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Sepsis	By : ladysanzennine Category: Final Fantasy VII > Het - Male/Female > Sephiroth/Aerith Views: 2066 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 1-1
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 14-14
- 2
- 3
- 4
Sepsis
Chapter 3
By Lyralina Sanzennine
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 is property of Square Enix.
It is well agreed upon that all of existence is in motion. Each particle of being, each component of what is, vibrates with an energy that interlinks all things. The energy connects earth to sea to air to heaven; body to spirit; Life to Death – Death to earth.
We know that once we die, we return to earth, to the Planet, to its lifeblood, and again we come back. As energy connects all things in circular infinity, so too does energy flow from Life to Death, and back again, in circular eternity.
The circle has no beginning and no end. It is complete, holy as it were, always is its path. So Life then blends into Death and Death flows within and through earth. We call this Lifestream. Now, again, we have Life, as we know it, and with each birth, earth is depleted of Lifestream and so causes death.
Now, we see that, in fact, Life is Death, and Death is Life.
It follows that the lines between the two are, truly, nonexistent – if you but look a little deeper. Walls do not separate them as is often believed, for the circle possesses no breaks, only perfect continuity.
Death, as we call it, often touches Life, and vice versa. Sometimes – most times – this happens through dreams, as they are acceptable to the conscious mind. Sometimes contacts occur in what are thought of as visions or lunacy. Rarely, but still sometimes, it happens physically, as a fleeting grasp of the hand between supposed Dead and supposed Living.
But the conscious mind is rarely prepared to cope with such a thing. Such profound truths of mysteries can be glimpsed in those moments, so overwhelming that they can shatter the mind. This knowledge we all once possessed, Truth, may come as a flood, powerful and deadly. For there are reasons we are born with empty minds.
Life is not equipped to see Truth.
So visions and touch become relegated to the land of dreams. Delusion and ignorance are often necessary for sanity.
One must wonder though, how does Death appear to Life? By what means does Death touch Life?
But first, what is vision?
As we understand it, sight is the result of light striking an object and reflecting into our eyes. So if Death may actually appear to Life, if indeed it is sight and not hallucination, we may then assume that Death was before us. Death as such would be physical. Death would need solid planes for light to strike.
And of course, it goes without saying (though we shall say so now, if only to be thorough), that if Death were to touch Life, then Death in that moment must be composed of substance.
And why does Death appears in its old form? Lost loved ones, when they contact Life, reassume the appearances of old Life. Why?
Here there are only questions. We do not know the answers as you do not know the answers. Perhaps Death’s actions are such for the sake of Life. Life’s perception is limited, its senses only five, and if Death chose not to appear as old Life, it is possible that Life would not recognize the image it saw. Or, perhaps, Death loves nostalgia as much as Life does. Perhaps it is a matter of familiarity and comfort.
Then again, perhaps the reason actually involves less choice than we know. It is impossible to understand the mechanisms of rebirth, as time for the resting spirit passes so much more quickly than in Life. When the spirit again leaves Lifestream to walk solidly on the Planet, civilizations have already fallen and risen again. There is no one left to recognize the appearance of the new body. If new and old body were, in fact, identical, none of the living would be capable of reporting such. But, sometimes, through artifacts and ancient images of the famous, long dead, we may glimpse the face of rebirth.
Even so, it is never taken as such. We remark that the rare living is lucky to look like the renowned of times long gone, and life moves on.
Is it then possible that spirit and body share a profound and permanent connection, even after life? Is the body simply a manifestation of the spirit, its features always just so, for reasons beyond us?
Sometimes the body remains on the Planet. Sometimes the body is destroyed and exists in a dimension beyond our grasp. Always, in one manner or another, it waits upon the spirit, ready in the event that corporeal form is needed.
Now we return to the beginning, as the circle we discussed. We began with vibrations and energy. All things are connected through the energy that flows between them. Now we are left with a most important, final question.
If body and spirit are tethered together eternally in this manner, is the body the beginning of a path of flowing energy that, if walked, would lead to the spirit?
*          *          *

The lake was bitterly cold. Chilling water enveloped Sephiroth, dancing across his skin, weaving through his hair, and burning his narrowed eyes. The further he descended into the lake the harder he was forced to fight against the desire to simply close his eyes and rest. The cold was painful, but calming, as it worked its way beneath his skin and muscles to grip his bones. Every inch downwards increased the pressure in his ears. Concentration became more and more difficult as his surroundings darkened as he traveled deeper, away from the scattered rays of the sun.
