RISE OF THE SILVER PHOENIX

BY : SabreTooth
Category: Final Fantasy VII > Crossovers
Dragon prints: 1552
Disclaimer: I do not own the original story line and characters of the canon FF7 genre. I do own the original plot sprung from my deviant mind and some new characters. No money/profit is made from this.

The Devil’s Concubine

 

Vincent was afraid to sleep. Night after night, thoughts and visions of Sephiroth and the death of the remnant brothers had plagued him. Vincent knew what waited in the depth of his dreams; when his unconsciousness overrode the waking mind as the gates to the underworld granted access to the nightmares and allowed them to break through to this plane. The Daemon host had no will to sacrifice yet another night of rest in seeing the bastard son of Lucrecia surface and display his purgatory. It seeded no compassion in his heart, only fear, and Vincent was tired of being afraid. More specifically, tired of being afraid of himself. However, his loyalty to Lucrecia and the fact that Sephiroth had been her son slowly and with a creeping presence clouded his eyes with fatigue and allowed the dream world to emerge.

He was falling through an opening in the ground. Gaea’s pulsating veins of Lifestream were shimmering through the surrounding darkness and broke his fall before he hit the ground where there was none. The Lifestream was blinding in its brightness and Vincent was forced to cover his eyes. The human in him whimpered with that twinge of ache that it caused him and once again, when he was in dire need of Chaos, the Daemon laid dormant in the depths of his core.

After a moment of hesitation, Vincent cautiously removed his hands from his face and peered through those tiny slits his ruby eyes formed. Black, rich lashes filtered the intensity of the light as he scanned his surroundings, and when he got used to the brightness, Vincent noticed he was in a vast room with no corners neither between the walls nor to the ceiling or ground. It was more like an empty space, but everything was white as milk and far up ahead there was something that protruded out of the rippled ground like a throne. Vincent took a deep breath and started walking towards the throne. There was peacefulness in this sterility and for a moment he forgot about the fear he harbored inside. His steps were light as feathers as he moved closer to the throne; he could hardly feel the ground beneath his feet. The closer he got the more obvious it became that the throne was in fact a bed covered in wet, torn sheets and upon it was the most magnificent beauty he had seen in a long time, a breathtakingly stunning concubine.

It was Sephiroth in all his former glory. He was lying naked on the cold, white sheets, supporting himself on his black wings that extended like a quilt under the slim body; reclining in elegance. Black feathers lay scattered all over the sheets, witnessing the intensity of unrestrained, debauched games of indulgence. The liquid ground rippled into a set of steps that led to the throne of desire, inviting him close, but Vincent halted with hesitation. He watched the motionless angel from the base of the staircase and conflicting thoughts washed over his brain. He knew he should turn back, but there was something that spoke to him, calling for him softly and thus he took the first step. The scattered feathers trembled slightly as the air around them was disturbed by his cautious movement. When Vincent made another move, each delicate quill whirled up, soaring towards the Daemon and tantalizingly marking his path towards the bed; drawing him closer to the wanting Angel.

When he was only a breath away from Sephiroth, Vincent noticed the black, metal collar which was set with sturdy links forming a heavy chain that anchored and held the angel confined to this space. The lipstick on the thin, symmetrical lips was in perfect harmony with the ebony wings and the chain holding Sephiroth down. His silver hair was beautifully arranged in impressive curls and locks that were intertwined with plaited and decorated strands. There was an aura of grace surrounding him that the Daemon lord found difficult to contain. Vincent felt an irresistible itch in his body calling for the desires of Sephiroth and his blood turned into rivers of lava, coursing with the fever that bloomed within as his eyes lapped up and drank down every delicious contour of the seductive spawn.

The angel blessed the Daemon with a faint smile and with a stale expression moved closer to Vincent, stretching the chain to its limit as he cupped his hands around the angular jaws of the gunman. Whispers as lean and sweet as honey were flowing into Vincent through gentle kisses and an explorative tongue carefully dancing, circling and tasting the inside of a responsive, wet mouth. Sephiroth’s voice was like crystal fragments echoing in the clearest of oceans as he chanted:

“Teach me to see higher desire…”

Kisses burned inside Vincent, hands moved across his neck and shoulders.

