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Final Fantasy VII: Angelic Threnody	By : DarkSeraphim1 Category: Final Fantasy VII > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1315 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core, Before Crisis, or Dirge of Cerberus. I do not profit from the writing and/or posting of this fic. I am just a humble fan paying tribute to another's wonderful creations.

Chapter List
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- 39
- 40
Chapter 40
'My friend, the fates are cruel. There are no dreams, no honor remains. The arrow has left the bow of the goddess.' -Loveless, ACT IV
A pale figure occupied the room's single bed, a bevy of wires and tubes attached to various parts of his heavily muscled body. Thick white-blond hair spread out around his head, a stunning contrast to the deep black of his brows and lashes. His broad, hairless chest rose and fell with steady, regular breaths that belied the unnatural slumber his body had been forced into, compliments of a virulent man-made virus, one for which they had yet to a cure.
But they would, Rufus Shinra thought determinedly. Whatever concoction The Restrictor had created in the bowls of Deep Ground's laboratories, Dr. Hollander and the other Shinra scientists would find a way to combat it, and Weiss The Immaculate would be restored to his full strength.
Rufus snorted inwardly at the ridiculous title given to the leader of the Tsviets, thinking that the term would be more appropriate for Sephiroth than for this young, albeit powerful, boy. Yet, this was the SOLDIER who had killed The Restrictor in a rebellion that he had known would result in his death. Such an unconquerable will, combined with the loyalty that had enabled Weiss to sacrifice himself to free he and his fellow Tsviets, was exactly what Rufus needed to bolster the army's flagging morale after their General's desertion.
A flash of rage accompanied that thought and he quickly pushed it away. Sephiroth had not only defeated every single SOLDIER he had sent after him, but he had killed the Deep Ground foot-soldiers who had accompanied them. It had been a slaughter, Tseng had reported solemnly, and then he had reassured Rufus that Reno was alive and well and still traveling with The General.
Of course, he was, Rufus told himself caustically. He was probably hoping to trick his way into Sephiroth's pants by presenting himself as a loyal supporter. Not that Rufus thought it would work, but still, it was something he could easily see Reno doing. His former lover was tenacious, if nothing else.
A whisper of movement in his peripheral vision drew his attention to the far side of room. A slender, dark-haired boy in a skintight black leather uniform was rising from a chair at Weiss' bedside. Wisps of black mist swirled around the boy's body, visual evidence of the darkness he held within him. The midnight vapor moved over his body as though it were an extension of his skin, or some kind of bizarre, living magical barrier.
Yet, even as Rufus watched, the darkness withdrew, crawling up Nero's arm as he reached for Weiss' hand. Unusual ruby eyes, made brilliant by years of mako treatments, were locked on his leader's sleep-slackened features, a look of longing in their luminous depths. According to Hojo's detailed records, Nero The Sable was the second most powerful Tsviet, Weiss' most trusted lieutenant.
He was also a fourteen-year-old boy who desperately missed his older brother, Rufus thought with a sigh. Despite the fact that Nero and Weiss looked nothing alike, they were shared the same mother. They did not, however, share the same father, which might explain the physical differences. And unlike himself and his own half-brother, they were reported to have been very close before his brother's collapse, and the loss had apparently taken a toll on young Nero.
As Nero spoke to his brother in low, nearly inaudible tones, Rufus busied himself with looking over Rosso The Crimson's file. Nearly two inches thick, the battered manila envelope held a bevy of physical and psychological evaluations, the latter being the ones that most interested Rufus. Rosso wasn't the most powerful of The Tviets, but she was strong, and she was already showing sociopathic tendencies, something which could be very useful, provided that she could be controlled.
He glanced at the large observation window, which separated the Weiss and Nero from the rest of the Tsviets, his silver-blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. The girl in question sat in one of room's thinly-padded chairs studying her long, razor-like fingernails with obvious boredom. Dark red hair tumbled around her tolerably attractive features, which were marred by the heavy make-up she wore. She was clad in a typical Deep Ground uniform, black leather lined with mako-filled tubes, but had altered it almost beyond recognition. It had been cut off just below her breasts, held in place by heavy, ornate silver armor. The armor hugged her the sides of her waist before narrowing over her pelvic region in a rather trashy way.
Black boots, also lined with mako-blue tubes, hugged her legs from mid-thigh, ending in impractical three-inch heels. A crimson cowl neck clung tightly to her upper torso and arms, disappearing into ridiculously ornate metal gauntlets. The back of the cloak was pinned close to her body by the flamboyant armor, before flaring out dramatically beneath her in a decidedly feminine manner.
