Author's Note: (Originally posted with Chapter 1 on 2021-07-14) Greetings! ＼(￣▽￣)／

While this fanfiction is still in its infancy, the setting is an AU I have given great thought to. I debated sharing this for multiple reasons - I feel like there is a great deal that has happened ‘before’ this story begins. This kind of drove me crazy when I was deciding whether or not to publish. Ultimately I decided I would have much more motivation if I made it public, and that I would be committing to reach some kind of conclusion rather than getting distracted.

I will do my best to attempt to fill in the gaps for you here. I think most of you are here for Sefikura and *not* for six chapters of worldbuilding. That being said, if you have any questions or just would like to talk about it, please contact me. I'd be more than happy to elaborate.

Simply put, this AU takes place on another planet. Not Gaia, but enough like Gaia that it has similar landmarks, characters, that kind of thing. The biggest difference is that there are multiple distinct nations. These used to be sort of like our planet with borders, their own cultures, etc., but ShinRa has been dominating the world with the "help" of Jenova and the use of high-level sciences. In this world, Jenova is decidedly mysterious… is she an alien race? She presents as a human woman but I won’t necessarily say what she is or isn’t. She is not a public figure for ShinRa, but she has gained complete control of the organisation and therefore their world conquest operation. Basically what I’m saying is this: ShinRa is Jenova’s lapdog.

The lifestream exists here but it’s modified, moreso to be like a collective unconscious / spiritual realm rather than a physical stream or whatever. All the people who inherit “S Cells” (probably going to coin a new term just for ease of use in this fic) have various powers that allow them to manipulate the mind/consciousness of any person who has *not* inherited them. Sort of like vampirism, or like ‘hacking into their mainframe’ I guess, for lack of a better comparison (and so I don’t get too long-winded).

There are countries against ShinRa because people are aware that something is very wrong/strange and it is unclear what Jenova’s true goals are - she seems to need something in particular from “normal people”, and she needs to be in a position of absolute power in order to do it. There's a sense of desperation behind her actions; she has to press onwards, to push others, by all means necessary. There are voices on the wind that say that somewhere, somehow, a revolution has begun against her tyranny. This is one of the places that our story begins…

Thank you for reading!
It would absolutely make my day if you let me know any thoughts you had when reading~
Huge thank you to J (YurievInstitute) for all the beta work and to Ciel for her constant support! Thank you both for always humouring my fantasies...

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Today, something interesting was finally happening in the otherwise empty boardroom. People of all shapes and sizes decorated the wide mahogany table, unique uniforms worn proudly—it could have easily been a painting of all the most prolific "who's who" of our time. Perhaps most interesting among all these individuals was the loud silence that pounded every square inch of space. It was a stillness of profound respect, admiration, and fear. It was unspoken, yet commanding. It was unquestionable that every man, woman, and child present had something to say about this meeting, but it was held back solely by this reverence. And all this for a particular woman—a woman who had finally arrived.

Sephiroth had been staring blankly down at his papers. He was already familiar with every point of what was about to be addressed today. What he wasn't briefed on could be easily assumed based on the guests in attendance, the current political climate, a little fishing at the Midgar Stock Exchange, and some 'personal research'. His bored expression betrayed itself instantly as large cherry wood doors creaked open. He was the first to rise from his seat, bowing his head with a simple "Good evening, Mother." That would be the most emotion he would publically exhibit for the rest of the occasion.

The click of long heels echoed through the board room. She carried herself gracefully, purposefully all the way down the passage. The guests were treated only to her runway reflection cast against thick black windows – windows with an exclusive view that “ShinRa’s Finest” had named the best view in the country two years running, a view ignored by every single pair of eyes in favor of her figure. The bright city far below the ShinRa building twinkled and danced, playing off the silver coiled around her neck, fingers, waist—the brightest silver, which only belonged to her and her children's hair, almost glowing beneath the light. If she noticed that a participant trembled as she clicked past them, she made no show of it. No one deserved her attention but the boy who had dared to address her. 

Jenova was taller than a model, taller even than her son, a fine man slightly over six feet high. As she traced around a corner of the table, coming now to the true focal point of the room, she finally permitted a pleased look to pool over her features, softening the otherwise straight lines. Her eyes crinkled in a way somewhat fitting for a woman who held the title "Mother" as she moved closer to her son, her haunting, serpentine gaze growing more intense. There was a tangible sense of envy that loomed in the room, jealousy of that fondness she reserved only for her sons. Sephiroth could feel the eyes now fixed upon his bowed head. He chose, like always, to focus on the only ones that mattered.

The largest empty chair was ornate in a way that outshone even the rest of the room. One of her pale hands rested upon the carved wooden angels of the arms of the chair while the other reached out for the hand of her son, who sat on a smaller throne beside her. The table had been designed specifically with her tastes in mind, curved like a horseshoe before her. Other than a few central fixtures, like the chandelier hanging low in its warm, gentle light and a large screen under the glass tabletop for demonstrations and the like, there were hardly any distractions. The guards – who doubled as servants – seemed to blend into the backsplash of the wall, their decades of rigorous training evident through their lack of presence.

"You may be seated." Jenova brushed her son's hand gently before fixing the back of her juniper-green dress, casting her eyes from the left side of the room to the right as each person who caught her gaze in succession anxiously settled back down into their right place. A slight smile played at the corners of her lips, but perhaps Sephiroth was the only one who could see. He was the last to take his place before her. Hooking her right leg over her left, she sighed in a way in which only she could, almost as a demonstration. She seemed to be most comfortable in places like these, where her audience was captive and anything but.

"Who among you would like to open?" Her tone shift was subtle, but a challenge all the same. It would be best interpreted as "Who would dare to waste my time?" The deafening silence that had been nearly forgotten now returned, yet the collective anxiety made itself known in how audibly the guests shifted in their seats, their expressions twisting, some choosing to stare anywhere but front and center where she sat... waiting. Sephiroth could choose to waste energy tuning into those pathetic thoughts, but now that his duties were over he would choose instead to zone out, just as he did every meeting. He stared out the window over the little herds below as they hurried home late this Friday evening; he chose to imagine their lives, sometimes comparing them with his own. An interesting motorcycle soared by on the inner plate roundabout and caught his eye – perhaps they would get along. His mind drifted and time fell away, and he surfaced only to check that he was not required to specify anything or demonstrate something for Jenova's benefit.

From time to time Sephiroth would have to stare absently at the speakers, all poor actors, as they attempted to explain what their branch or operation had accomplished in the three weeks that had passed between this corporate ritual and the last. Jenova believed wholeheartedly in taking risks, so she funded anything that caught her interest. She had funded and taken advantage of many projects that everyone else had ridiculed, and had this to thank in part for the ease of her great success. Although those not bowing to her ideology would never outright admit it, it was the common consensus that ‘ true science’ could only take place with the resources that Jenova and ShinRa allocated. Many of the lucky hopefuls—scientists and researchers—would desperately crawl over each other to get to pitch their pipe dream to the very queen of ShinRa. Of course, tonight was no different. Petty pandering to her ideals, self-indulgent projects packed with a brand new ribbon to try and squeeze what they could from her. Fools all, thinking they were smart enough to trick her before ever being in her presence, Sephiroth thought to himself. He respected these men and their despicable ploys the least.

Normally he would have drifted away until the end of the evening, but the voice of a strange man broke through his reverie.

"... Considering his—and yours, my lady—uh... abilities," They always struggled to label the exotic and horrific powers of Jenova's bloodline. "wouldn't this theory make sense? Surely the use of human weapons would be significantly less expensive to produce and could be better controlled than the current artificial intelligence we utilize. You see, we struggle with problem-solution algorithms. When the AI runs into an issue it can't understand, it bootloops. We just aren't at liberty to fix a weapon every time it can't figure out how to do its job." The man adjusted his glasses, taking a moment to inhale. To his disbelief, he had everyone's attention. "However, if we could train humans... soldiers, if you will, solely to operate as weapons for you or for your sons, they would be able to solve problems in a rational, predictable way. It would work even for things they may not be trained for, as long as the solution is founded on common sense." 

For the first time this evening's meeting started, Jenova turned towards Sephiroth. This was typically how she showed interest in approving a new project, and it was also his cue to speak on her behalf. 

"Explain in a sentence how you expect to collect willing human subjects." His tone was ice, but it was all show, only to perform and to mask his apathy.
After deliberating as long as socially permissible, he offered the response that both Sephiroth and Jenova had expected. "They would need some strong convincing. We have an idea—"

Now Jenova laughed at a joke only she seemed to understand. She firmly settled both her feet onto the floor, her hair spilling over her shoulders, landing in pools along her thighs and further downward still as her chest heaved three times. She seemed to gain instant control of her laughter as quickly as it caught her.

"All of you..." She cast her fingers out from the scientist, spreading across each guest regardless of if they had spoken their piece or not. All in attendance knew that meant that they were dismissed—all except for the single scientist that she singled out from the rest. Sephiroth waited like usual, assuming that he would remain with her until the very end as he always had. To his surprise, that fierce gaze turned on him next. Twisting. Punishing. 

"Good night, my angel." Her tone was devastating. Sephiroth bowed once more, kissing the top of her soft hand as he went. He gathered his clipboard and papers without a word, hiding his shock and shame to the best of his ability. It was all for naught; he knew his Mother could pick through every thought, no matter how incomplete, like a dog prying meat from a bone. Sephiroth allowed himself a glare at the scientist before he was out past the guards, who jumped over themselves to open the door for him. For a moment he stood in the center of them, parroting one of the many rehearsed exchanges he was permitted to have with her. 

"Good night, Mother." 

The doors shut. He lost sight of her, and with her went all he could ever dream of his future. He sensed that something was different, but he couldn’t begin to understand what awaited him, how profoundly it would annihilate him, or that it would change everything he’d ever known. 

 

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Months had passed since that fateful night. Sephiroth reflected on it from time to time, the tantalizing project that was kept so secret from him—and him exclusively, at that. His younger brother Kadaj had a point to sneer on more than one occasion that he'd seen or heard something; likely a bluff, but it rustled him nonetheless. There was as much jealousy as there was camaraderie between the four of them; the triplets publicly recognized their brother as superior, particularly as the figurehead of their mother's movement, but what was truly left unspoken was the vast and deep-seated trauma Jenova had fostered around each of them to pit them against one another, dare they attempt to overthrow her. 

One of the usual guards, a man Sephiroth knew better than his brothers in many ways, was tasked with driving him back from his last rotation of public performances. ShinRa had him drifting around the country, organizing units, training others in his arts, but he spent most of his time on exactly what took the most energy out of him—television and radio.

Sephiroth lay back flat against the passenger seat chair. His uniform hugged him snugly, perfectly tailored to the height of luxury but somehow always a bit uncomfortable. It never really struck him until he was out of the spotlight; being driven home meant he could finally relax as much as he could ever allow himself to. He loosened one of the belts around his waist, jingling the golden medals across his chest before settling his leather cap across his thighs. When he wasn't under direct observation—something he rather enjoyed about this driver—he had a tendency to run his fingers through his hauntingly silver hair. He smiled to himself softly, grateful he'd never have to cut it like any of the other men beneath him. 

"I don't know how you do that." Now came the predictable small-talk, another pleasantry Sephiroth didn't have to calculate. His shoulders relaxed back into the cool vinyl seating. His driver turned to look at him before continuing; a show of consideration. "Don't you just think all of those reporters are the lowest of the low? Man, if it were me..." 

Sephiroth had his eyes closed now, knowing it would take the pair over four hours to get back to headquarters. He could see exactly what his confidant was doing without even having to use his powers, same routine as always; the groan of the window rolling down, the click of the steel lighter—well-loved and bright red—the deep breath he'd suck in as he broke off onto the highway, release...

"Pass me one, Reno." 

Reno laughed. The sound rolled into a pleasant harmony with the engine as it roared to pick up speed. "That bad, huh?"

They both knew the answer. The lights cast swirls of long green and orange tails over the windows, the glow of the city mesmerizing through dense smog. There was a stillness even here on the outer highway plates at this strange hour, right between the depths of night and the birth of the morning. It felt like soaring through an open sky, and he imagined the trails of fluorescent lighting on concrete tunnel walls as shooting stars. Sephiroth ran his free hand gently against the crushed black velvet of his gloves, neatly laid across his lap under the rim of his cap. If he could fly, he knew he’d want command over wings that felt exactly like this.

Sephiroth was never expected to answer when Reno talked, and he relished that. Reno’s love of chatter gave off the impression of someone who couldn’t sit still, but he just loved to play the clown for his friends’ amusement. He always had it in him to appreciate comfortable silence. Two cigarettes later, though, he was chittering again, breaking up the crackle of the classical music on the radio.

"They've got like five entire platoons of those scouts at the place," he began. "You know. The youth programs. Silver Soldiers, or whatever. For some reason they've got them all hanging out waiting to do their physicals at HQ’s labs..." 

Sephiroth’s brow furrowed. "Any idea why?"

"That's what I'm asking you, buddy! It's weird. You know how I feel about it. It's like drone city in there. Don't they usually send a dude out to sort them out at those backwater towns they come from?" Reno paused to think, focusing on the dotted white line as it curved around the middle lane. "Bigger question," Sephiroth could see Reno's exceedingly bright ponytail flip out of the corner of his eyes as Reno turned to face him. "Why send you ?"

The car went silent again as Reno merged onto a ramp.

"Why would they send me to deal with freshmen?"

By the time it clicked, they were already being waved through security at the front gate. 

 

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"One day, when I make SOLDIER, I'm gonna live here." 

"No, you're not."

"Am too! I'll live on the top floor, too. Up where all those fancy penthouses are. I'll make First. They'll give me a really fancy uniform and an even cooler gun, I bet."

"They won’t ."

"Can you guys stop and just enjoy the view for five seconds?! We're in a freakin' glass elevator right now and you're fighting over guns again!! "

The trio of children, all different ages, admired the view of the city as they climbed up the tallest building in the country. The two boys respected the younger girl enough to stop. The blond, Cloud, was the first to press his fingers against the glass. 

"Do you think they're the type of people to care about fingerprints and stuff?" Zack asked, face suddenly stern. A severe expression looked almost funny across his features.

Aeris giggled at him before planting both of her palms against the glass next to Cloud. She gasped at the view as they crashed through the smog barrier, rising higher still. For the first time since making their long journey to the capital city, they could finally see the stars.

Cloud envied Aeris’s easygoing demeanor. He was nauseous, nearly buckling under how frighteningly real it all was and under the uncertainty of what the next hour would bring. He knew what it could mean for the rest of his life, for all of his dreams and desires. He would be weighed, as they all would be, in the same way a butcher would measure a lamb. Before he'd brought his fingertips to the glass, he'd almost believed that he would fall right through, crashing down into the city below. He could've gotten lost in that daydream if his nerves hadn’t anchored him firmly to his body.

As hard as it was to meet Zack's optimism today, he happily received it. Even if he didn't believe it.

The three were chosen, as all who came of age were chosen, to be evaluated for their potential to contribute to their country. The boys had already eagerly enrolled in various pre-military training programs, as all their friends had, and as their parents had encouraged them to. Although much of the process was cloaked in secrecy, it was common knowledge that the various physical evaluations that took place over one's final years of freshman training would determine which rank one could expect to hold during the transition into real military organizations and beyond. As genetics were rumored to have a role, the trio were equally concerned, all for different reasons, that they would surely be discarded or, in the best case, not considered . Zack was the most confident, as his father had received a handsome grade long before it was Zack’s own turn. He laid himself across the floor of the elevator, convincing Aeris to lay beside him so she could "get a panoramic view" of their new world.

The entire ride would take approximately 40 minutes. The building was intentionally designed to allow a systematic web of cables and elevator capsules to operate simultaneously, all with the aim of bringing guests to their unique destinations as required. Due to its sheer size, multiple routes of ascension were essential. This was especially necessary, not simply due to convenience or courtesy, since a vast majority of floors were restricted to specific security clearances, let alone to the general public. These small, ten-person-maximum-occupant elevator capsules could be programmed with the exact permissions and routes required. After boarding, participants were taken to the test waiting room, processed, and then released. Such advanced technology streamlined the process, an absolutely essential point of function for a delicate operation employing hundreds of monthly applicants. 