“Return tied to my heart and take it away from here…”

Warm, milky palms had found a way inside his shirt, feeling the topography of the bulging cinnamon chest and the dents and crevices of the flat abdominal muscles.

“Lead me to the right path again…”

Audacious fingertips snuck behind the restraint of leather covered swaying hips and shapely fingers closed around a growing shaft. Helplessly trapped in the elation of this dreams, Vincent responded to the encouragements as his hands inadvertently embarked on a sacred voyage over the body of another man. Every message still anchored to the distant consciousness behind this veil of insanity of the dream world, carried warnings to summon what remained of Vincent’s fading strength to make him pull away from the angel, but to no avail. Sephiroth’s flesh was far too delightful to indulge in. The round shoulders and domed chest enveloped in marble white skin that smelled of the sweetness of morning dew. Vincent felt his fangs emerge and an irresistible urge to sink them into the softness of the neck of the Angel; to tear the flesh so as to draw the blood in a contrast to the milky hue. He wanted to see the streaks of deep red paint rivulets of life on the ghostly remnant of Sephiroth. Cause him pain, just to make the seraph scream his name.

Sephiroth caressed Vincent’s face with gentle fingertips; those hands that had killed and ravaged and those fingers that had guided Masamune to drive the essence of Death through tormented bodies. Those fingers were now gentler than the softest breeze and the words spoken nestled straight into the heart of a tired warrior seeking comfort that has been denied him for over thirty years.

“If I told you that I loved the world I left behind,” the angel began with a crystalline voice. “You'd think there's something wicked in me, but remember I'm not a man of broken faces. The mask I wear is one.”

“They say that you betrayed all,” Vincent whispered in return, chasing the black lips that were glistening in their enhanced perfection as the makeup brought out their lusciousness.

He was relentless in his pursuit until he caught the lips with his mouth, sucked onto them a long time, tasting, feeling and exploring every corner and curve before letting go. It was invigorating and deviantly scrumptious. The sound of their hunger filled the void.

“Those who speak ill know nothing, like those who curse their fate instead of reshaping it. Remember, daemon, those who fear are lost.”

Vincent’s hands were merging with the marble skin, exploring crevices never before felt by the tips of his fingers and he found himself indulging in the fruits of this wicked game. He had never before felt any desire for another man, but this angel managed to awaken those dormant sensations of elation that had been enclosed in the crystal prison along with Lucrecia. Vincent had longed for it to be free and was now experiencing what he thought was impossible after all the hurt.

“Take my seed before they steal it again,” the angel whispered and moved away.

The Daemon gazed down on the preening, swaying body on the bed exposing a proud manhood filled with desire and waiting for a hungry mouth. For the first time Vincent could feel Chaos awakening and starting to breach through his boundaries. An insatiable hunger rumbled in the depth of his stomach, but before he had the chance to taste the sweetness of the angel, black mist was seeping into the light and obscuring the staircase.

Something dangerous was approaching. Vincent halted and nervously looked around as storms were awakening and when his wandering gaze found the way back to the angel anew, he noticed Sephiroth was deformed and decaying like the dead, wounded and weeping with his empty sockets. With a loud shriek the pale body was brutally repositioned on the bed; on his back and head hanging down over the edge of the mattress. Invisible shackles locked down his arms and his legs were forced wide apart until the hips joints cracked and dislocated. This vulgar position left him exposing a bruised member decorated with slashes and superficial cuts yet still engorged to the limit of bursting. Sephiroth was tilting and moving his hips as if he was penetrating something invisible above his body. He was seemingly preparing his body and taking pleasure in something that had assumed control over his being.