His progress was nearly impossible to track now. The constant pain within his ears temporarily desensitized them and it became difficult to tell if the water sluicing over his limbs meant he was still traveling downwards or to the side.
He was blind and deaf within the sheath of the lake. In truth, he had no real idea of how he was going to find her. Intuition had led him to this course of action – blind faith in a feeling of certainty that something would show him where she lay. A glimmer of power, or…
And there it was, still further beneath him, before him, and towards the right. He sensed a faint presence there. Neither life nor magic, but he knew with certainty that she was there. Residue of Lifestream, perhaps, from the numerous times she had called upon the use of her body for the sake of the puppet. Yes, the body had waited here in its grave, patiently, always ready to answer to the needs of the spirit.
She was a rare, if not entirely unique, case. For her, for one of her power, the path that joined Life and Death was only a few short steps. The ease with which she could access Life was so great that she freely did so. And if he was correct, it would mean that her body would be in excellent condition, likely magically frozen at the bottom of the lake as his body had once been frozen within mako.
His searching fingers brushed cloth and frozen skin.
A surge of triumph washed through him and he quickly took hold of the corpse. He pinned the heavy, icy body against his with one arm and quickly kicked himself upwards. As the water rushed over him, the searing pain in his ears lessened and the faint, dancing light of the sun filtered through water steadily brightened.
He broke the surface with a gasp and relished the feeling of air in his lungs, easing away the clenching ache. Soon enough he would be above such humiliating limitations, without need for either oxygen or sustenance. Once the Planet was within him, he knew then that there would be no pain and no more of the constant struggle to obtain the requirements of living.
Mortals spent all of their existence chasing physical things and sometimes abstract concepts in an effort to live and live happily. Food, security, esteem, and love. All so meaningless. When one looked closely at their pursuits, limited by such a short lifespan, one found, in the end, absolutely nothing.
But he would transcend such meaninglessness. He would become Life itself, and Death itself. In that state, there would be completeness – holiness.
First, there was the matter of the puppet. The puppet who dared challenge him and even – though he loathed to admit it – win. Such disgrace, to be felled by a failure. But not this time. No, this time the game had changed and the puppet would be brought to his knees. This time all would be set right. The paragon would be elevated to godhood and the rejected would be relegated to death.
But first, there was the matter of vengeance. And his revenge against Cloud Strife promised to be intoxicating.
He stroked towards the edge of the lake, dragging the heavy, waterlogged corpse behind him. When he reached the shore, he climbed to his feet with effort, his breathing hard. The body he carried fell to the ground with a loud thud. He took the moment to steady his lungs and brace himself against the biting cold of the Ancient Capital. A slight breeze brushed past him like the caress of glass shards, further cooling the beads of moisture that clung to his nakedness.
He looked down at the body. How to best carry her into the city? Frozen to the very core, she was completely unbendable. She was a cold, wet, heavy object.
Frowning in irritation, he settled for the disgraceful method of carrying her vertically against him. He wrapped his arms around the torso of the cadaver and pressed it securely against his side. With the matter solved, he strode away from the lake purposefully, heading towards the ancient house where he had left his effects.
He was there in minutes. The creatures that inhabited the abandoned city were intelligent enough to stay out of his way. With one arm propping the body against his, he used his free hand to open the door of the foreign-looking abode. Within the small building, the fire he’d left behind blazed.
He entered the house and dropped her in front of the fireplace. He turned her onto her back roughly with his foot. First, the body needed to thaw and return to a temperature that bore some resemblance to the living. Then the…interesting part could begin.
He left her there while he went to dry off and dress.
As he went about, encasing his feet in his heavy boots and his body in his leather coat, Jenova stirred in anticipation. She was pleased.
Joy.
‘Soon, Mother,’ he thought. He felt the waves of her pleasure wash through him through their physical and spiritual connection. He could sense the singing glee in her as she contemplated what was to come.
Then it faded, replaced by a strangely timid apprehension that he could not recall feeling from her before.
Difficult.
Ah, so she was worried about the method. He supposed that was understandable.
‘Do not worry, Mother,’ he assured her, ever the good son. ‘You are strong and you will prove it to them. I have faith in you.’
She gave the equivalent of a nod and then she questioned him. He sensed curiosity in her projected impressions about his plans. He had not let her know much of what he intended to do with the Cetra, mostly because he was still unsure himself. He would use her to strike at Cloud, yes, and he would take great pleasure in his actions in a multitude of ways.
But the exact method of accomplishing his goals, that had yet to be finalized. There was time to be leisurely with such things. Geostigma’s effect on the world gave him quite a bit of time to work with.