While the three expected, or perhaps hoped, that there would be more of a triumphant signal that they'd arrived, they each more than sobered themselves in time to get off at their target floor. They hopped up, smoothing out their rookie uniforms—a modest-looking periwinkle blue—and took turns adjusting the others’ neckties and pins.

Cloud took one last look at his reflection, searching the blank gaze of his shadow desperately for clues toward how tonight would end. Before he got his answer, Zack grabbed his arm and pulled him silently out into the maw of the waiting room, and Cloud’s final glimpse of his true reflection melted into the skies of Midgar.

Author's Note: (Originally posted 2022-07-23) Thank you for reading~
I should have chapters out at a biweekly pace—the month of August might be busy in my real life due to moving but I've got some more this written up in advance (just need to get the editing done).
I'm always happy to consider suggestions or requests, so feel free to contact me.

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The waiting room was like nothing the trio had seen before, and it took them a moment to process they were even in the right place. Each was accustomed to the modest white-walled hospital in their shared hometown, a place that never really had any of what it ought to. Even behind all the aggressive cleaning and the sterile atmosphere, the scent of illness still loomed, pervading the air with a quiet, unyielding morbidity. The floors, all dotted and speckled with color, had only served as a weak distraction from the building’s unsettling ambience.

This waiting room, however, was the perfect opposite of what they were all familiar with. As Cloud took in his surroundings, he noticed that the floors were all polished stone, though he couldn't hazard a guess at what kind. His eyes were naturally drawn from the paintings that adorned the walls—all real paint, thick and creamy, nothing like the flimsy prints he was used to back home. He flushed as his eyes caught the image of naked flesh in the dreamscapes of the canvas. There were so many he couldn't settle on where to look. The design was very deliberate; the curves of the figures all led the eye naturally, carrying it along the stretching walls all the way to the grand fountain in the center of the room. Crystal clear water glittered and bubbled pleasantly, something that surprised Cloud—fresh water was hard to come by. Dangling crystals refracted rainbows through every corner of the room. The base of the fountain was also stone, the same type as the floor; if he could feel it through his boots, he would feel how profoundly cold it was—a sign of its quality. Plants lined the room where chairs didn't, all pressed neatly against the walls—comfortable-looking and well-worn despite being wooden. There were many other boys and girls around their age, ranging from one or two years older than Zack to a year shy of Aeris, the youngest of the three. 

Cloud felt Aeris clutch his free hand. Zack hadn't let go of his other arm. They stood rather awkwardly together in front of the water fountain, unsure of what to do next and ogling the décor. None of the other guests paid much attention; in fact, another one or two capsules landed and more people repeated the same process of staring in awe. Zack finally decided he ought to sit still, mostly because he knew he’d get too excited and try to do something silly like toss a coin into the fountain if he stood beside it any longer. He thought back to the advice his parents had given him before coming: a stern "Behave," and nothing more.

Aeris took the seat next to Zack, and Cloud opted for the other open space beside him—it was the last seat of the row, so it meant no strangers could come sit beside him and open an uncomfortable conversation that he didn't have the energy for. Aeris kicked her legs back and forth excitedly, beaming as she looked around the room. 

"There're so many people here..." Cloud hadn't realized he'd said it out loud until Zack turned to him.

"Yeah, I know, and this girly outfit makes us look like dorks!" Zack cursed quietly under his breath. He was nervous of eyes and ears that might be secretly watching or listening. Perhaps this waiting room was a test in its own way? "Those guys over there get to wear uniforms modeled exactly after First Class. You know, minus that big hat and boots and stuff. We look like nurses or something..."

Cloud knew that their attire was not up for debate. It made identification simpler. Towns across the country all had their own unique uniforms. Even in higher ranks of the military, they were each designated colors, stripes, and in some cases even certain accessories. Their hometown, likely due to its irrelevance, got what seemed to be the last choice when it came to color. 

"There's nothing wrong with nurses!" Aeris pouted, but it was in a way that seemed playful—she wasn't offended. She liked egging Zack on more than anything, and it was obvious he needed something to focus on. "They've got one of the toughest jobs, you know..."

It was a while before Cloud noticed a gathering of older people towards the south end of the long room. He couldn't make out if they were speaking or not—they'd turned their backs to the group—but it was obvious that something had begun. There were a few other entrants that also noticed, and an expectant quiet spread out over the room. 

Each applicant had a number and letter combination for use in place of a name. They never overlapped. There were a great many uses for this ID. It could be used to verify an applicant’s assets, health, and security clearances, as well as to purchase goods and travel through country, among other things. After three or four carts were rolled out from the crowded set of doors, a young man called the first ID.

“16A2!”

Cloud looked up in a panic. That was his ID. He noticed he was shaking as he tried to stand up. He wasn't sure if he should until he felt Zack gently push his back.

"Good luck, Cloud!" Aeris whispered.

He swallowed hard. Not wanting to seem a coward, he marched forward to where he was summoned until he passed the fountain, through the lanes of people, all the way to the guards and the speaker. The guard pressed a cup from one of the crowded trays into Cloud's hand. 

"Drink it. Follow the path to the left."

Cloud hardly had time to form a response before he was ushered through the entryway and into a pitch black hallway.

The doors closed shut loudly behind him. A lock clicked. Cloud couldn't make out what was in the cup, and he regretted not looking properly before. It smelled strange, noxious. He chugged it, not wanting to ruin his chances, bracing himself for a hideous flavor that never came. It tasted and smelled like a poor attempt at cherry.
A soft green light flared up at Cloud’s feet. He lifted his boot, startled. Floor lights. The hallway was much more industrial, similar to the rest of the city. To say it lacked the elegance of the room he was just in would be an understatement. There were two forked paths that looked virtually identical. Cloud recalled the guard’s orders and obediently took the left, knuckles whitening as he clutched his empty glass. He realized he was drifting away from himself and his nerves the more he moved, sweat beginning to pool across his brow. It took a great deal of effort to keep one foot properly in front of the other, in the march that he had been trained to do for years. He had to maintain the right form—who knew what could be watching him or how he might be monitored? As he rounded a corner, far away now from where he had begun—was he still continuing on the right path?—he saw his breath puff from his throat in front of him. The temperature lowered rapidly the further he went down, the floor itself on a slight decline. He noticed that at the very end of the path, nestled low, was another large metal set of doors, this time some kind of chrome—the green lights in the floor bounced off them. As he continued on, shivering slightly from nerves and from a growing chill, he made a point to check back and forth for any other potential destination. A humming tube monitor waited for him at the end of his path, as small as the family television he'd had at home in contrast to the monstrous doors it guarded.

"ID, please." A simplistic drawing of a robot danced along the dot pixel screen. After a few seconds it repeated its message, seemingly aware of Cloud's presence. "ID, please."

"16A2. Cloud Strife. Nibelheim." He grew self-conscious of the tension he noticed in his voice and made a mental note to tame it.

"Thank you," The robotic tone grew more procedural as it put together a repetition using an algorithm. "Six-TEEN-Alpha-two. CLOUD-strife. Nibelheim."

The screen made a pop as the display wound down, pulsing its power down into the floor like a root all along the cords that married it to the giant doors. As the impulse was received, the giant circle, a lock, began to spin clockwise over the face of the doors. It creaked as various springs were released, finally rolling the tall slabs opposite directions and sucking all the air towards the fresh opening. Cloud felt his hair sweep over his face, losing his grip on his cup and sending it spiraling into the space between the door and the airlock. Light now flooded his senses, incredibly bright, so much so he had to quickly shut his eyes. He could hear the sound of the metal heaving, poles holding things together snaking back and forth as if it were a great machine. Cloud squinted like his eyes were splashed with salt water, trying to open them and get a look at what lay before him. The sound now stilled, giving way to the hum of electronics, a distant bubbling of a beaker, or a vat. Cloud sensed a coldness unlike anything he'd felt before. His heart leapt in his chest. He rushed in, balling his hands into fists once more, blinking rapidly to try to adjust, frightened the doors might crash back together before he could make his way through. As soon as he'd made it past the other side, the lock automatically clicked, and the plates came back together slowly and gently like two tired giants.

He recognized he was in some kind of laboratory, but it was unlike any he had seen before. If he had control of his senses, he would have pored over every detail. 

In fact, his inability to feel anything was what concerned him now—what should have been a booming warning siren of concern was now a dull whimper, a pesky reminder. The exposed skin on his arms and legs prickled with goosebumps, turning red from the escalating chill, but—though he was too sluggish to realize it—he found that he felt warm instead. Thick? Heavy? He was almost comfortable enough to let his body go slack right there and then.

It started slowly. He couldn’t remember why he had been nervous. The muscles in his shoulders and back, which had been completely overwhelmed by anxious tension, felt now like they would after a long massage, totally relaxed. Cloud’s mouth felt dry, and he found himself drooling just a little—much to his embarrassment—but it took a ridiculous amount of effort to bring his hand to his face. He struggled to maintain control over himself, as though his own instincts and impulses were being invaded. He would have an easier time working his arm against sand or deep water than struggling against this force that devastated him. 

He stopped there, in the middle of the room, patiently waiting for something as these new sensations ensnared him completely. For the first time in months, he struggled to think. Anxiety was unfamiliar. He couldn’t process it. The concept of ‘Cloud’ had vanished. He was simply observing, a disembodied stranger to his own flesh. He watched himself now with no emotion or personal investment, not even mild interest as ‘Cloud’ buckled under the now-unbearable weight of his own body. He sank like a discarded doll or a toy, crumpling in a strange position, face pressed against the icy slate floor—so cold that his breath formed a film over the glassy finish. Someone or something within him moaned. He stirred, and his body responded to this possession with a slight twitch, a quivering in his legs that he could no longer feel. The moan sounded more like an animal than a human; low, heavy, instinctual and needy .

His eyes rolled back. It was too hard to keep them open anymore. Sweat covered his body now, his very own shiny plastic finish. Cloud’s pulse struck him again and again; he could only sense it in one place at once, though it carried on drumming in his fingertips, corded around his neck, steadily increasing in strength and pace… Cloud’s breath hitched in his throat and he gasped, trembling.

He had never felt so good . 

The last of whatever was left of ‘Cloud’ faded away. He had entirely slipped into a pool of undeniable, inescapable, mind-bending bliss, so pleasurable that it stung. His empty mind was open, unfurling for the fierce presence that was soon to come down upon him. The full force of the true heir of the ShinRa empire was close, approaching to claim rightful ownership of all ShinRa had to give him.

And Cloud was ShinRa property, now.

Tseng tolerated very little nonsense. He wasn’t quick to project any of his emotions outward, save for mild irritation. His colleagues, however, were a different story.

Tseng was used to domesticating his subordinates, and he was especially proud of his success with Reno. Moments like this, however, proved to him how little control he really had over that firepower.

“Reno,” Tseng glanced up from the live security feed from the various laboratories, all being primed for use this evening. Their honorable guests were all making their way to the processing rooms just as planned, right on schedule. “Mind telling me why The Great Sephiroth can’t seem to ever be on time?” 

Sephiroth laughed to himself quietly at Tseng’s sarcastic use of the title he agreed was trite, leaning against the wall of the control room, waiting for his turn to come. Reno’s face turned a few shades lighter red than his hair.

 “Nobody told me what’s going on here! How was I supposed to know?” Reno craned his neck to try and see what was unfolding on Tseng’s phone. “We’re like, what, fifteen minutes behind schedule? You can chill out.”

“Two hundred and fifty.” Tseng flipped the device onto its face in hopes Reno would stop climbing aboard his desk. 

“Two hundred and fifty what ?!” 

“Applicants, Reno.” Tseng sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We have to go through each one. Tonight. Fifteen minutes isn’t much to ask for, all things considered. I’m sure you can understand that.”

Reno silently acknowledged that he didn’t have a decent reply that wouldn’t kill more time. It’d only end up making more of a nuisance for himself to deal with later if he tried, and even if he could manage a comeback, Rufus wouldn’t let him hear the end of it.  He groaned, tossing his hands up in surrender. He suspected that information was being kept from him; the higher-ups had obviously taken his close relationship with Sephiroth into account, but he was unsettled by the extra secrecy around the mission. Reno had hardly been briefed, and he suspected he wasn’t the only one wondering what it was all really about.

Once Tseng knew Reno had more control over his emotions, he continued. “Here’s a list of twenty five candidates that we need the General to see. Personally.” Tseng turned to the left side of his desk. It could have been taller than him if it were stretched out in a different direction. He pulled out a grey portfolio from behind some well-ordered stacks of paper, fingered his way to the page he wanted as if he’d done it countless times, and splayed the contents neatly on the empty portion of the desk.

Reno scanned the two open pages, mostly headshots and snippets of information about various boys and girls from the youth programs, all standard for the IDs. What caught his interest was the fact that they were all from different parts of the country, something that had never been done before; it had long been deemed ineffective and a waste of resources to do basic testing anywhere other than the communities people had been raised in until they hit adulthood.

“This whole thing is really wack.” Reno hummed as he flipped a page. “Why keep it from the guy?”

Sephiroth, hearing this, took a look over Reno’s shoulder. He too, was surprised to find that he’d been kept in the dark about the project for so long.

“Sephiroth just needs to be the one to perform the testing. We monitor the situation. He comes down the walkway, touches down onto floors sixty-seven and sixty-eight, and does a routine examination. Rinse and repeat.” 

Sephiroth nodded. Simple enough. He could be in and out in two to three hours. He considered what trick his dear mother could be playing on him—surely it was much more complicated than what Tseng let on. Sephiroth knew Tseng well enough to know that whenever Tseng would busy himself at his desk dismissively, signaling he was done outlining the mission, there was much more hiding behind his stoic expression. 

In the end, theorizing proved itself useless. Sephiroth noticed his mothers signature—expert cursive in creamy jet-black ink—at the front of the folder as he closed it. He would not deny Jenova's wishes. 

“We’re ready for the General whenever you are.” A ShinRa executive, Reeve, politely knocked on the half-closed door before letting himself in. He talked over Reno, who was still complaining to Tseng and refusing to let up even after Reeve’s knock. Tseng quickly gave the go-ahead to Sephiroth, dismissing Reno with a wave of his hand.

“Follow me.”

✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄。*。¨¯`*✲。*。¨¯`*✲✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄✲´*。.❄¨

 

“Don’t look down.”

The walkway jittered as Sephiroth took his first step out. The catwalk sloped and curved down through a gauntlet of pipes and wires for close to a hundred floors. Tseng and Reeve heeded his advice, and they all snaked their way through the underbelly of the ShinRa building. The idea of leading Turks and ShinRa brass through these passages disturbed Sephiroth—they were intended only for Jenova and her kin—but he remembered her signature and raised no objections.

Sephiroth had a full tiled display of each room he was meant to visit on his phone, just as Tseng did. Only half of the rooms were occupied. Most of the applicants just sat down or made themselves as comfortable as they could amidst their confusion and distress. As time went on, Sephiroth noticed that they became more agitated the closer he came, as if they were all helpless to his presence. Reeve passed him and set out ahead, making observations into a voice recorder as they descended. Tseng tailed Sephiroth, curiously a few feet further behind than he usually was when chaperoning. 

Something restless began to stew deep inside Sephiroth. His impact was undeniable now; one by one, every cadet crumpled to the floor as he passed, some holding out longer than others, but only by seconds. If ShinRa hadn’t devised ways to block out Sephiroth’s abilities—top secret implants for Turks or the few executives who needed control over loose cannons like Kadaj—he’d have torn into Tseng’s mind right then for an answer. People normally didn’t respond to his presence from this far away—he was at least four hundred feet away from either of the floors at a time. Additionally, Sephiroth hadn’t decided to do anything. Normally, he had to make the choice to exert his “spiritual pressure”; when he did, it radiated off of him like an inescapable heat and could abuse the human mind easily, but only thanks to the expert focus he’d trained his entire life for. As much as ShinRa didn’t want to admit it, Sephiroth had a limit to his powers—all dependent on his will—and that made this all the more strange.

Sephiroth realized his body temperature was dropping sharply, a sensation made all the more bizarre when paired with the hot pulse roaring loud in his ears. He thought it strange that, despite this, he didn’t find himself anxious. In fact, he hadn’t felt any fear in the face of all his uncertainty—merely frustration. His confident footsteps started to slow, just barely, but it was enough for Reeve to notice. After two flights down rickety, rusty stairs, right in front of the terminal to floor sixty-seven, Reeve stopped and turned to Sephiroth.