The sheets started to move and from underneath the torn silk, a monstrous lifeform emerged. As the sheets slipped off the massive body, Vincent recognised the characteristics of Jenova although it had no face other than the contours of a blank façade. Protruding from this body were tentacles like barbwires coiling around the immobilized angel, whilst the massive muscular torso narrowed towards the hips into a hideously deformed manhood, decorated with unevenness along the shaft, like rivets strapped on a pillar. It was frightening to even look at.

With tearful eyes the Daemon witnessed the brutal abuse, and Chaos burst into full bloom at the sound of flesh being torn. However, he was just as immobilized as the angel and barbwires coiling from the dark mist forced him to see what eyes were not meant to endure. Blood was flowing profusely out of the angel, soaking the bed in quantities that defied logic, yet he kept on bleeding until streaks of red were colouring the milky ground. With his head captured in apathy Sephiroth stared at Vincent as the world rocked to the movements of the monster lying between widely spread legs. With an almost hypnotic expression the angel whispered to Vincent.

“Almost… almost… almost… see it… almost… see it…”

Chaos struggled inside his web of thorns and wires. The angel was HIS and his alone. The seed was meant for him, the desire was his to keep… HIS!

The fiend lifted its head and as slashes appeared on its face, eyes and a mouth were formed and the more it thrust into Sephiroth the more human its shape.

“NO!” Chaos howled and rivers of fury washed down his face.

As the pace of the monster increased, Sephiroth tensed his body and following a few final thrusts he released his own seed into the mouth of Rufus ShinRa who gluttonously swallowed every precious drop.

With a final echoing cry Chaos emptied his rage and pushed Vincent into the world of the living. The warrior awoke violently, covered in sweat due to fear and a peculiar sense of excitement, and conflicts haunted his mind as he questioned his sanity for indulging in the thrill following such a brutal rape.

He tasted his own shame and choked on the disgrace knowing he climaxed to the vicious assault of a tortured seraph. To his disbelief he felt his seed covering his stomach, but giving it another thought, he noticed that there was something more beneath him. There was something sticky beneath his body. With dread and repentance he sunk to the ground, robbed of his strength and weeping his regret as the blood on his sheets bore witness to Sephiroth’s pain. Once again dream and reality had intertwined into a bewildering truth.

Rushing towards the sounds of ache and expressions of grief, Nanaki burst into Vincent’s domicile and found the human huddled up on the floor calling Sephiroth’s name yet again.

“Get up on your feet, Vincent,” Nanaki ordered with a steady growl, exposing his sharp fangs at the distasteful display he was witnessing. “This is unworthy of you!”

“I’m going mad, Nanaki. I don’t even recognize the child of my beloved woman. He is not as I remember him. Not cold and recluse, not evasive and evil. He speaks..,” Vincent whimpered from the floor with his face dissolved in bitter tears. “… in a way that awakens Chaos. I cannot go on like this. I feel I’m dying each time he calls for me. I can’t go on like this.”

Nanaki placed a comforting paw on the naked back of the man and swore to help him find the reason behind these dreams, but as a sentient being with more refined senses than even modified humans, he knew that the answer would be most unpleasant and the quest they would be facing would bring about more nightmares and more pain to conquer. He had seen the halo of the moon many nights in a row and with it Vincent’s nightmares had gotten worse. There was something shading the clear vision of the human and the feline was beginning to wonder if Vincent was strong enough to pull through these times of trials and tribulations. Nanaki knew more than he was willing to expose. He had made a promise to only observe, but maybe it was now time to break the silence and open the gates to hell.

“Listen Vincent.” the large cat started in a deep murmur. “Maybe you should listen to the silence behind the walls and see what hides beyond this plane.”

Vincent got up from the floor and staggered over to the bed staring at the pool of blood. Touching his skin, the ex-Turk became aware of how sticky his body was and felt the instant urge to wash himself thoroughly. If he managed he would scrub this dirty skin off his body and grow a new layer. Alas, it was impossible and he was forced to reconcile with the thought of disgust covering him.

“I want to know who this was, Nanaki,” Vincent sighed, mesmerized by patterns of precious blood on the white sheets. “I need to know more. I need to know why this is happening to me.”

 



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