An impractical uniform, but one which in no way detracted from her combat abilities, as Rufus had already discovered for himself. Not personally, of course, but he had tested the Tsviet in the SOLDIER training room, along with two other members of the elite fighting force, and he had been pleasantly surprised by the extent of Hojo's genius.
Rosso The Crimson was lethal, sadistic, a consummate predator, and she was now his.
A small, slight figure stirred in the background, rising shakily from a prone position on a small coat in the back of the room, and Rufus frowned. Shelke The Transparent, the most recent Deep Ground 'recruit', was awake, and Rufus had yet to decide what to do with her. She was only ten, and yet she had already been altered until she was barely human. A part of him had been both outraged and appalled to discover that Hojo had approved the kidnapping of the nine-year-old girl, and had then proceeded to run his inhuman experiments on her. The cold, cynical part of Rufus, the part his father had so successfully nurtured, was contemplating the girl's possible usefulness.
As a child, Shelke would be able to infiltrate places where no adult agent would be accepted. She was young and innocent-looking, with a gleaming cap of auburn hair and large, slanted blue eyes. Unfortunately, she was also the weakest of the Tsviets, forced to rely on regular mako treatments to survive. Her singular talent lied not in combat, though she had two rather unusual laser-based, sword-like weapons that she was quite skilled with, but rather in information retrieval. The girl was capable of literally plugging herself in to any database, of actually entering the virtual landscape of the World Wide Network, and recovering digital data that would otherwise be inaccessible.
Yes, she could be useful, but only off of the battlefield. He would keep her here, Rufus decided at last. He would exploit her talents, of course, but he would keep her as a noncombatant. No matter how talented she might be in other areas, she was only a child, and not even he was ruthless enough to use her that way.
Feeling more confident now that he had made a definitive decision, Rufus turned his attention to the last of the Tsviets. Azul, The Cerulean. Rufus snorted at the outlandish moniker, but had to admit that it was apropos. Azul towered over the others at an astonishing six-foot-eight, a virtual giant of a man, so heavily muscled as to be almost cartoonish. As would be expected by a man his size, he was immensely powerful, able to kill his opponents in massive blow, but his talents extended far beyond mere physical combat.
Azul protected himself with a powerful barrier, a Wall spell, the likes of which Rufus had never before seen. It was enough to deflect any attack, be it magical or physical, while negating all damage. Rufus had his scientists studying the barrier now, trying to find a way to produce a similar effect through materia fusion. But what really made Azul such an effective SOLDIER was his unusual, wholly unique ability to shape-shift.
Rufus shook his white-blond head as he thought of it. Azul was able to change his physical form, until he resembled nothing more than a giant, horned, blue-furred dog. But this dog was intelligent—well, as intelligent as Azul could be—and was surprisingly agile for such a large being. He would be an important addition to the Shinra Army, though never so much as Nero and Weiss.
Rufus had to admit that he was curious about Weiss The Immaculate. The other Tsviets spoke of their leader with an awe that was so strong that it bordered on worship. Even Rosso, as jaded and narcissistic as she was, spoke of her leader with admiration. Weiss was the heart of not only Deep Ground, but of the Tsviets, and he was the key to controlling them.
What kind of man—boy, really—was capable of inspiring that kind of loyalty in his followers? Sephiroth had done so, but a great deal of that had been due to the fear he had always induced in those around him. If this nineteen-year-old boy had that kind of charisma, that kind of power, then Rufus absolutely had to have him. He would secure the loyalty of Weiss The Immaculate by offering him a life ostensively free of chains, one that wouldn't require that he be hidden as though he were something to be ashamed of. But most of all, Rufus would win Weiss over by giving him the only thing he was reported to care about—his brother.
The Restrictor had kept the brothers separated for most of the seven years they had been with Deep Ground. He had used each boy's loyalty to the other to force their cooperation, even going so far as to chain Nero in a heavily reinforced room once his darkness power had reached its peak. And that, more than anything, was the reason that Weiss had turned on his 'leader'. According to Nero, Weiss had spent years planning the coup, continuing even after he'd learned of the virus that The Restrictor had injected into his body, determined to free them from The Restrictor's—and Hojo's—hold.
The boys would be treated as well as a Sephiroth had been, if not better. He would continue his father's policy of paying them through an expense account, but they would be able to buy nearly anything they wanted, within reason, of course. They would be Shinra's elite, the new SOLDIER, as deadly as General Sephiroth and his Firsts had ever been, but with a loyalty to Shinra that would eclipse all else.
Rufus smiled to himself as he closed the file and gave up the pretense of reading it. First things first, he thought practically. It was time to arrange a surprise for the Silver Demon of Wutai, one he wouldn't soon forget, provided that he survived the encounter.
Rufus nodded at Nero, who smiled just a bit uncertainly in return, and strode from the room, certain that he had the situation firmly in hand. He couldn't have been more wrong.