First, he had to ensure that the resurrection succeeded. The foundation still needed to be laid. But there was little he could do to prepare for the task. That was Mother’s duty alone.
If the Ancient could sever the ties or erect barriers between spirit and body as easily as she traversed between Life and Death, things could become quite difficult.
Now, if she lacked such ability, and if no unforeseen circumstances or powers were to interfere, then the game was as good as finished. Jenova would be in such a position as to secure victory regardless of immediate outcomes.
He prepared to rest, closing his eyes and slowly lowering himself to sit on the floor. In the half-conscious state of not-quite sleep, he spoke to her and she to him in colors, images, and brilliant sensations.
*          *          *
The syringe needle punctured his left wrist with a quick, sharp pain. He concentrated on the mechanics of what he needed to do.
He held the syringe steady with the fingers of his left hand and carefully drew the plunger outwards with his free hand. Crimson liquid slowly filled the barrel, warm and disturbing against his skin.
‘You are ready?’ He asked.
Yes.
There was nothing more intimate to the body than blood. It was something that defined him physically more than any visible part of his anatomy. She was there inside it, Her cells suspended within the fluid, sometimes fused with his own. Part of Her lived there, dancing and playing within his veins. Her presence in him was the source of such strength. It connected him to the planes of energy that humans with all their technology were completely blind to. It connected him to magic beyond the Planet and allowed his consciousness to exist without form. It connected him to Meteor.
He shoved the needle into the corpse’s wrist and swiftly injected the red liquid into the vein.
She was going to perform a miracle worthy of the gods. A resurrection beyond mortal capacity to understand.
The process continued for several days – withdraw blood, inject blood, rest, and repeat. Time ceased to have clear definition as each day bled into the next without significance. He sacrificed his own strength during that time, willingly putting himself at risk in favor of speed. She told him that Cloud was still abed, consumed by Geostigma, and that was enough.
During those days his blood moved of its own accord throughout the collapsed circulatory system of the cadaver, propelled by Her will in the absence of a heartbeat. Her cells worked tirelessly to restart the mechanisms of the girl’s own cells, shocking them into life again, providing the energy and sustenance they needed. Alien cells surrounded Ancient tissues and bent them to Her will, enslaving the body, commanding it to respond. Little by little, Death’s pallor left the corpse. The skin remained pale but no longer ashen, the flesh still and cold, but no longer frozen.
As the body was restored, little by little, Jenova mapped its energy signature micrometer by agonizing micrometer. Each molecule of its composition’s vibrating force was an enigmatic piece of the puzzle that was coming together. Vibration led to vibration, a trail of energy from each modicum of the Ancient to the next. Each step along the path revealed more of it, each success of discovery making the next easier, quicker.
And then Crisis and Cetra, plague and host, destroyer and protector, were together in infinite white. Power resonated all around them with every tone of the Promised Land’s song, still just slightly beyond reach. Jenova tightened her grip around the girl, extending metaphysical fingers that stretched and lengthened, curled and held. She read the girl quickly, learning about her, seeing into her core.
There, just there, was the link between the girl and the Promised Land. Through those threads of existence, if she could just touch them – still just beyond reach, so close – she could clasp the very essence of a land whose entire being was power.
And she was so close…
*          *          *
Within the Promised Land, Aeris waited, shuddering at the icy caress of the Calamity upon her soul.
She would go, willingly, back to Living world. To protect this land from Jenova. To fulfill one final mission.
At her side, Zack kissed her goodbye.
And then cold tendrils wrapped around her and she allowed herself to be pulled away. She was moving without motion. Her vision full of brilliant blues, greens and yellows faded into bleak gray and then darkened into impossible black. She traveled the path without effort or thought, instinctively following the threads that would lead her back to her body. All around her she could feel the Crisis, desperately clawing at her, angered by the turn of events. She tried not to shudder and failed as the overwhelming revulsion of being cocooned within the Crisis further consumed her. The temperature was dropping, the world becoming colder and darker still with each passing moment. The further she pushed towards her body, the further she distanced herself from the Promised Land. Its soothing nature and the certainty that came from being one with all things and knowing all events of time disappeared, quicker and quicker still.
She was empty. She was falling. She was dying.
Terror overtook her. So cold. Where was the light? Was she hyperventilating? Going mad?
It was terrible. So much. So little. Thoughts and images flooded her, knocking the wind out of her, throwing her onto the ground. Was she-?
The Ancient opened her eyes and all she knew was pain.
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Sepsis