“Feeling alright, sir?” 

Sephiroth didn’t answer, too enraptured by the screen in his hands. Streams of mysterious exhaust pelted down on the team from the pipes overhead as they waited for an answer. He’d stopped in his tracks. Tseng stopped as well; even from so far off, he noticed a deep flush creeping over Sephiroth’s flesh. Sephiroth was transfixed by what he saw, by what he knew he was sensing. 

Silence.

“Where is 16A2?” Sephiroth finally answered with a snarl, pure and unstoppable impulse. The typically confident Tseng took a cowardly step backwards, instinct animating his body for him as he caught Sephiroth’s fierce eyes. They glowed vibrantly through the vapors.

Even those close to Sephiroth never could shake the deep, biological fear that overcame them when they saw him act this way. Their brains knew that they were in the presence of a superior being, an incomprehensible threat, and there was nothing they could do to stop it other than submit to it and behave accordingly.

Reeve tried to whisper a status update into his recorder, but Sephiroth lunged towards him, knocking it out of Reeve’s hand, sending it soaring down into the abyss below them. Reeve shuddered and gasped as it clattered between the pipes below, flattening himself against the terminal door.

“You start with—” Reeve meant to say he’d have to start from the east end of the wing and work his way north, from the ‘15’s to the ‘16’s and then the ‘17’s, but his jaw and tongue went too numb to get the rest of the words out. He knew that things were going just as the planning committee had feared; the proximity of Sephiroth to a high concentration of suitable test subjects was creating such strong feedback that no security system could block him off from their minds—or their wills. 

Sephiroth’s back was still turned to Tseng. They’d prepared backup in case Sephiroth went haywire, but even as he sent an alarm to headquarters, Tseng had little faith that ShinRa would be able to contain whatever was coming.

Sephiroth turned so he had each of them in his sight. “Bring me 16A2.” It was a demand, not a request. His order crashed down like thunder, drenching both of them in his conviction. It brought them without hesitation or grace, in unison, to their knees. 

Sephiroth let slip a low roll of laughter as he watched their display. He seemed drugged from the hysteria; Reeve was completely lost already, almost like he was asleep. His eyes closed as Sephiroth scanned him, measuring what use he could be. It was a quick decision.

“Protocol… sir…” Tseng was creaking under the pressure. His chest heaved; it took a great deal of effort to force the words out, but he knew his intervention here was urgent. He had no idea what Sephiroth was capable of with this new unending stream of energy and he knew Reeve stood no chance against it. As if struggling against a cosmic wave, his entire body rocked back and forth, each breath a greater struggle than the one before it. With the very last of his strength, he gambled that Sephiroth would no longer be capable of making a tactical decision and would instead act on impulse. Tseng chose to trust that he still stood a chance of redirecting Sephiroth’s furious judgement if he could only manage to distract him for a second longer. “...We…can’t…”

Sephiroth charged at Tseng, nearly strangling him with his silk tie. Their sudden close proximity was enough to squeeze a groan from Tseng’s weakening body as the pleasurable vertigo of his defenses and psyche spiraled out and away from him. The hardest part about resisting was that every fibre of his being screamed at him not to; oh, how good it would feel to just let go . Even as Tseng felt his knees lift up off the ground, all of his weight strung up by his tie and Sephiroth’s fist, he felt no suffering, no need for resistance or struggle.

“You will give him to me.” Sephiroth’s words broke through the cocoon of Tseng’s mind like a blade, shredding the last of his thoughts into pieces effortlessly, “Right now.”

Tseng surrendered easily that time, and Sephiroth tossed him to the ground as if disgusted by him. It was with great force, but Tseng seemed not to feel any of the pain. Although Tseng was no longer capable of conscious thought, his subconscious bled out of his uncorked mind, uninhibited.

“Observation Room B...”

Sephiroth surged through Tseng’s mind, absorbing the flashes of images as though he were floating down the path to the room himself. Tseng stirred; something inside him struggled to crane away from the violation, but he was ultimately powerless to stop it. Sephiroth knelt down to his level, offering him a condescending smile. His leather glove creaked as it curved around Tseng's face, squeezing his chin tightly. A vision of the last thing he needed drifted to the surface of his mind's eye—the keycard to the room. 

Tseng’s eyes fluttered. He fumbled into the breast pocket of his elegant suit. His badges jingled in harmony with Sephiroth’s pleased laughter. Tseng fished out his keycard with trembling, inept fingers and pressed it up into Sephiroth’s outstretched palm. This time, there was no struggle to speak. His voice was quiet, monotone, as though he were half asleep or talking about the weather. He sighed loudly after each handful of words, like Sephiroth’s presence was crushing him.

“Here…” Tseng looked so pleased with himself. “Thank you… sir…”

Sephiroth forced him to fall completely slack, discarding him. He no longer served any purpose. Tseng’s mind, now empty of any useful information, repulsed Sephiroth.

Sephiroth’s body burned. The only thing he wanted anymore—the only thing he needed —was waiting for him, empty and mindless, ready to be reborn, only a few hundred feet below.

 

There he was, floating somewhere in space and time, drifting on a tide, a pool of white stretching out for infinity. A million points of light seared into Cloud. Only a fraction of his essence had sailed here, to this space between everywhere and nowhere. He couldn’t see even if he opened his eyes—the light had totally bleached his vision like a hot beach sun. He was stuck here. This place vibrated slightly as it accepted his presence, a quiet so all-encompassing it was frightening, deafening. The Cloud that remained was convinced he truly was at a beach, floating to the surface of the crest of a wave on a hot summer day. He was sure he could hear Aeris, Zack, and all his old friends waiting for him far out on a distant shore. They were calling out to him from a past that still felt familiar, somewhere eternal. The arms of the silver sea wrapped him up in the gentlest hug, lapped at him, sunk him in a little deeper. 

Who are you? What is this?

Do you know what you’re doing to me?

 

Cloud blindly stared towards the voice that flooded down upon him from the heavens. The fragments of his spirit felt all at once at peace, finally at home. The sky began to bend, bleeding a muted blue as it arched, curving down to encircle Cloud.

 

Who calls for me?

What are you?

 

The messages all registered, but Cloud struggled to do anything but receive them. Visions danced before him, swaying back and forth as they gained strength in their form, reminding him of pockets of memories and moments lost to time.

 

Let me go.

Come to me.

 

The first leap his heart made to identify the visitor was to search through the small handful of memories Cloud had of his father. Cloud saw himself as a child, imagining what that archetype would feel like. Thoughts from long, long ago, then even longer still. Small wishes from a lonely child, the boy with no friends… his heart leapt again and tried once more as it stirred to remember. Zack, yes, Zack —the boy he’d spent so much of his life chasing. He could feel Zack’s optimism and strength glowing as bright as this dimension's pointed light. There were so many more memories to parse through this time. They ebbed and flowed like Cloud did in the current. Cloud could see Zack’s silhouette, that untamed hair, tied back into a haphazard ponytail for the summer with strands as wild and untameable as his spirit. As much as he loved to remember, as much as the fondness grew so deep that he could have wept, his heart knew that this was not who truly called out to Cloud. Zack was not the one who had roused him from his slumber. He had to let Zack go, though he longed to stay there with him. A taste of bittersweet regret dampened his heart, lingering there in his feelings of longing. Cloud sensed the apparition of Zack moving further away from him, leaving him behind, and those ancient feelings ebbed away with it as his heart strained itself once more toward its new master.

More colors and forms began to fall in, roaring to life like a great fire. These final sensations brought Cloud—suddenly at a higher state of awareness than he’d been during his whole vacation here—to his most elaborate vision yet. Cloud re-experienced every sensation from each of the memories presented to him, all surfacing in rapid succession. He was being rocketed back to precise moments, versions of himself he’d long forgotten, stepping into their shoes to hear their piece of the puzzle before launching forward towards the future he was nearly ready to receive. He would live once more these tableaus he had long filed away as if they were happening one final time, receiving their judgement.

He slipped under the waves with a crash. Briefly, he panicked as he was forced down deep, deeper by an overwhelming gravity. It was a bottomless pit, pushing him through sensations and memories, and he was forced to process both them and himself at once. Before long, he found that his feet were touching down; his heart was finally settling in, this place and his small body were familiar… Yes, he knew where he was now. There was no need to be afraid. 

Cloud harkened back to a simpler time, a time when he’d spent most of his life viewing the world through his mother’s loving direction. He was back in their basement, in the community mako fallout shelter. Nibelheim existed to service one of the country's first reactors; it was a living prototype for future communities, fostering a captive workforce of cheap, dedicated laborers. All housing was provided by ShinRa, all belongings were standard issue, and the only employment opportunities were with the reactor despite inhumane and dangerous working conditions. All other jobs were deliberately eaten by part-time Soldiers, even simple things like running the only corner store or tending to the handful of basic amenities; the ShinRa elite had no faith in the citizens to run their own rec centers and gun ranges, and they certainly preferred to keep things in their own hands. Cloud’s mother, Claudia, had to assume sole responsibility for raising him after her husband's disappearance, and she was forced to accept the reality of living and working for ShinRa in Nibelheim forever.

Having so many civilians living out their entire lives in such close proximity to the destructive force of a mako reactor mandated the installation of numerous fail-safes. ShinRa paid no mind to human loss, but took great care never to open themselves up to failure when it came to PR. They had learned that lesson the hard way long ago, an event now written out of history, and it was not to be repeated.

Time spent in shelters, particularly in his early youth, felt very nostalgic to Cloud. When he was that age, the country was in a state of emergency thanks to the all-out assault operation being executed on the neighboring nation of Wutai—a nation that strongly and publicly opposed ShinRa’s ideals. Like all obstacles ShinRa faced, it was ultimately dealt with smoothly and effortlessly, but not before the population had been terrified into total submission.

His mother paced around him. Although Cloud could remember the anxiety that his mother and other adults in the community experienced, he noticed when reflecting on this memory in particular that he could not remember her ever acting differently than she did here. Ultimately, none of the apocalyptic events that Nibelheim or the rest of the world had feared happened, but they still smothered the people of Gaia in fear, and his mother took it especially poorly. Cloud and the other children his age, tucked away in their own quiet bunkers, simply relished the fact that they had more time to play with their toys. Being ushered into the basement was the perfect excuse to get to skip out on training, some extra time to listen to the radio or watch the television.

Cloud was petting one of his favorite stuffed animals, a very worn yellow chocobo named “Bococho” that Cloud had brought on all of his adventures from birth. He reflected deeply on his dear friend’s battle scars; the fur under its wing felt entirely different than the fur on his back, and it fascinated him to no end. This took up most of his attention in contrast to his mother and their neighbors as they listened intently to the radio's live updates.

“. . .and we're just now getting word that there's been a slight atmospheric disturbance of undetermined origin over Nibelheim, sending a low pressure area down over the coast. The winds are picking up now, coming up to gale force. Maximum temperature 65; minimum 49. This weather report comes to you from the ShinRa Weather Bureau. . . . We now take you to the Meridian Room in Sector 7's upper plate in downtown Midgar for everyone's favorite nightly music hour.” 

Claudia turned the dial of the radio to the right as the familiar classics crackled to life through the tiny speakers; it was a poor attempt at self-soothing, but she had to try. Claudia bit her fingernails in anxiety as she watched over Cloud.

Harsh feedback cut through the music before stabilizing into another familiar voice. “Just a moment, ladies and gentleman. ShinRa's international public relations liaison has a message for you all. One moment, please.”

Cloud’s desire to pay attention to the radio petered out as the music stopped playing. It was only when his mother gasped, collapsing back onto the worn communal couch, that he began to pay attention once more.

“Yes, it's really true! I’ve never seen anything like it! Curious onlookers are pressing in close to the boy despite the efforts of ShinRa Soldiers to keep them back. They’re getting in front of my line of vision. Please, everyone, would you clear the way?”

Claudia looked as though she were about to cry from relief. A chorus of chanting swelled up from behind the announcer's voice. Seph-i-roth! Seph-i-roth!

“He’s coming this way! Sir, a moment of your time for the people of Gaia?! Does this mean the end of the war in Wutai?” There were sounds of a scramble; the crew must have been on dangerous territory, risking it all for the sake of getting the nation's first interview with the great hero. “Incredible, folks. I wish I could convey the atmosphere, the backdrop, of this fantastic scene.” 

People hugged each other and openly wept in the bunker. Cloud struggled to understand what was happening, but what played out next would be seared into his memory forever.

There was a muffled sound, as if someone very tired was moving in close to the microphone. The speaker cleared his throat before addressing the host—no, the entire world.

“ShinRa and her allies have triumphed. It is finished.”

A cheer erupted through the huddled families, and Claudia swept Cloud up into her arms, clinging to him tighter than she had in what felt like forever. The radio continued, “Good heavens, it really is true! Jenova’s son, the great Sephiroth, has really done it! This, the first eyewitness account from the scene itself, is the most terrifying and beautiful thing I’ve ever seen! ShinRa is once again victorious!”

For whatever reason, Cloud couldn’t get Sephiroth’s voice out of his head. As much as he might have wanted to focus on his mother's embrace or the way she smelled, he couldn't flush those three words out of his mind. 

It is finished.

He knew he had to meet this man.

Sephiroth.

 

✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄。*。¨¯`*✲。*。¨¯`*✲✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄✲´*。.❄¨

 

Time spun forward. Cloud felt something suck his spirit back upwards into the heavens. He watched as that version of himself and his “Bococho” vanished into a plume of smoke. His senses burst into another memory, this one more familiar to him than the last.

Cloud walked the same way home from school every day. It was only a few blocks away from his house—a humble institution, teaching the entire town in one classroom. He’d walked the route on most days with his friends in tow, but both pulled the short straw of cleaning duties before the last bell, so he’d have to spend the thirty minute walk alone. He always enjoyed time to himself, especially this time of day when most of the adults were busy working to the bone for the sake of the reactor. Rustling the loose change in his pockets—a small amount, but a great fortune to a boy of only seven—he couldn’t resist the pull of the neighborhood service station. He did as Zack normally might, drawing up close to the display glass, squinting to try and get a glimpse of a real Soldier in action, to see the strange variety of mystical items carried from faraway lands, the special weapons. He thought back to the time he and Zack had seen the awe-inspiring glow of materia left out on display. Cloud wouldn’t pretend to know what a number that high on a price tag sounded like.

The front door was open today, being a warmer fall day. The shopkeep was nowhere to be found behind the bar. With a sense of uncharacteristic bravery, or perhaps just an insatiable curiosity, Cloud helped himself in. He’d surely have enough change to get himself one treasure…

The room was dimly lit, a rainbow of glass bottles of potions and materials Cloud couldn’t recognize behind cases and individually priced like candy. Polished swords and guns were holstered to a series of frames mounted onto the ceilings. Cloud couldn’t help but admire them.

“You lost, little buddy?”

Cloud jumped, guiltily covering his face. The man behind the counter smiled gently at Cloud, an attempt at smoothing things over—he meant no harm and certainly had no issue with the young boy. Cloud stammered, struggling to get the words out. He fingered the coins in his pocket. Despite his shyness, he set the contents very neatly out onto the table. In his mind he’d rehearsed how he might order something just like how he and Zack had mimicked the rough manner of speech most of the Soldiers patrolling town had. No matter what he tried, though, his voice was still that of a very polite child.

The man stifled a laugh, thinking Cloud rather cute. He set down his magazine he’d been occupied with onto the counter to count, folded in half with the cover out to keep his page. Cloud was hooked instantly. 

In fact, Cloud was so hooked he had stopped paying proper attention to his surroundings. The cover featured a flaming city—a city of temples of red and gold, arched bridges and ponds. It was a scene of war, a scene that put fear in Cloud even though he’d never truly come close to it. In the center of the page, surrounded by blocks of text in a foreign language, was a silver-haired boy. At first, Cloud assumed he was an older man, but his soft features and lithe form put him at four or five years older than Cloud. Cloud scanned the page for more detail, more features. The normally absentminded child now focused on small details, like the way that his hair fanned out like a river, the severity of his expression—the sadness behind it. Cloud even paid close attention to the position of his fingers, swallowing hard as he struggled to address a strangely novel and captivating thought—what did those fingers feel like? 

