing his hair.
Cid
blinked, started to curse him out, and caught himself. “You came down here to
look for him, didn’t you?”
“Hojo
did this.” Vincent said, not really answering the question, but telling Cid all
he needed to know. Gently, almost reverently, Vincent pulled Sephiroth’s body
toward him, cradling his shoulders, still holding his hand. “Destroyed
him like he did me.”
“Yeah? Well, Hojo screwed over a whole hell of a lot of
people, and not all of them didn’t deserve it. He, for
one,” Cid said, nodding at the body Vincent held, “was gonna kill us all. Was going to destroy everything and everybody. “
“No.
Jenova was.”
“Okay.
Jenova was, if it makes you feel better. Can we-- Vin?”
Vincent’s
posture was not just one of sympathy, not just one of understanding. It was one
of grief and of mourning. “He was her son.” He said, “And she asked me to kill
him.”
“Maybe. Maybe it was just you going a little crazy in that
waterfall. Look at Cloud. He’s screwed up three ways from Sunday, doesn’t mean
all *his* voices are telling the truth.”
“How
could Hojo do this to his own child?” Vincent sighed, holding the limp body to
him, clumsily folding the wings around the still form. “Lucrecia’s
child. He could have been mine.” He rose
slowly, dark hair blowing messily in the swirling winds, coat flapping
slightly, his metal arm glinting dully against the white of those abominable
wings. “He should have been my son.”
~owari
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