The man at the counter attempted to hold a pleasant conversation with Cloud, but Cloud was lost. He was offered many little trinkets for his coins, but all he wanted was that magazine. He needed to know who the figure, the apparition , on the cover was more than anything else. If the text was his mother tongue, or if he could have heard the boy’s voice, Cloud would have recognized him instantly.

“You like Sephiroth too, huh?” Cloud’s fixation on the magazine was not lost on the clerk.

Cloud felt even more guilty than when he’d been caught sneaking into the store. A blush crept upon his face. He stared at the cover even more obviously, drawing more attention to himself.

“This magazine is a back issue from when he accomplished his greatest mission yet. He ended the war in Wutai almost single-handedly, really cool stuff! Have you ever heard of it?”
Cloud flashed back to Sephiroth’s voice.

It is finished .

“I heard it on the radio,” Cloud lowered his voice with a loud, sharp exhale. “Does he really look like that?”

“Absolutely. It’s true what they say, you know, about his eyes. Like a cat’s… I couldn’t believe it either until they had me stationed at HQ for a few months. That was back in basic, but I saw them for myself. It’s the real deal.”

Cloud’s eyes widened.

The clerk flipped the magazine shut forcefully for dramatic effect. “I’ve read this magazine a few times now, how does…” He glanced down at Cloud’s pathetic collection of coins, making a great show of it, “40 gil sound? Sound like a deal?” 

Cloud nodded fiercely, paid, and ran out before the shopkeeper could have the chance to change his mind. He left the service station clutching his prize to his chest possessively, searing the new details of Sephiroth into his mind and vowing once more to find him someday.

That familiar pull separated him from the vision once more. Cloud’s heart gave pause, allowing him a moment to catch up and search within himself, to deduce whether this truly was the man that called him. 

Excitement began to grow within him; finally, the keys were beginning to fall into his lap. It was so pleasurable, beyond incredible—he couldn’t believe, no matter how he twisted the puzzle pieces, that everything still slotted together with such perfect, painful beauty. All of Cloud's mental faculties were put to work. He struggled harder to reason it out than he had for anything before in his life.

The answer remained the same. It had to be him . 

“Sephiroth?” Cloud called out into the fires of the sky and sea with a shyness, he’d felt he wasn’t permitted to speak the name. “Is that you?”

The waters quaked in response. Thunder crashed down around him, and Cloud dissolved into himself. As hard as he’d tried, he could hold on no longer. Something fierce and crushing pressed down on his consciousness from all sides; Cloud’s mind finally faded from him completely, and into darkness he went. 

 

✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄。*。¨¯`*✲。*。¨¯`*✲✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄✲´*。.❄¨

 

Sephiroth had long soared down into the belly of the tomb of laboratories, forcing his way through to his ultimate goal. Nothing stifled his desire, nothing could put out that fire—an alarm blared as he tore through an iron door with nothing but his two hands. Bright red lights flickered and spun circles over the walls, casting Sephiroth’s shadow across the walls as though there were enough of him to form an army. Reflected off the iron as it tore and bent, completely unnatural with a hideous sound, it looked incredibly violent. Sephiroth didn’t even so much as grunt as it howled, melding in an odd harmony with the drone of the alarm.

The airlock, pouring cold air out and down the hallway, whipped at Sephiroth’s hair and uniform. He was grinning now, eagerly as one leather boot came up to crunch down into the twisted metal of the door frame to help himself through. He could smell his prize—the euphoria was impossible to contain. His mind was no longer functioning properly, the majority of it occupied by something else , though he was not privy to what that “something” was. He could only focus on the feedback that he craved and where to find the source. 

He ducked through, glowing eyes shining in stark contrast to the red walls and floors. As he scanned the room, he found the boy, the source , in a corner of the room close to the opposite entrance. Although his eyes were shut in some sort of delirium, he made a low sound of recognition as Sephiroth’s gaze settled into him.

 

Attention, attention… lockdown procedures initiated. Locking all exterior windows and doors. All personnel remain in place until clear command is given. 

 

Sephiroth closed in. Adrenaline rushed into him in a way he’d never felt before. He craned his neck back for a moment, relishing the blissful flow as it finally began to scratch the itch, sating his hunger. He was standing over the boy now, close enough that he could’ve easily kicked him. He thought about it briefly, wondering how much better that vital energy might taste twisted in pain, and he imagined how he could punctuate that beautiful flavor further. Although sadistic, the energetic waveforms of pain were always an instant release, donated in the quickest form for consumption, closer to their purest form than the typically forfeited energy Sephiroth had to work significantly harder for in comparison.

He braced a boot down onto Cloud’s ribs, right at the most frail part of his waist. Sephiroth used this tender point as leverage and pressed Cloud down towards him so he’d fall onto his back, exposing his face fully. Sephiroth wanted a good look.

Cloud’s back hit the floor with a wet smack. Sephiroth had used too much force—Cloud would bruise there, petals of purple and black proudly announcing his humiliation and smallness. It knocked the wind out of him. Sephiroth watched Cloud breathe, paying great attention to his plush, youthful lips.

“What are you doing to me…?” Sephiroth groaned, blood boiling with desire. It was hard to believe a mere boy could be responsible for these feelings, this overwhelming loss of control. To think that, after all his training, he could be so easily undone by something so fragile, so soft…

Cloud opened his eyes suddenly. Glowing, slitted—a perfect mirror of Sephiroth’s own. They were fixed on Sephiroth, reflecting back a dark, sinister affection. Cloud’s gentle smile was angelic, his skin bright pink, sweat rolling off him from his fever.

The alarm wailed on, desperate for attention that the General couldn’t even think to give. Cloud captured his attention completely.

Despite his drunkenness, Sephiroth knew better than to attempt to dive into Cloud’s mind. He knew he'd have to rely entirely on his intuition to decide what he should do.

Sephiroth dug his boot into Cloud’s stomach, grinding the heel in. Cloud accepted it, staying completely still in a total trance of obedience. The moment of contact was paralyzing. Sephiroth was not immune to it; he paused briefly, holding position, impressed with Cloud’s demeanor. He let go, pushed harder, deeper into Cloud, crushing him. Sephiroth wanted to find a limit, but it evaded him completely. Cloud was ready and willing for whatever Sephiroth wanted to give to him. 

“Finish me,” Cloud’s voice rattled in his chest, frail and hardly above a whisper, but Sephiroth heard it just as he had heard everything else. “Finish me, please… ”

“Don’t ask for things you don’t understand.” This time, he wouldn’t let anything hold him back. Sephiroth slid his foot down over Cloud’s groin, letting it trail down over the top of one of Cloud’s thighs before dropping it back to the metal floor and leaning into it. He knelt down over Cloud, shin pressed close to Cloud’s body. His hair brushed Cloud’s face and upper arms, and Cloud’s breath caught like he’d been shocked. “But I'll teach you how wrong you are,” Sephiroth whispered, brushing the backs of his fingers against Cloud’s cheek, savoring each tiny reaction he got. “And you’ll learn your place.”

Author's Note: (Originally posted 2021-12-13) Finally finished all (except one) of my final exams so as a reward to myself I got to writing this chapter I've been itching to write for quite some time! I'm planning to give it my all during my break in getting more of this written so I can upload some more chapters on a more regular basis. Thank you for all the comments, bookmarks, and kudos and thank you to anyone who has gotten this far in reading my work! It means everything to me.

Update: My wonderful friend and editor, J (YurievInstitute) has written a spin-off of this chapter which you can read here. It's fantastic and goes into more of Cloud's perspective... I recommend it strongly!

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Cloud’s glowing eyes were dewy with tears as he accepted Sephiroth’s threat. He didn’t understand this new frame of mind. He didn’t understand himself anymore, regressing and an object, mere thoughtless furniture—and, like furniture, he craved to serve his purpose, to be used.

“Teach me.” Cloud spoke with a bizarre and excited confidence as he was handled and measured. “Please, let me be of service… Let me be of use to you.”

If Sephiroth could still reflect on his feelings, if he hadn't been lost within the feedback and the spiraling force of his own energy reflected back at him—something he had never trained against and was now very obviously falling victim to—Sephiroth would understand that something was very wrong, that he’d lost himself the same way he did in the past. When he was a young boy, Mother had trained him, launched him into a mindframe nearly identical to this, all so he could sharpen his own abilities and better defend himself. How? How could this mere boy push him somewhere so vulnerable?

What was left of Sephiroth’s consciousness remembered Jenova’s signature across the folder of applicants—an image that already seemed thousands of miles away. This was his mother’s plan. Sephiroth was being shown something. He was the one being taught a lesson. 

Between the siren’s wail, the glass of beakers and surrounding laboratory tanks began to crack, casting threads that shot over the large panes of glass until they resembled spidersilk. Everything breathed, exhaling, sending dense jets of steam bursting forth, sizzling, hot, virulent streams of air. Cloud’s searching hand quivered as it found the delicate leather across Sephiroth's chest. Desire pooled within him the second the two made contact. 

Sephiroth received this transmission of foreign emotion as Cloud reached for him. It was painted all over Cloud’s features, but none of it was like anything he had seen before; Cloud’s expressions of genuine affection and adoration puzzled him, enraged him. Sephiroth ripped Cloud’s hand from his flesh as if it scorched him, throwing the offending arm to the ground and pinning it in place, desperate to prevent such an assault from ever taking place again. Cloud closed his eyes, eager to receive such a gift from the one he waited for, accepting the violence and anger, ready to happily digest it. 

Sephiroth struck Cloud hard in the face, the boy's cheek reddening in an instant from the force. It was loud, sobering. More than anything, Sephiroth wanted to wipe that look off Cloud’s face, that look that was only for him, emanating from eyes just like his own. The force of the slap left grooves in his cheek that matched the grooves of Sephiroth’s gloves, and it sent Cloud’s face soaring and crashing into the floor, tingling from the pain. Instead of shrinking away from Sephiroth and hiding what he could of his face against the concrete, Cloud simply adjusted his position right back to face Sephiroth, thankful, appreciative, ready for another. Cloud wanted those emotions, those overwhelming sensations. They belonged to him. The ache that flooded his senses was a gift from the Sephiroth—no, his Sephiroth. As that searing agony jolted through his body, wave after wave transmuted from pain into pleasure, an ecstasy that shot right to Cloud’s inexperienced cock.

“Yes… please…” Cloud didn’t, couldn’t contain his excitement, his moans. He was more than happy to settle into this new role, the role of being a doll for Sephiroth to abuse.

Sephiroth couldn’t understand Cloud’s response, couldn’t understand his own feelings surrounding it—the flames of his anger burned hotter, but the fuel this time was something that stirred within himself. Not only was this wretched human putting on such a shameless, pathetic display, something that would have disgusted Sephiroth regardless, but it made something carnal writhe deep inside him—a twisted desire to do it again. Not as punishment, not this time, but to see that accepting smile once more on that innocent face, willingly embracing his punishment until his cheeks were beaten purple.

Sephiroth hated this new feeling. He recognized it for what it was. Sephiroth dug his fingertips into the sides of Cloud’s jaw, making a small sound of mockery at how slick Cloud’s skin was with sweat. Cloud made no effort to resist, letting the fingers push his mouth open, staring up patiently even though he felt for sure he’d burst at any moment. It only made Sephiroth dig his fingers in harder. He needed to silence the desire within himself by destroying its source.

A new kind of hate bubbled up within him. Hot, coiling deep in his waist, rising like flames. He was acutely aware that his breath fell in pace with Cloud’s, a desperate, violent growl smothering Cloud’s pathetic, febrile wheezes. Sephiroth curled himself down closer to Cloud without meaning to, pressing against the most obvious signal of just how much Cloud enjoyed his new position.

Cloud groaned.

“I’ll make you regret it.” Sephiroth’s voice was low. He was transfixed by how pink Cloud’s mouth was, the way his tongue shivered and flushed hot.

He wanted it. He hated it. 

Neither could sense the march of troops storming down the halls through their shared delirium, even as the men approached from several directions. The sirens and chaos of the examination room masked any threat of being caught in the act. Even if one of them had noticed, they ultimately would have been helpless to pull away from one another.

As Reno pressed himself against the wall—the back entrance of what remained of the door Sephiroth obliterated—he readied himself for what he knew he must be getting himself into. He steadied his gun in his hands, double-checking the barrel, tallying how much ammunition he had remaining. Ordinary bullets might not be effective against Sephiroth—and Jenova would certainly have Reno’s head if he actually harmed her dear son—so instead, this special ShinRa-issue weapon was loaded with a tranquilizer specifically formulated to target Sephiroth. Reno was aware of the process from other incidents and knew it wouldn’t do very much to his friend other than make this mess a lot easier to deal with. Reno signaled to his team to go flank the front entrance that Cloud had come through.

“Sorry about this,” Reno whispered, half to himself, “old friend.”

Sephiroth, still ignorant of their company, continued to wrestle with himself, gloves squeaking under the tension of his progressively tighter grip. Cloud had now opened his mouth fully, so wide that Sephiroth could see the back of that tight throat twitch as he swallowed. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. When Cloud let his tongue fall forth, the fire consumed Sephiroth completely; he lunged forth and spat down into Cloud's willing mouth with all the hatred and desire he couldn’t begin to verbalize. He couldn’t help but relish how Cloud gasped, all until Cloud swallowed it…

Before Sephiroth had the chance to obliterate Cloud for his crime, for such vile complacency, Reno fired two rounds into the room from the safety of the door. Reno had ducked behind his shield quickly, reminding himself of the relationship he and Sephiroth shared before the fear of Sephiroth’s true form could overwhelm him. While one dart didn’t connect, it did soar over Sephiroth’s head, distracting him long enough for the second to successfully lodge itself into the tender flesh of his shoulder. Once Reno heard Sephiroth’s telltale hiss of ferocity, he ducked into range again, firing a third and a fourth. Unlike every other incident, Sephiroth didn’t confront his attacker, choosing to possessively guarded Cloud, like a dragon nesting atop his treasure. He would be the one to injure Cloud, to pulverize him, to destroy him completely—no one else. 

Reno stepped into the room, tentative but calculated, knowing it would be only a matter of seconds before Sephiroth could be successfully subdued and caged, taken back into custody. His team waited with equipment—not just so they could transport Sephiroth somewhere to better deal with the outburst, but also to make room for cleaning staff to try and deal with the aftermath of the incident. Reno resented that he had been kept in the dark for so long, but even if he had known, he still would have been shocked by the outcome. Even the table of committee planners had never seen this coming—just one applicant was enough to create the spiritual explosion that the higher-ups had not just hypothesized about but lusted for since the project’s inception. Reno laughed to himself under his breath, thinking how stupid they were to once again underestimate the power of Jenova’s bloodline. The most interesting element of the experiment that Reno had played in his mind—for the entire descent since Tseng managed to send the alarm—was the fact that, on paper, all of the other applicants Sephiroth was meant to examine all had nearly identical traits to this one. It was a mystery to Reno as he passed through doors with patients inside who held all the traits that ShinRa was looking for, but were left completely untouched, discarded. Surely, Sephiroth had to have passed at least ten of them, but his path had been specific, determined.

It had to be Cloud. A perfectly normal and average boy from Nibelheim, someone irrelevant; even now, in this emergency, Cloud would be dealt with last, as he wasn’t and couldn’t possibly be a threat. In fact, he was no longer considered human. This incident would mark the beginning of Cloud’s new life as a science experiment. If he was lucky, if he performed properly, he could be the lucky guinea pig selected to become Sephiroth’s possession, his plaything.

Cloud Strife the boy had died the second he had swallowed his new master’s DNA. From the way he would be treated and kept, it would be better to call him Cloud Strife the puppet.

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Sephiroth blearily came to his senses in complete darkness, the unforgiving grip of a number of restraints keeping his arms and legs pinned down for compliance. He scoffed with frustration, unaware of his own outburst—what he’d done to land himself in this predicament—as he awoke. He was familiar with this place, this cell, a place he’d spent much of his adolescence as ShinRa worked on experiments with the goal of controlling his outbursts. In fact, he’d often been placed in here for doing nothing at all, or for acting after intentional provocation either from his Mother or his brothers, from drugs, whatever it took to clear a path for this torture, to give Sephiroth a change to prove how necessary it was. Sephiroth wouldn’t reflect on why he had been jailed this time, considering it futile to even attempt to use any logic when he was, on every other occasion, kept completely in the dark. It was something that he was used to.

He was calm but mildly annoyed, closing his eyes even though there was nothing he could hope to see in the darkness. He knew what this room looked like anyway. He’d rest and wait out his sentence until he was released.

On the other side of the glass of the two way mirror that lined all of the walls of the unit, the observation room was filled with people making quite the commotion. Even Jenova herself was in attendance, the only one sitting amidst all the chaos. Turks ran back and forth between monitors, exchanging paperwork, rummaging through files like their lives depended on it. She watched them as she drummed her black-painted fingertips across her cheeks in feigned boredom—the slight smirk at the edges of her lips revealing her true emotions. It was almost comical how all the workers made such great efforts to avoid her, circling long ways around even though the panic in the room was palpable, even though mere seconds were vital. No one wanted to be the one to accidentally brush against her, to disturb her, to trip into her. She sat in the chair in front of one of the walls of monitors that was central to the room, where she could see both Sephiroth’s patiently waiting body and Cloud, her new subject, being carried out of the rubble of the obliterated room. Hatred flickered in her eyes as she watched him, staring as Reno dragged him up off the floor with ease, as she watched that pathetic expression of total submission and compliance stain the blond's face. She switched which leg crossed over the other, amusing herself by tuning in to the dozens of frantic phone calls taking place.

There was only one mortal man who approached Jenova. He even did it with an unearned confidence. Jenova made it clear she thought of him like the insect he was, but he seemed to pay no mind so long as she kept offering her support of his increasingly progressive campaigns. A scientist, the same scientist as the one she’d offered this golden opportunity to in the first place, had finally been proven correct. His eyes watered with tears of bliss, face beaming as he brazenly claimed her hands in his. The workers who noticed stopped what they were doing to stare, totally dumbfounded.

“They said it couldn’t be done, but we proved them wrong, didn’t we?!” As he came closer, Jenova leaned back further into her chair, as if his presence appalled her, as if he smelled as hideous as he looked. “Jenova! You will be unstoppable!”

Jenova sneered, repulsed by the sensation of his spit and tears against her flesh. His hands upon hers were despicable to her. In one fluid motion, she released herself from his grasp and extended a hand towards him, above him; for a brief moment, the hair on his head swayed in an invisible breeze. Jenova’s eyes radiated a bright light for a split second, the same second that the scientist fell backwards as if he’d lost his grasp on his own body, on gravity itself. A great force hurled him swiftly back to the wall of monitors, and they creaked against this invisible pressure. He crumpled down, still smiling without a care, oblivious to anything but his joy in the conclusion of his hypothesis. 

“Hojo.” Tseng gave him a stern warning from behind one of the nearby desks, now bandaged and sipping from a strange concoction. Luckily, having escaped serious injuries, he could help oversee this very important operation. “We’ve all warned you about that. Don’t do it again.”

For once, Hojo would not correct Tseng’s manner of speech or say that actually, it was Doctor Hojo, and he accepted his petty scolding. Jenova didn’t address him at all, irritated that she had missed the last moments of Cloud Strife’s removal from the laboratory.

Everything that transpired needed to be properly indexed and cataloged in order to replicate the process, all provided that Cloud could indeed be useful to Sephiroth. It had seemed, on paper, that Hojo’s theories of the innate and instinctual connections capable of the clan of Jenova could be fostered, utilized. As they had observed, without any stimulants or willpower, Sephiroth had effortlessly transcended all the protections and limiters that ShinRa had worked tirelessly from his birth to perfect, to install within him. And they had been perfect, all until the moment of Cloud’s presence. All it took was proximity, nothing more. Kadaj, who misbehaved as a career and made no effort to be well-mannered, had worked tirelessly to try to find a loophole, some way to fry the machinery that had failed without Sephiroth’s will, like Tseng and Reeve’s implants. For someone of Sephiroth’s similar skill to be incapable of such a thing, and for it to come naturally to Sephiroth after only being within a certain range of Cloud…

Hojo had hatched many theories to present to Jenova through their numerous meetings together. The only respect Jenova had for him was his dedication to his work; he would spend every waking moment giving all of his soul to his project, unlike other staff who had families, obligations, even hobbies—for Hojo, this was his universe, his reason for existence itself.

Jenova hadn’t questioned his motivations, and didn't care about them in the slightest. She would use him like a tool, squeeze out what was useful, but the moment that he no longer served a purpose was one that she dearly looked forward to.

Hojo hypothesized that a specimen like Cloud could be capable of even such things as body modification, that he could serve as a vessel for Sephiroth’s power, a battery, a decoy, a spy… A world of infinite possibility unfurled the longer anyone reflected on his potential. Of course, as they had observed, Sephiroth was interested specifically in Cloud Strife, 16A2; all other ‘suitable’ candidates were discarded, which could only mean that there was something about this mediocre boy that made him special. ShinRa's mission would now be to figure out every detail about the boy, anything that could be possibly known. Every element in his body would be calculated; he would be reduced down to a science of his own, formed into equations, fed through algorithms until this hidden element could be revealed. This was phase two of the plan. It would only take a little bit of time, just long enough to calm both subjects down and determine how best to move forward and control their interactions and—most importantly—their contact and whatever happened because of it.

Only once this secret, hidden virtue of Cloud’s was cataloged could ShinRa move on to the most important phase, phase three, which would determine the nature of Cloud Strife’s life forever.

 

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Cloud, unlike Sephiroth, would never forget. He wouldn’t want to forget, maintaining a dreamlike state of ‘waiting’ as he wavered in and out of consciousness, as he floated through headquarters. Even though he was the star guinea pig, he was treated like some discarded object, thrown onto gurneys the way a child would abandon a toy that had grown boring. He’d proved his compliance, never hesitating or resisting the troops who collected him, so he was afforded free use of his arms and legs—they would not restrain him. The psychological impact of such glorious contact with his Master had Cloud still seeing stars, blinking away tears, seeing colors and emotions he never could have imagined in his dreams. Something fed him a new feeling, a sense of awareness of his smallness , but he enjoyed it, this new sense of a great purpose. Finally, Cloud Strife had a use that made sense, a reason to live that he would happily die for.

Sephiroth .

The staff fussed chaotically to get Cloud to his destination—what looked to be a standard hospital room. It was stark white, clean, reeking of the scent of a peculiar chemical. Alongside the outermost wall were a series of appliances, all designed to measure some biological feature of Cloud, to map the size, shape, structure of every element of his body and mind. There were doctors—or scientists—ready to receive Cloud as soon as he was delivered, and immediately Cloud was lifted from his dream state into this world, lowered into a sea of gloved hands searching all along his flesh. Under the touch of the latex, as it violated his tender body without concern for what he thought or felt, Cloud found himself craving that special sensation once more—the gloves Sephiroth had worn, warm leather that felt like velvet against Cloud’s neck. One of the only memories Cloud could bring himself to hold on to was how the gift of pain had felt when it had come from Sephiroth. As he looped the feeling through his half-slumber, he felt multiple pricks of pain along his arms, wishing at each new intrusion that it was Sephiroth draining his blood instead of the other end of a needle.

He must have said something; once or twice, Cloud could see one of his handlers pull down their mask to warn him: “Quiet, please”, but Cloud didn’t feel like he’d spoken a word.

Although he felt for certain he hadn’t moved his lips since the last time he had spoken to Him, it hadn’t made much of a difference considering he could hardly feel any part of his body from the distant tide his spirit drifted across. The old Cloud Strife wouldn’t have just resisted the assault he was currently undergoing—he would have fought; he would have fought everything , but Sephiroth had completely rerouted Cloud’s brain, priorities, values, and needs, all in just a few minutes of contact, and to such a degree that so many of Cloud’s organic nerve impulses—parts of his mind and body that should have warned him of disrespectful fingers pressed against secret areas—didn’t go off at all. When a scientist pried Cloud’s jaw open with impatient force, investigating Cloud’s mouth with a collection of tools and swabs, Cloud couldn’t even recognize the intrusion until nearly a minute after the cotton swabs had been sealed off into their respective homes, glass vials that would be sent to labs immediately after collection. The whining, humming sounds of drills could not reach Cloud at his forbidden shore, even when they bit into his teeth to collect what were now considered precious samples—the dust and plaque from Cloud’s teeth could hold the eighth wonder of the world. 

The gurney could spin and turn as needed, could be carted to whichever machine needed to descend upon the boy next at a moment's notice. There was a hysteria even behind the trained professionalism of the staff, an urgency that could have only stemmed from a fear that the Queen had planted in them herself. Jenova was never one for directly threatening her workers; she wanted them to bend the knee and grind themselves into the dirt of their own free will, out of self preservation if nothing else. 

Now, Cloud’s clothes were being peeled off, piece by piece. They were stripped off in clean cuts with tools that were certainly meant for a material of a much higher density and resistance. Carefully, the strips were collected with long polypropylene tweezers, a material that would leave no residue on these straps of worn, hand-me-down fabric of Cloud’s Nibelheim uniform, and placed into large, labeled plastic bags. By this point, it was undeniable Cloud had been speaking, for his mouth was met unforgivingly with a large chunk of what felt to him like foam. It was dense, keeping his jaws open wide, wide enough that trails of drool snaked down his mouth and onto the mint green paper towel clipped around his neck. Cloud lacked the strength to spit the foam out, and the strength that did remain was only enough to squeak his teeth down against the intrusion, hardly even compressing it.

Cloud couldn’t hear the slew of numbers that the team barked at each other as they measured vitals and temperatures, the directions and outright gossiping—many flavors of observation from the staff on the appearance and innocence of Cloud’s nudity as the tweezers harvested every scrap of his uniform—he couldn’t even hear his name after it was yelled to him seven or eight times as a doctor tried swinging a light across Cloud’s eyes. However, every whisper of ‘Sephiroth’ had Cloud’s full attention. The faint melody of Cloud’s increasing heart rate on the monitor in response to His name proved that these changes to his priorities resonated down even to his biology, beyond reason, beyond intervention. Cloud’s new eyes, as fresh as his new mind, met the swing of the torch that assaulted them, constricted, slitted pupils seeing through the blinding light and to the source of the whisper, startling the one performing the test enough to cause his grip on the flashlight to shake and waver.

Many of the lab attendants had wrongfully assumed that Cloud Strife, 16A2, had lost consciousness, but this was nothing more than a careless lapse in judgment. In response, mostly out of fear for what this change in his eyes represented, the sponge in Cloud’s mouth was exchanged for a snug mask, filling Cloud’s lungs with anesthetic fumes that smelled like acetone. Cloud held on even as the room began to spin, the periphery of his vision blurring, eyes fixed upon the same back, lying in wait for the moment the name ‘Sephiroth’ would be breathed again.

Even as he felt the ice-cool rush of drugs plunge from the IV drip into his veins, a silent, questioning gaze burned like a fire in the center of him. Many hands hastened to strap Cloud in, anticipating the worst, hurrying the carts full of their precious collected material to the opposite end of the room while others strapped down Cloud’s arms and legs—even his torso—with thick nylon belts across his chest. Cloud balled his hands into fists, his consciousness burning like a flame until the very last moment until even his modified, enhanced spirit could no longer withstand the assault of the drugs flushing into his system.

Cloud’s eyes rolled back, giving in to something that felt far less pleasurable than what he truly desired; the feeling of submission to a foreign force felt repulsive, but the realization that sleep would bring him closer to a time when he could see Sephiroth once more was finally what brought Cloud crashing under, to sleep.

Author's Note: (Originally posted 2022-02-23) Alright, this chapter is basically only porn so feel free to skip it if that isn't your cup of tea. I'm sorry about the slow updates, school has been pretty demanding but I have this AU on my mind constantly! I will update whenever I can. Thank you for reading!

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After exhaustive information had been collected on and compared between both Sephiroth and Cloud—certainly enough information to put entire databases to shame—the results were unfortunately deemed inconclusive. As far as the raw data was concerned, there seemed to be no satisfactory, logical explanation for the force of the contact that the pair had achieved.

The most appropriate hypothesis was discovered in a series of lab run tests in which several controlled studies measured the outcomes of contact on a cellular basis—just how would Cloud’s blood cells respond to Sephiroth’s? It was found that, almost universally, Cloud’s cellular defense mechanisms would no longer perform their appropriate defensive functions when exposed to S-Cells, allowing Sephiroth’s cells to overpower and invade Cloud’s, ultimately overwhelming his DNA. Against other threats, like viruses, Cloud’s cells appeared perfectly healthy, defending themselves and developing immunities. The way that Cloud’s biology faced S-Cells was a completely isolated phenomenon that could be repeated from various unique samples and tissues, producing a nearly identical outcome. It was determined that Cloud Strife would be able to be controlled and handled relatively easily by Sephiroth, and the goals of the R&D division quickly flipped instead towards finding a manner to control and suppress Sephiroth—ShinRa could never allow him to become as unstable as he was when first meeting Cloud again.

Cloud had been kept in a space that felt like a prison but operated as a hospital for a few weeks, undergoing invasive testing and pushed to the brink of what the human body could stand to donate in terms of biological samples. He was kept drugged for his sentence, the majority of his overall sensory stimulation being the one time a day he ate solid food instead of being fed through IV. This was mostly to provide Cloud a kind of comfort while he was asked questions, interrogated about all elements of his previous life in Nibelheim, as if his entire life wasn’t already categorized and known prior to his registration in his local branch of ShinRa’s youth forces. Thankfully, his rotating interviewers were generally nice company, giving Cloud the opportunity to talk about Zack and Aeris at length, who he already missed dearly.

Still, Cloud had accepted his new life and his new destiny; even though he hadn’t been briefed on what his goals were, Cloud would have happily volunteered to offer up or destroy his entire body for his new master. As much as he’d missed his friends, that was his old life—mere remnants of the ghost that he was before he was finally reborn; given true purpose and direction. For the first time in his life, he could feel the breath of will course through him, giving him the strength to face the harsh teeth of procedure without losing himself or getting ground down into shreds in the process. The unspoken promise of seeing or pleasing Sephiroth, of being of some greater purpose to Sephiroth was enough to keep Cloud not only functioning, but positive. No matter how long it would take, Cloud vowed to himself that he would temper himself with the unforgiving severity of a blade until the moment when they would inevitably meet again. 

Occasionally, on nights when Cloud would be all alone on the floor, save for a security guard and one or two nurses on a float shift, he would get lost in the light and shadows that flooded in, yellow and warm, through the thin gap between the floor and the thick plated doors of his cell. Every so often, he would see the shimmering shadow of a person passing by, filtering through on their passage to more important work. Cloud would sink himself into a more comfortable position, adjusting his head so he could nestle further into how plush his pillow felt against his cheek. He would daydream, imagining just how far away Sephiroth could be, imagining that it was His shadow creeping in, even for a moment, across the slim sliver of Cloud’s access to the greater outside world.

The image of twisted steel would flash back into his mind, animating itself across the features of the locked door, searing both his thoughts and body as hot and electrifying as a strike of lightning. Cloud would relish the scenes his spiritual thirst would conjure if Sephiroth had really come to claim him here, in this state of weakness where he could be most accurately described as more a doll than a person. On more than one of these quiet evenings, Cloud fully indulged himself, the pleasure too impossible to bear as it scorched every corner of his consciousness.

Cloud swallowed hard, already humiliated by how hungry the image made him. Even if he truly was all by himself, the eyes of the security cameras bored down into him, questioning, observing every action. He didn’t have to know the details of how the video was stored to know that it likely received a similar treatment to the dirt that collected under his nails—what was natural or even useless to Cloud was crowned a precious material to a dedicated team of staff. As he shifted position—a poor attempt at escape from the aching, heavy pulse between his legs—he swore he could hear the lens of one of the camera’s hiss into place, adjusting its focus more clearly. Cloud tried to resist the compulsion to stare back into that empty, black eye but reasoned it would be easier to keep his secret if he feigned that he never noticed the cameras' appraisal in the first place. 

Acting as casual as possible, he sunk his flushed, pink face deep into the down pillow, masking his shame just as he masked the one fluid motion required to plunge his right hand quickly under the protection of his blanket. His breath shook, rattling in his chest just like his legs under the curtain of fabric, under the weight of his secret, and he took great care to carefully control the pace of his exhales, hot and heavy into the side of the pillow that the cameras could never hope to see. Biting his tongue, he winced as his searching hand finally met the flesh of his thigh, moving ever so slowly and along the fault lines of wrinkles in the bedding to cover all of his guilty actions. He closed his eyes, poorly feigning an attempt at oblivious sleep. 

Mastery over his breath was required, not just to pace the unmistakable rise and fall of his chest, but also to soothe his heartbeat and the tattletale chime of his heart monitor. 

So far so good, Cloud’s breath was hot and sticky to his skin as he sighed with the relief of a job well done thus far. It’s okay… It’s okay…

He did his best to take comfort in his own words, palming gentle circles across the shuddering flesh of his waist. He was grateful for the fact that he’d been kept in a just thin hospital gown for today—the easy access would make his life a lot easier. It’d been weeks since Cloud had forfeited to this type of carnal pleasure and, like it or not, he could no longer hold himself back from what his teenage hormones craved. It would have been easier to let go sooner if not for the overall lack of privacy and the hypervigilance that resulted from his own insecurities. Tentatively, he applied more pressure against his abdomen, savoring the jolt of sensation that resulted.

He knew better. He was capable of preventing this. Cloud could choose at any moment to force his hand to obey his virtue. Despite this, his wandering fingers sank deeper, smoothing over the crest of his stomach, slipping down the sharp lines that lead to the place he wanted Sephiroth to touch most.

His face twisted under the weight of his thoughts, fantasies that made his head spin, his heavy, dewy lashes fluttering, jaw clenching back a dangerous sound. The closer Cloud got to the source of his tension, the more his façade fell apart. He caved, giving himself permission to let his fingertips gently brush against the base of his cock, making wide, slow strokes up and down his slick stomach until his fingertips gently grazed against his waiting desire once more. His patience was mostly out of self preservation, pacing himself to stifle his typical enthusiastic moans but additionally, as a welcome side effect, this foreplay allowed him to drown in his ideal fantasy. His mind emptied itself, save for a laser focus on his flashback, the destructive force of Sephiroth becoming a possession so intense that Cloud could almost forget that anything outside of it ever existed.

His hand rested demurely on the top of the thick duvet, but it balled into a fist at the thought of Sephiroth, tension rising higher than the hottest flame could burn. Cloud craned his hips up just slightly, absentmindedly, as his fingertips descended. He groaned, letting his hand fall down across his dick, using the gentle friction of the side of his index finger to his thumb to caress it along the base. He couldn’t help but groan as his eyes rolled back, cock twitching from the pleasure of something far more satisfying than just the very tips of his fingers. His mind had dissolved into the point of contact between his fingers and his cock, and the last of Cloud’s rational faculties finally gave way to the pull.

He could feel now, as if it were happening all over again, the crushing weight of Sephiroth on top of him, that disturbing sickness of submission that consumed him the second he felt the desperate force behind Sephiroth’s fists. It felt so good to give everything away. His fear had corroded into a state of arousal that pounded through his veins.

The heat inside Cloud was approaching unbearable, the thick blanket that curled around Cloud and his secret stuck to his seared flesh. Cloud continued his façade, panting desperately from his fever. Realizing he couldn’t hold on much longer—to either himself or the heat—he fisted his cock with a hand that twisted with excitement. The warmth and electricity tingled across his hips, pooling below his stomach in tight knots, pleasure shooting down his legs in rhythm with his pulse. Unintelligible words began to form at his lips, lips that were crushed into a pillow.

With a single strong thrust it was over, cum barely caught in the grip of his tight hand. His orgasm crashed into him violently, overwhelming him. He laughed at himself in disbelief between heavy breaths, feeling how his fantasies had dirtied the sheets, how it painted his stomach and thighs.

He rolled his head back towards the ceiling, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath. A sense of calm cradled him, one so relaxing he already felt as if he were half asleep. He lifted the blanket down off himself, exposing his rosy flesh—it shone in contrast against the stark white sheets and blanket.

Within the stillness, the hum of the camera was glaringly obvious. Cloud's eyes darted open, fixed upon the culprit. It hissed in response, lenses shifting and leering down at him from the chalky junction of wall and ceiling, and Cloud buried his face in his pillow, defeated, knowing it had seen everything.

Author's Note: (Originally published 2022-06-29) Sorry for being so late to update! I hope to be more timely with updates in the future. I am realizing more and more that this fic is going to be well over 100k words by the time I'm finished with it so I needed to make a better outline. I've done that, so I should be able to get out chapters on a more... regular basis.

I'm super excited about the announcement of the remaster of Crisis Core and the announcement revealed recently regarding part two had me super pumped to get this update finally finished and out to you. I'd hoped to have this done on the day of the announcement to celebrate but consider this a belated celebration!!

It's meant so much to me that people have read to this point, I get so happy knowing that someone out there enjoys these random stories I love to spin in my free time from my imagination. This world is my favorite fantasy. It feels amazing to finally have an audience to share this passion with, having waited for most of my life, being a person who contained my thoughts and feelings. Thank you, reader.

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Sephiroth had been kept in solitary for quite some time—he wouldn’t dare measure how long himself, but long enough that his legs and arms had begun to ache from disuse. He spent his time closing his eyes tightly, searching within himself, examining each event leading up to this one to find any clues. Within the walls of the chamber, so high above the city plates, he was the only person left clueless as to the nature of such an especially long sentence.

He couldn’t remember Cloud.

When the thick iron doors creaked open—this time with an ease unlike the audible struggle when infantryman would deliver Sephiroth’s daily rations—his eyes darted open. The bright light that flooded his vision made it difficult to see for a brief moment, but his sophisticated eyes adjusted quickly. He was so relieved to see his guests that he could have nearly burst into laughter—or tears. Muscles he hadn’t realized had been tensed finally relaxed.

“Oh dear , what have you done now?”

Always the first to speak, Genesis Rhapsodos, one of the only two men on all of Gaia who could come close to something Sephiroth could call his equal, dramatically removed his black uniform gloves. He tucked them into a thin pocket under his thick cape, on the left side of the waist of his jet-black leather jacket before taking off his service cap. He ran his fingers through his long, glossy hair as he always did so it was styled just so . Thick silver streaks had overtaken what remained of the fiery red of his youth, a natural progression demonstrating proudly his relation to Jenova—another symbol, just like the silver emblem upon his cap or the six stripes that shone across the shoulders of his jacket, branding his rightful place as one of the only three First Class SOLDIERs. 

He urged his cap into Angeal Hewley’s hands—another of Sephiroth’s equals and treasured companions. Angeal, like usual, accepted it quietly, letting Genesis rush to Sephiroth’s side without protest. He was physically the largest of the three; his mere presence, discipline and control over his physical form demanded respect—and fear. His uniform, unlike Genesis’s, which was always polished clean, was muddy in places, soiled with blood from battle. His giant greatsword sat neatly in its resting place behind his thick shoulders, an indication that he had likely just returned to Headquarters from the front lines. 

Concern darkened his features. His short, clean-cut hair had faded to a mostly silver hue. Even the beginnings of his facial hair were sheer silver, perhaps due to his few years of seniority to Genesis. Angeal stationed himself patiently beside the pair while Genesis released Sephiroth’s bonds, chittering to him while he worked as though he was a pet cat rather than a military weapon.

“Whatever happened was bad enough that they brought us both back from our missions and our men.” Angeal was blunt, offering Sephiroth the key information he knew would be at the forefront of his mind. It was easy for him to tell; after all, he’d learned to read Sephiroth’s subtle displays of emotion since childhood. “They wouldn’t provide us any details over the phone. Whatever it is has the whole place in chaos.”

Genesis stopped petting Sephiroth’s cheeks for a moment—something Sephiroth only allowed after years of demonstrated trust.

“Did you see Tseng on our way here?” Genesis cocked his head towards Angeal as he spoke, smirking. “Looks like he got himself into as big a mess as our poor golden boy here. I wonder, did you happen to have anything to do with that…?” Genesis brushed stray hairs out of Sephiroth’s face, tucking the strands behind his ears.

Sephiroth thought about it in silence. Frustrating as it was, he could hardly remember anything about Tseng being injured. He wracked his mind, stretching out his legs and arms, sneering with annoyance at the thick red welts that marred the places the belts had bitten into him. 

“I’m not even sure why we are here, you know,” Genesis quickly corrected himself. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you darling, but you must know something .”

After another round of silence, Angeal answered Genesis’s question on Sephiroth’s behalf. “He knows about as much as we do.”

Genesis smiled as he tried to contain his last secret. As Sephiroth sat up completely, peeling himself from the confines of his bed, Genesis sat down beside him with a devious grin. The equal mental fortitude and a lifetime of growing alongside one another left each of the Firsts well-acquainted with each other's weaknesses. The three had given up trying to pry into each other’s minds for answers long ago. While Angeal and Genesis couldn’t outperform Sephiroth or his biological brothers, they had plenty of time to map the weaker points of his mind.

“I heard that this fuss is all about a mere boy,” Genesis smiled. “What do you make of that?”

The question was aimed at both parties. 

“So you weren’t in the dark.” Angeal didn’t seem to think Genesis was as entertaining as he thought he was.

“It’s just a rumor.” Genesis waved him off. “I wanted to see what he’d say. Have a little fun.”

“I don’t care what this is about.” Sephiroth hauled himself up from the bed, taking a familiar place beside Angeal. His great presence was a comfort. “We have better things to do.”

Genesis sighed. His love for drama would not be pandered to. Typical. 

“We were sent to check in on you and gather you for our briefing.” Angeal talked only to Sephiroth, fixing the way the thin shirt fell over Sephiroth’s lithe frame out of habit, his weathered hands surprisingly gentle. Angeal handed Sephiroth the bag that hung around his arm, containing a change of clothes better suited for the heir.

“Shower, get changed, and we’ll take you to the meeting point. They’re waiting for us.”

 

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  While Sephiroth washed the misery of his confinement down the drain, scrubbing the filth of that place as hard as he could from his flesh, Genesis and Angeal caught up in the attached private lounge. It was rare now, in their adult years, that they all got together during a time when such idle chitchat was possible. Given that they shared the same clearance, Genesis was free to offer Angeal the juicy details he’d been bursting to reveal.

After Sephiroth was mostly dressed, Genesis insisted on brushing and drying his hair, being gentle and chittering pleasantly about petty topics like a common hairdresser. He was extremely pleased about Sephiroth’s lack of split ends in his absence. Angeal buttoned up Sephiroth’s suit, the three of them changing into the same style, color, and fit, always being required to match according to an ornate dress code whenever public relations were potentially involved. 

They were told to meet at one of the board rooms in the facility’s leftmost wing; thankfully, they were able to stay within the high security walls, free from association with the public or the press, who were all surely clamoring around and within the lobby now that three of the elite Firsts were in the same place together after so long. There were now no signs of Sephiroth’s outburst. Things had fallen back into their natural rhythms, and the group faced no issues or inconveniences arriving at their destination.

Tseng sat at the head of the table, his neck bandaged with thick gauze. The sunset twinkled off the cool tones of the glass furniture, casting bubbly reflections into the large pane of the center table. Each empty seat had a tall cup of water dressed with a handsome serving of ice, gently clinking as it settled in the evening heat. Tseng was the only one with a stack of paperwork and file folders, indicating that the intentions of tonight's briefing would reveal the information that the party was eager to finally know. Genesis greeted Tseng, then Rufus Shinra, son of the late president, now operating as the head of finance, seated at the opposite end of the board. For all the public knew, Rufus was the head of ShinRa. Angeal sat down first, nodding politely at each member, watching for a reaction from Sephiroth as he chose his usual spot across from him. The showy green rug decorating the floor of the long office felt like dewy sand beneath their black-tie shoes.

When everyone was seated, Rufus shut the door and locked it.

“What, is that everyone?” Genesis asked, more amused than surprised.

“For now.” Tseng wouldn’t dare jinx an unexpected visit from their empress. He ordered the papers together, aligning the edges against the table. “We plan on briefing Sephiroth’s brothers… individually.” His voice strained as though he were remembering an unpleasant memory. The triplets were notoriously hard to control when they were together. “...when the plan begins to show signs of success.”

Rufus stretched his arms as he addressed them. “Let’s get started.”

Tseng slid a folder to each guest, minus Rufus who was too busy swirling the liquor in his glass. Each folder was an icy gray, emblazoned with Jenova’s signature, stuffed with a number of individual stapled pages. Some of the booklets were near impossible to read, gigantic blocks of academic text and jargon; others were pure numbers, lab tests. The most interesting was the last pamphlet, the one that Sephiroth was drawn to instantly. It fell into his hands first, seemingly as an accident. It detailed each and every one of Cloud’s known features, his interviews with hospital staff, and anything else relevant the researchers could gather. It was almost sad; the boy's entire life could be condensed into a document that could fit neatly between Sephiroth’s fingers.

Across the top of this booklet were a series of photos of Cloud Strife. Sephiroth felt his mind rattling, stirring. Both Angeal and Genesis could feel what Rufus and Tseng could not, darting their eyes with concerned attention to what was causing such a reaction from Sephiroth.

I know him. Sephiroth almost felt a sense of nostalgia looking at the scans of black and white tattered photos from Nibelheim—as though he had been there in many dreams, perhaps in another life.

“Responsive to—” Genesis read out loud, quickly thumbing through the papers to find the source of the information. “Excuse me,” he stared down the length of the table. “What in the world am I reading here?”

Sephiroth didn’t look up, transfixed by the shiny paper in his hands.

“I see you’ve found 16A2 again, sir.” Tseng hid his nerves very well, his tone steady and curt. 

“Again?” Angeal asked, the question directed at Sephiroth, who provided no response.

Tseng seemed confused. 

“I don’t know why I was kept in confinement. Everyone knows something I don’t.” Sephiroth was calm but had little tolerance for being toyed with by Tseng—and especially little for Rufus.

“He doesn’t remember.” Rufus coyly added, staring at Tseng while he sipped his drink. “Fill him in.”
Tseng nodded. 

“As you can see, Jenova has proceeded with a project which has been in development for quite some time now.” He took another deep, measured breath. “It was proposed by Professor Hojo that there were candidates who have inherited Jenova’s blood who might be able to utilize certain humans as weapons by assuming control of their mind. ShinRa planned on facilitating this. In the end, it’s partially a matter of economics.”

Silence. Tseng cleared his throat.

“We had no idea what would happen, or at least, we had no idea it would happen the way it did. ShinRa had gathered a number of potential candidates to start testing on Sephiroth as the first to undergo this new training. Even though we had gone through the trouble of gathering a number of participants, only one seemed to matter.”

Sephiroth stared at Cloud Strife’s grainy headshot while Tseng talked, studying its features as though they held some key to unlocking his distant memories.

“Reeve and myself escorted you down to meet the subjects. You became aware of this subject,” Tseng laid a finger on the folder containing Cloud’s information. “And you lost control. Our limiters were ineffective. Reeve is in critical condition.”

“And that’s why Tseng has that pretty bandage around his neck.” Rufus grinned.

“ShinRa wants to proceed with the project. But we can’t afford another loss. We have called you both—that is, Genesis and Angeal—to assist in this process.” Tseng looked at each of them as he addressed them. “It has been determined that ShinRa’s goals can be achieved, and then some. Beyond Hojo’s wildest dreams I’m sure.”

“So,” Genesis drawled, stirring his water with his finger. “How exactly are we meant to ‘assist’ in this?”

“Genesis, you will oversee Sephiroth as we expose him to 16A2 in supervised conditions. Angeal,” Tseng turned to face him, “you will act as backup, and you will oversee the subject and other potential participants. ShinRa wants to know if Cloud Strife is only a match for Sephiroth.”

Angeal and Genesis nodded, aware that ‘no’ was not an option under Jenova’s commanding authority.

“Sephiroth, 16A2 needs to become physically fit in order to withstand you so we can continue with this process. You must learn to control this new power by means of exposure therapy. ShinRa will move you forward when it is time.”

Sephiroth nodded once. He sipped his water, now sweating between his fingers, hoping it would hide the dryness in his mouth. “Of course.” 

 

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Cloud Strife was weak from his treatments, severe and many in number, but had thankfully been primed to start his physical training. He was provided a change of clothes—standard grunt attire, but he was still overjoyed to put it on, admiring the way the black looked against his pale flesh. The old world of periwinkle blue was no more, and he would never have to wear anything so lowly and backwater again.

No matter where he was positioned, he could never adjust to the scale or majesty of the ShinRa complex. He easily got lost even when he was being wheeled from one place to another, the building feeling almost alive with its unending labyrinth. Every inch served a purpose, every corner blessed with some hidden utility. Once he was changed, he was finally allowed to walk on his own two feet—following and followed by a security guard, of course. He was tasked to descend to the bottom level, all the way around the back corner to the large training track that was more of a stadium than anything else, housed in a domed glass firmament.

By the time he’d arrived, his legs were already sore. The sight of the vibrant, manicured grass and smell of the gravel and sand energized him. Bright lights beamed down on him as hot as the sun. A variety of weapons lounged out on the grass amidst abused targets, multiple sets for any kind of training one could imagine, made from all manner of materials. To the sides of the track, built onto two sides of the wall were tall, bone white bleachers and on the empty portions of wall were large panes of glass, making it possible for people from within to observe and measure training sessions. It was completely state of the art in every sense of the word, and Cloud could only process pieces of it at a time.

He breathed in the fresh air as deeply as he could. He extended his arms, his shame long ripped from his body just like the shreds of periwinkle Nibelheim garb, enjoying the ringing hum of the electronics as they echoed off the empty space of the track, feeling all of it renew his body. 

“Cloud?!” 

Cloud looked towards the opposite entrance he’d come from, both security guards raising their weapons as Zack weaved and bobbed through his security detail, bounding across the field at a breakneck pace. He launched himself at Cloud, throwing his arms around him. 

“Aren’t I happy to see you!” Zack shook him a little. “I made it! You made it too!”

That was the first Cloud heard about it. He felt good, but a sense of guilt washed over him—this was their dream, and for some reason it didn’t make him as excited anymore. He did his best to push a smile forward for his best friend. 

“You’re wearing the black? You look so different somehow!” Zack was amazed, clapping. He was still wearing the blue. “Where have you been this whole time? They sent all of us back to Nibelheim except for you.”

Cloud thought about it for a moment. A voice within him told him not to offer any information. He obeyed. “Just some testing. No big deal.”

“Shut up.” One of the security guards extended a baton, forcing the two shoulder width apart. “Wait for your commanding officer.”

Zack exchanged a curious look with Cloud, excitement not deterred in the slightest. Suddenly, both Cloud and Zack were knocked to the ground with the end of a baton, forcing their faces into the ground. Zack grunted loudly, making it obvious he was not yet used to the treatment liberally doled out at ShinRa.

The gravel crunched under the sound of heavy footsteps, the last guest to approach. The commanding presence finally erected itself before the boys, tall as a mountain and immovable as a boulder.

“Pushups.” It was an order, delivered flatly—indifferent to the consequences of not obeying. “Fifty.”

Both Zack and Cloud’s backs were released from the end of the batons, each clambering to assume the position they’d practiced at home countless times with a sense of dedication. Their goals were different now. Zack’s form was his demonstration that he’d become a man recognized by ShinRa; Cloud's performance was an act of devotion, a dream that all suffering would lead him to Sephiroth, would transform Cloud into something more suitable for the impending new world.

Somewhere near thirty five, Zacks arms began to shake and buckle. Cloud could sense it from the telltale way Zack’s breath caught in his throat, trembling. It was then that Cloud noticed who their officer was, risking a peek as he extended his arms to prepare himself for the next descent. 

Cloud caught Zack’s face for an answer, noticing he was flushed and starstruck. That's why you’re choking, Cloud thought. Angeal .

The new Cloud wasn’t embarrassed or impressed by the celebrity. He pressed himself down into a perfectly clean position, a dedicated poise akin to a dancer, direct contrast to Zack’s demonstration. If ShinRa sent a First to instruct him, it meant that there was no way Sephiroth wasn’t watching. Cloud smiled.

 

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“Well, they’re surviving so far.” Genesis curled himself atop the large desk of the library study, gazing outside at how the boys performed under Angeal’s direction. He laughed a little, thinly veiled jealousy.

Sephiroth sat beside him, slitted eyes watching Cloud closely, following his movements with the severity of a starving predator. He was strapped into his seat ‘for his own good’, a failsafe. Even the idea behind Genesis’s presence echoed that idea; he had the best odds at calming down Sephiroth if the worst happened again. ShinRa never made the same mistake twice.

“It’s like you’re drugged, dear.” Genesis giggled at his friend's condition, thinking the change in Sephiroth’s behavior was endearing. “Still have your wits about you?”

“Yes.” Sephiroth slowly replied, annoyed. He didn’t want to be interrupted as he watched the way Cloud’s shirt clung to his chest as he worked. Sephiroth was invested in the planes of unblemished pale skin that peeked out from where Cloud’s shirt met the waist of his pants as he stretched, in the softness that had yet to be broken into a man.

“Are you in control of yourself?” Genesis dangled his legs over the side of the desk, having fun asking the questions he was ordered to. If he had to be part of this mess, he’d at least do his best to enjoy it.
“...Yes.” It took great effort, but Sephiroth tore his attention away. “I’m remembering what happened more and more. With Tseng. It won’t happen again.”

“Tell him that, not me.” Genesis played with a fountain pen he’d found atop the desk he’d perched himself upon. “It was his idea to put you in that chair.” 

Sephiroth let his focus funnel in again, feeling all of his awareness pool from his consciousness, rippling through the thick glass and out into the open space of the field. As he breathed, instead of the perfume of old books and tall mahogany shelves, he smelled the track, the scent of the ground, of sweat. Sephiroth could feel the muscles in his arms vibrate in tandem as Cloud obeyed Angeal’s orders like an eager dog, the same muscles responding like a reflection continually. The longer he shifted into that focus, the more Sephiroth’s vision split, tunneling until he was seeing both through the glass and through Cloud’s very eyes, blurrily, almost dreamy, but tangible nonetheless. It stacked atop his vision just like the sensations pulsing across his skin, ghosting along the edges of his initial perspective. 

Look at me…

Look at me. Over and over it repeated, that gentle voice, swirling and dancing within Cloud’s mind. In every action he made, in the arc of his hips, in the language of his body, in the sweat that rolled off his lean build, his pageant of devotion was made abundantly clear. The sharp angles that Cloud Strife’s body maintained were the lyrics; the humming of hot blood, the strain of pushing the body beyond known limits and further was the rhythm. The heart behind his actions granted every drill and repetition the same poise as a pirouette.

This is all for you…

All Sephiroth had to do was withstand it and gain a better grip on the force of this mysterious magnetism. Simple enough in theory, but the resistance and pressure were overwhelming. Scientists couldn’t understand the source of Jenova’s power, and a lifetime as a lab rat could not provide a satisfactory answer to any of Sephiroth’s behavior or capabilities. No one could ever understand what this experience felt like, save for the two who had fallen into the abyss together—their fate was like the sun and the moon in orbit, destined for an eclipse that would send the world into darkness.

The psychic feedback between them—even now, in this controlled experiment—rang in Sephiroth’s mind, echoing feedback, growing in strength. As desperately as Cloud needed training for his physical form before the two could meet, it was undeniable that Sephiroth would need to learn how to navigate this new way of feeling and thinking. He needed to find a way to utilize Cloud as a tool, a proper weapon, and right now he couldn’t even understand how to grasp the hilt.

Sephiroth reached out to test himself, extending his will. He released it the typical way that had become mundane to him, controlled, intentional; a flow like clockwork, honed over decades serving as his Mother’s acolyte.

The undulating waves of Sephiroth’s will commanded Cloud to fall to his knees. The response was immediate, effortless. In the middle of jumping jacks, Cloud suddenly crumpled, catching his body by his hands, kneeling. The smile on Cloud’s face was so pleasurable to Sephiroth it burned.

“That was easy.” Genesis observed, making sure Sephiroth could hear his tsk.

That was easy. Effortless. A joke, almost, if circumstances were different. Sephiroth laughed at himself, almost hysterical. Who was controlling who? His knuckles went white as he dug his fingertips into the handles of the chair where his arms rested. 

“So? How does it feel?” Genesis purred, enjoying the torrent of energy radiating from Sephiroth’s true form.

It took a moment for Sephiroth to respond, irritated that he had to break his concentration again.

His lungs went dry, weak. He didn’t look at Genesis, eyes boring hot into the glass between him and Cloud.

“I want to kill him.”

Author's Note: (Originally posted 2022-09-17) The new trailer for Crisis Core Reunion has me so excited! I’m really looking forward to replaying it on the Nintendo Switch. I’ve been meaning to post this for a while, but seeing Genesis and Angeal in the trailer granted me the burning motivation to get this out to you.

Thank you for continuing to read my fanfiction. It means a lot to me! If you have any suggestions or things you would really like to see in future updates, please let me know!

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Angeal swept his greatsword in a great arc, the air howling as it tore it in two. He was apathetic; his face showed no signs of exertion despite his exhausting status as marshal of his extreme boot camp, approaching the fourth hour of blood, sweat and tears required for the day's training regime. His eyes seemed fixed on a distant point, as though he were only half paying attention. He could go on for much, much longer than this—especially since he was holding back so much of his true strength.

The lights of the stadium beat against his brow, shone against his skin. He sighed, suppressing laughter at Zack’s failure to rise from the ground, laughter that would have spilled from him heartily if it weren’t so pathetic.

Cloud and Zack were entering their second month of training. They had more company on other days, rotating girls and boys their age, participating in different blocks of their training—but Zack and Cloud were the only ones who were forced to commit to every wave of this conditioning, pushed further than anyone else dared to tread. Every day was packed end to end with an intentional choreography to better train their bodies, hearts and minds. Each time one of them thought that it was no longer possible to find the stamina to continue, somehow they kept pushing, mystified at how they could make it through another day. The proof of their trials had now begun to show on their bodies, leaner, carved muscles making them feel older, making them suddenly become taken a little more seriously, more mature than how they’d looked before all that they were came to be processed at this facility. 

Both Cloud and Zack were struggling in the gravel, Zack laying on his back and Cloud on his side, each trying to catch their breaths. Each boy was drenched in sweat, red from exertion, their lungs sore from having the wind knocked out of them one or two times too many. Their bodies pleaded for rest as they tried to roll out of the way of another swing of Angeal’s blade. This time it crashed down heavily, cracking into the ground where it landed with a measured strength. The grass split, dark brown earth tumbling out like it were merely dust under the pressure of such hardened steel.

“Your opponents won’t take it easy on you just because you’re tired.” Angeal’s searching weapon came within a hair’s breadth of Zack, the one whose legs had stopped working, making it difficult to roll out of the way or rise himself back up to his feet. Zack lacked the same motivation as Cloud. Cloud felt as if he were on a divine mission, and this had caused him to treat his training with a certain reverence that now led him to slightly outpace Zack—only minutely, but enough for Angeal to notice. Angeal picked on Zack often like this, singling him out to push him to grow stronger, to embody the extra force he knew that Zack would require to become the proper competition for Cloud, subject 16A2—but also to protect him in for what tribulations would await Zack in the future, to grant him the necessary skills required to defend himself.

Cloud panted, using the last of his strength to launch himself behind Angeal’s back so he could take a spell to himself now that the spotlight was finally off him and his actions. 

“Get up.” Angeal looked down at Zack, now standing across his waist. 

Zack’s eyes were teary despite two months of bright eyed and bushy tailed training. “I—I can’t.” Zack struggled to breathe, at the breaking point of his exhaustion. 

The purpose of this training was that one of the boys had to retrieve a small piece of fabric from the back of Angeal’s belt. They had tried and failed to do so for the past week, sometimes training like this for seven hours before Angeal had to call it quits for the evening, telling them with a disappointed sigh that they’d try again tomorrow. Angeal made it look effortless but to the two boys it began to feel like their victory was a complete impossibility as the days stretched on longer. Cloud stared at the bright orange fabric as it danced in the breeze Angeal's Buster Sword made as Angeal hoisted it back behind his shoulders. 

The offending fabric was his goal. He had to obtain it to progress. Their training could not advance to the next stage until it was secured in his grasp. It was the barrier to meeting Sephiroth, the block in his path to return to his rightful place beside his Master, to be useful. Cloud glared at it, his brain running as hot as his body as he desperately searched within himself for a strategy to grab it without Angeal noticing.

“Remember this moment.” Angeal’s voice held the telltale tone which meant a brief lecture was coming, an instilling of his weathered wisdom he was doing his best to teach the two boys. “Remember how this feels. This is why you train—why you train hard. It’s not your opponent that kills you. You die when you give up.”

Zack groaned, motivated by Angeal’s words to try and brace himself so he could at least try to get back up onto his elbows. Angeal paused, almost inspired by his promising demonstration of willpower.

“I won’t give up.” Zack struggled to get the words out, reaching for Angeal’s ankles to pull himself up. Angeal lunged backwards, drawing his weapon back out, showing he wasn’t about to go easy just because of some sweet words. By coming backwards, Cloud was now closer than ever to his victory. He had watched closely, now familiar with the way Angeal moved. He mirrored Angeals footsteps, making sure that his own matched the sound they made so Angeal wouldn’t be alerted. Cloud was one step away from being able to reach out and grab the orange fabric. Cloud carefully held his breath, trying his best to mask his presence. 

Zack noticed Cloud, trying his best to keep his face straight. He realized he had to stall. They were going to finally win . All they had to do was make Angeal take a single step.

“No matter what…” Zack’s muscles screamed as he pulled himself up by his core, crawling until he was on his feet. His legs trembled and wobbled as he lifted up his fists. “I’ll never give up!”

Angeal paused, laughing. It was a hearty laugh, with an unexpected warmth. He let his weapon fall to his side, drawing his leg back from a fighting position. That was it! Cloud could finally grab it!

Without hesitation, Cloud body slammed Angeal, ripping the fabric out from the belt while he climbed aboard him. Angeal responded with lightning reflexes, throwing his weight into the brunt of his blade sharply, throwing Cloud spiraling and tumbling into the dirt with great force.

Cloud’s face was marred, his nose seeping blood. The exposed skin outside of his night-black uniform was shredded in twisted wounds that looked like claw marks from where his body skidded against gravel. The demonstration, a fraction of Angeal’s true strength, left Cloud terrified. 

Angeal patted the back of his belt, searching for the orange fabric in disbelief. Zack collapsed to his knees, beaming with happiness. 

Cloud raised the hand that now proudly held the orange flag in its fingertips. Zack cheered.

Angeal clapped, nodding softly as the boys celebrated their well earned victory the best that they could. “Congratulations. You make a good team.” 

Angeal turned away from the boys, dismissing them early thanks to their success. He was nearly out the gate before he turned back to them, both of them collapsed on the ground as they could finally once and for all relax.

“Get your rest.” Angeal hoped that they were still conscious enough to be able to hear his words. “Your next mission won’t be so easy.”

 

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Cloud settled into his bunk bed. He was happy, deeply, profoundly happy. The shape of his happiness was new, outshining any of the achievements of his old life. Today, they had eaten well—large hunks of medium rare meat with butter and the forbidden carbohydrates of potatoes, something that Cloud dearly loved, being their reward for a job well done. His shower was like bliss for his sore bones. Cloud reclined underneath its powerful streams, still smiling gently as he watched his blood slide down his skin and spiral down the drain. 

He and Zack had enough hours to really enjoy being clean, full, and comfortable. They rested now in their beds, with Zack cheerily reading a comic book full of propaganda that he’d convinced one of their guards to hand over. Cloud could hear each time Zack laughed, or gasped, how each of his emotions shook their shared metal bed frame all at once.

Cloud had opted to take his time to simply be one with his thoughts. He stared out from beyond his pillow and his standard blankets—blankets that could never feel warm enough now held some comfort beneath its scritchy fibers. Their room was tiny but practical. Neither boy was permitted to bring any possessions of his own. The room housed a single desk, two steel chairs, a bunk bed, a tiny chest to store changes of uniform, as well as two large metal hangers, presumably for the weapons they would be given at some point in their training. There was no window, only cool, concrete walls, a blinking fluorescent light above their heads. Cloud stared into the folded pile of his uniform, on his chair, his promise of the future, the gift representative of his new mind.

“You should read this!” Zack held open a page and cast his arm down across the metal railing that kept his bed in place. The comic book unfolded, flopping down to the page so Cloud could see. On its pages were a cartoon version of Sephiroth and his brothers, somewhere in a war torn battlefield. “It’s awesome!”

Cloud took in the contents, his eyes fixed upon the thick lines that designed Sephiroth’s caricature. How far it felt from the real thing. Cloud sighed, thinking how few people could truly hope to know Sephiroth as he actually was. Oh, how much he wished he would get the chance to see him. At the same time, he wished he could take the page from Zack and keep it all to himself, to preserve some way to look into the lines to remember the face of the real Sephiroth in his memory, plain as day. Zack would never understand—couldn’t possibly begin to understand. 

“Yeah.” Cloud mumbled, lost in thought. He wondered if he could ever earn the right to be painted on the same canvas as Sephiroth.

“Hey,” Zack scooped himself up, holding himself against the iron bars before ducking his whole head down. “They used that mind stuff on you. What was that like?”

Cloud sighed with the fond memory of it. It made him feel like he could melt. He’d avoided the topic with Zack for quite some time, being brief or short, pivoting the conversation into compliments about Sephiroth as a person rather than an observation into how Cloud himself might feel about it. 

“It just…” Cloud searched for the words. The usual voice that told him to be very careful with his words, to frame them with precision, rose within him again. “Feels like everything. All at once.”

“So…” Zack looked puzzled while he tried to think about it. Cloud was sure his mind was too occupied by some fantastic action scene to try and interpret the time Sephiroth had watched them. “Bad? Scary?”

Cloud thought about it for a moment. 

“Yes.” Cloud answered simply. “And no.”

“What does that even mean?” Zack looked helplessly confused.

“I don’t really know.” Cloud laughed softly. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Sounds like it…” Zack’s eyes were drawn back to the pages of his book. He leaned back up, flopping down into his bed, dismissing Cloud. 

What Cloud couldn’t say was that he never wanted the feeling to stop.

 

✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄。*。¨¯`*✲。*。¨¯`*✲✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄✲´*。.❄¨

 

Cloud and Zack were early to the pitch, the artificial sky still a dark purple by the time they were ready and in position. Angeal was late, which was extremely unusual; he was always the one to chastise them for being even a little too close to on-time, requiring strict punctuality. Each morning the boys came out, Angeal was always in the center point of the field, standing and waiting. It seemed like he was a statue, like he was always there, the great mountain of the training grounds.

Zack’s breath funneled into curls of steam, the cold chill biting into his exposed legs and arms. Zack got to squats, always wanting to seem busy and taking any demonstrations of his training attitude seriously. Cloud sat on the green, conserving his energy, playing with blades of grass between his fingertips, wondering what the next phase of their training could possibly be.

It happened slowly, but Cloud began to feel a slight pressure in his skull. He grew anxious, excited, attention darting from each potential door that Angeal might walk through. The way his mind felt was so strikingly similar to that time—but it was also far too different. Something was very erratic about it. It felt like a totally different flavor of invasion.

Angeal made his way through the largest set of doors, the ones that all of the lower classes were strictly prohibited from using. Angeal’s expression told his story for him; he looked uncharacteristically annoyed and exhausted. 

Three silver-haired elite stalked after him, all chatting to each other loudly, without any care to who heard and what they might have thought about it. Cloud’s blood ran cold as he realized it was the triplet Princes, ShinRa’s finest. He’d never seen them in real life before and they commanded a profound respect from deep within him, an acknowledgment of superior beings. Fear and awe overtook him. Zack’s face alone expressed that he’d felt the same.

“I want that one.” Kadaj grinned, his teeth glinting. 

“He’s definitely more interesting.” Yazoo spoke quietly to his brothers, low enough so that the others wouldn’t hear.

“But I want that one!” Loz cried out in protest against Kadaj.

“You’ll get your turn.” Kadaj pet his younger brother’s wide shoulders, speaking to him with a dismissive gentleness. His sharp eyes watched Cloud ferociously.

Their presence terrified Cloud. Something in his mind felt like it was falling apart in the same telltale way that it had felt before, this time with a hint of undeserved pleasure. He knew this sensation and he would not fall victim to it by anyone who wasn’t Sephiroth. He tried to swim against the current of his thoughts, tried to maintain his rational faculties despite the downpour of pressure from the three sets of vibrant green slitted eyes as they stalked him, sizing him up with an intrigued hunger.

The orange cloth from Angeal’s back really did seem so simple now.

“One at a time.” Angeal seemed annoyed by their antics already, pinching the bridge of his nose. He put his hands on his hips, and he began to order the triplets around with a strong voice he hadn’t had to use with Cloud and Zack. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. One of you sits out. The other two pick between 16A2 and 16R5 over here. You don’t get weapons. You fight.”

“That’s it?” Kadaj snickered as though it were a joke. “Mother needed me to do this?”

“I have no idea what your mother wants.” Angeal looked like he was nursing a heavy migraine. 

Cloud and Zack had selected their weapons of choice at yesterday's training. They were overjoyed when they got to tour a small sample of the standard issue weapons at ShinRa’s disposal, spending an unhealthy amount of time pouring over details until they’d come to a satisfactory conclusion. Angeal had made no remarks, simply nodding and offering a simple ‘is that your choice?’ before writing it down in his thin notebook.

Zack had no idea what he would be using his weapons on yesterday, but nonetheless he was excited, pumped to finally get to pick one for himself. He’d chosen a weapon very similar to Angeal’s, fannishly meticulous about its details. It was a lot lighter than Angeal’s Buster Sword, but although it was shorter, it looked like it was in perfect scale to Zack’s body. He tentatively swung it, his clothes swinging in the same direction as his aim from the sheer force of it. He stopped dead in his tracks as Angeal started to walk away, leaving the center of the field all to Sephiroth’s younger brothers.

Maybe if Zack hadn’t been training under a First for the past two months his blood would have run cold and stayed that way, all just from the sight of them. But now, Zack was eager to demonstrate his skills and ultimately his worth. Foolishly, he’d deluded himself into thinking he was at a similar level of strength. 

“Wait!” Zack called out to Angeal. Cloud wrestled wordlessly with himself. “What are we supposed to do?”

“Survive.”

Fear and admiration hit Zack like a ton of bricks. Survive , he thought, in a fight against Jenova’s heirs? He swallowed, knowing there was no escape now. 

“Sir!” Zack called out but Angeal was finished, paying no attention to the boys now. It was no longer his duty; as far as he was concerned, there was no reason for him to pay much heed to the consequences. 

Kadaj rolled his wrists, performing idle stretches at a breakneck speed. He resembled a cat, lithe and quick, his body arcing in smooth lines as he readied himself. Their uniforms matched the Firsts’ save for the cap and the cape, a mess of leather and belts spilling across their waists. Their boots were polished, steel-toed and glinting under the bright lights of the arena.

Yazoo’s fingers filtered through his long, silver hair. He was disinterested in fighting, thinking it pointless to play any game he knew his victory was secured in. With a bittersweet tenderness, he offered the invitation to their most sensitive brother.

“Loz,” Yazoo kept his voice quiet, not wanting to allow the unworthy the satisfaction of hearing his voice. “You play with the boring one.”

Loz’s face lit up with joy at the chance to play in such an exclusive game before the true realization of why he had been picked set in. Like a child, his eyebrows furrowed and he raised his voice. “Why does he get to have all the fun?!”

Kadaj smirked, adjusting his powdery white gloves across his wrists, securing them snugly. “Because I’m the oldest.” 

“By a few minutes!” Loz’s emotional range seemed strange in contrast to his massive size. He easily outweighed—and out measured—both Yazoo and Kadaj, yet he was quick to let his feelings reign over him.

“Listen to me, brother,” Kadaj stepped forward, never once taking his eyes off of Cloud. “We trust you to take out the trash. Then we can have our fun together. We’ve gotten so good at sharing, wouldn’t you agree?”

Loz seemed to enjoy that answer. He smirked, crushing his knuckles together. He nodded. Zack gulped.

Cloud’s shortsword shivered in his trembling grip. He swallowed, feeling his sweat pool across his skin. He knew this feeling. It felt impossibly different than it had before with Sephiroth, in the way no two dreams ever feel quite the same—but Cloud knew with all of his soul that he was having a nightmare. Foreign thoughts began to circle in his brain, as though his very mind were being stirred, rolled over, combed through. His memories began to waver; somewhere, in the three sets of eyes beyond human that stared into him, he felt a sense that they were picking through them, cataloging him. Before Cloud’s breath could even shiver out of him, he witnessed Yazoo covering his mouth, laughing softly at Cloud’s weakness and fear.

Cloud had selected this sword because it was simple, uniform. It lacked the complexity and showmanship of Zack’s selection, but in this Cloud found a sense of comfort. It was a tool, an extension of himself. Though it currently fluttered in the empty air like a feather, Cloud reassured himself that it was merely a reflection of himself. He told himself to steel his mind, to fortify himself, to remind himself of how different the real signature of Sephiroth felt as it burned through him—the one that he would never dream of escaping.

He and Zack were at their peak of energy. They’d had a few days to recover, so none of their muscles stung. In fact, they begged to be used. Cloud didn’t have a plan, but he figured he could manage the bare minimum required of this task—survival.

Zack and Cloud exchanged looks. Zack looked sicker than Cloud, struggling under the psychological pressure that the Princes exuded. Cloud smiled weakly. Don’t give up.

A whistle blew, and the game was on.

Loz launched himself to Zack in one fluid motion. He seemed almost as if he were in flight, like a great cloud of thunder. Zack lept, rolling out of the way. He wasn’t na ï ve enough to try to swing just yet. Loz brushed his lips with the back of his hand, the air crackling around him with an invisible energy. Zack felt himself shrinking anytime he made eye contact with those draconian eyes.

Cloud tried to watch both Kadaj and Zack’s fight at once, unsure of where to place most of his attention. It seemed Kadaj was staying still, waiting for something. He shifted his full attention for just a split second to Zack and Loz and it was enough. Before Cloud could even blink, Kadaj was breathing against his neck, behind his shoulders, a dangerous and vulnerable position for the enemy to be in. Cloud gasped, flipping his head back to face the intruder but failing—Kadaj had vanished in a quick blur. 

“Too slow!” 

Cloud’s heart raced. He felt as though he were going insane. With panic, he scanned all of the field as fast as he could, squinting to find a sign of Kadaj, of black smears in motion across the horizon. He found none. Kadaj was nowhere to be seen.

“Behind you,” Kadaj sang, voice quavering in a low, teasingly mischievous whisper.

Cloud rolled backwards, slicing his blade down sharply into empty air. He could see plumes of shadowy feathers in his peripheral vision, but they faded as quickly as he could notice them. When Cloud swung his blade down again, Kadaj’s laugh seemed to come from all angles, even raining down upon him from the heavens.

Loz purposefully baited Zack, the two bobbing and weaving together in a fight that looked more like a dance. Zack had a great command over his weapon, but it was hopeless. Loz let blows land, roaring with laughter at how the sword bounced off him—how, even with so little of his strength, he could slam his fists into the metal and it would ring out with a sharp clang, sending Zack soaring back on his feet. 

Zack’s—and Cloud’s—weapons were essentially useless.

Cloud thought hard for a moment with the space within him that remained his own. Could the point of this test be to perform beyond their weapons? To discard that which was not necessary? He didn’t have much time to wonder.

Kadaj flashed before his eyes, materializing like he’d rippled from a pool of water. His hand appeared first, taking Cloud’s weapon into it as effortlessly as taking candy from a child. Before Cloud could blink, Kadaj sent it soaring to the opposite end of the arena, finding its place harpooned in the dirt. Cloud could never hope to reach it now. 

Zack struggled against Loz until his blade buckled. The metal began to bend, looking like it were melting around Loz’s fist as Zack stared in horror. The pooling liquid condensed, the replica Buster Sword buckling and bending into the source of the heat, dripping down into the ground with a sizzle. Zack absentmindedly released it from his grip, the fear taking hold of his mind. The sensation of hypnosis was like a warm honey he could no longer resist once the fear tore an entry point with its teeth.

Zack’s weapon cracked to the ground and his arms went slack against his hips. Loz’s grin grew at least two sizes and he hoisted a thick hand against Zack’s neck, crushing it with a fierceness that sent Zack into black the moment he’d applied any force. He released him, no longer interested in the slightest with an unconscious playtoy and set his sights on Cloud. 

Cloud wanted to scream.

Cloud tried to brace himself, struggling to hold his ground while Loz came soaring for him. Before Loz could reach him, however, Kadaj resurfaced. He struck Cloud firmly in the tenderness of his stomach, an unforgiving act of violence that took Cloud’s breath away. Everything in Cloud’s stomach spilled out to decorate  the grass, his spit soaking into his uniform. His mind spun, swimming from lack of oxygen. 

I won’t give up.

He repeated it to himself like a mantra, feverish in his repetition. He couldn’t hear Loz or Kadaj anymore, even though he could see that Loz certainly was talking to someone, upset about something. Cloud shakily brought his fists to his cheeks, pretending that he was fit to engage in battle against a man that could literally melt metal with his fists alone.

Loz rammed his fist into Cloud once and it was all over.

 

✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄。*。¨¯`*✲。*。¨¯`*✲✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄✲´*。.❄¨

 

Sephiroth was sipping his favorite tea, sitting in his treasured study. He was immersed in an ever-growing stack of books, this particular stack including a number of nonfiction research journals on Nibelheim and its history. His interest in Cloud had ignited an interest in the circumstances of Cloud’s life. He couldn’t imagine what Cloud was like, but perhaps by combing through these pages he would be provided some means of perspective that would make this entire situation easier to understand.

Before he could get too immersed in his selection for tonight's leisure, two of his younger brothers came tumbling in through the large wooden doors. Sephiroth’s frustration at being interrupted was palpable. 

“We got to play with your dog first.” Kadaj teased, overjoyed to hold anything over Sephiroth’s head. He threw a ball of fabric at Sephiroth. It landed on his desk, unfurling into its true form. “You know, the one that we know you’re always thinking about.”

Sephiroth’s anger exploded within him. There was no point to speak; they could see everything within his mind, and he theirs. Sephiroth experienced the flash of pleasure as he was granted the memory of Kadaj pummeling his fist into Cloud’s abdomen. Jealousy washed over him. Kadaj giggled.

“Have fun!” Kadaj pulled on Loz’s arm as though he were a domesticated pet. 

“I got him really good too, you know.” Loz looked proud, puffing out his chest while he was dragged out of the room.

Sephiroth stroked the black fabric that had now returned to its rightful shape on his desk. It was Cloud’s uniform shirt, stained with saliva, still wet from his sweat. Sephiroth ran his fingers down it, imagining how it might feel against Cloud’s skin. 

Kadaj’s memory pulsed in his mind, looping the exact moment where Cloud’s flesh had caved and bent to Kadaj’s body. Sephiroth gripped Cloud’s stolen T-shirt tightly in his fist. Its smell was sweet, soothingly familiar, satisfying a deep and visceral craving that no writings on the boy’s hometown could satisfy. 

He definitely had a use for this.

He felt Kadaj and Loz shrink away, their glowing presence between the walls of their shared penthouse home fading further and further away until he knew for certain his mind was all his own. 

Feeling the remains of what had come from Cloud Strife himself, that which had been inside of the boy himself, now one with the glossy material of his stolen uniform, made Sephiroth groan. The very cells in his body craved it with urgency. Before he’d realized, he’d laid his palm flat against it, pressing into it as though it were the only salve for his many wounds. 

His nails dug into it, tearing crescent shaped slices into the material before he regained his composure, realizing that he wouldn’t be offered another gift like this for quite some time.  

Sephiroth acknowledged that they were scraps, ridicule from his younger siblings who looked at him with jealousy and resentment, but they could never understand the way his body responded to Cloud and everything that Cloud had grown to represent. There was a morally perfect, profound truth to the entire world as he’d ever known it, a secret locked inside the shape of that perfectly ordinary boy, a string of words Sephiroth felt but could never understand. This special hatred, this wonderful disgust, the sickest pleasure he’d ever known, drummed through his body the more he’d contemplated it.

It stung.

Sephiroth clutched the shirt furiously in his grip, stepping into the adjoining room. He closed the door behind him and turned the lock.