The Director of the Department of Administrative Research stood unmoving as he listened to his most trusted Turk speak of WEAPONS, mako, godlike warriors, and the end of The Planet. His ageless Wutaian features were unreadable as he slanted a glance at the room's nearly forgotten third occupant. Lazard Deusericus raised one golden brow at him, his skepticism obvious, as they both contemplated the very unlikely story they were hearing. Unlikely, perhaps, but one which he found all too believable.
Unlike Rude or Lazard, Tseng had known about the Jenova Project for years, since he had first taken the Director's chair. He was well aware of Sephiroth's origins, as well as those of his two closest friends. If the Tsviets had been injected with Rhapsodos' DNA, then stagnant or not, the Jenova cells within them would render them all but invulnerable. Rufus might be an angry, confused young man, but he was cut from the same ruthless, manipulative cloth as his father. And though it pained Tseng to admit it, he had no choice but to interfere if he wanted to keep his young charge from following the same destructive path.
"You're sure about all this?" he asked at last.
Rude nodded his bald head solemnly, his concealed gaze locked on The Director's. "Yes, sir."
Tseng drew a deep breath and released it slowly, still stunned by all he had heard, though he didn't allow it to show. "Do you believe him?" he questioned in a carefully neutral voice.
Broad shoulders rose and fell in the smallest of shrugs. "I believe that Reno believes it, sir," he answered simply, as though that were enough for him.
And perhaps, Tseng thought, it was. "Very well," he said at length. "We will have to tread very carefully with this one, Rude. The President has been. . .restless since Reno's departure, and I would prefer to keep this between us, until such a time as it becomes necessary to. . .burden him with it."
The corners of Rude's mouth lifted in the barest of smiles. "Understood, sir."
"Contact Reno and tell him that I will do all that I can to help him and The General from a distance, provided that doing so will not compromise the organization."
"Yes, Director."
Tseng inclined his head dark head fractionally. "You are dismissed."
Rude returned the gesture and left the stairwell, and Tseng allowed himself a moment of respite. He touched a hand to his aching forehead, his mind whirling with all he had heard. He felt strong hands grasp his shoulders and bit back a moan of relief as Lazard began to massage his tension-strung muscles.
"What a fantastic story," the other man murmured, his deep voice laced with amusement. "It would seem that anyone injected with mako is a potential threat to The Planet. Would that include you, my dear Director?"
Tseng smiled briefly at that, though he didn't answer. He merely closed his eyes and went with the moment, letting Lazard coddle him as he was wont to do. The other man never allowed him to put any barriers between them, as Tseng did with everyone else in his life. Lazard had always demanded to be included in every part of his life, even those that could potentially put him in danger, and Tseng would always be surprised at how easily he had capitulated and allowed it.
Lazard set his hands on his lover's shoulders and began to guide him through the room. "You believe it, don't you?" he asked with certainty.
Tseng allowed himself to be urged down on the sofa. "Yes," he answered as he followed the other man's hands and laid down on his stomach. "There are things that, as the Director of Administrative Research, only I, The President, and those directly involved were ever privy to. The Jenova Project is one of them."
"Jenova," Lazard murmured thoughtfully as he resumed his soothing ministrations. "Where have I heard that name before?"
Tseng only sighed heavily and waited for his lover to piece the puzzle together himself. Lazard was a highly intelligent man, just as his father had been, and his half-brother was. Tseng had no doubt that he would figure it out; as Sephiroth's direct superior, he had access to man's highly censored, fully fictionalized personal record. The name of Sephiroth's mother was listed on his birth certificate only as Jenova, but it was an unusual enough name that people tended to remember it. Once Lazard did, he would make the leap to the alien being that had starred in Rude's rendition of Reno's wholly bizarre story. And then, he would also start to believe.
Lazard's hands slowed on his back, his breath catching audibly, and Tseng knew that he had finally made the connection. "Jenova is the name of Sephiroth's mother," he said in a stunned voice. "Dear Gaia, the boy was telling the truth, wasn't he?"
Tseng rolled onto his side, his dark eyes meeting his lover's somberly. "There is more at stake here than Rufus' pride, or yours, for that matter. The future of The Planet itself may be at risk, Lazard. I have to find a way to help Reno help Sephiroth, or we may all perish."
Lazard frowned as he slid his glasses from his face and began to toy with them. "Rufus still won't listen to you?" he questioned in a murmur.
Tseng shook his head negatively. "He believes that Reno is unbalanced, playing games with both he and Sephiroth. His own jealously has made him. . . unreasonable in this, and unable to listen to the advice of those who care for him."
The blond man smiled faintly at that. "You mean you," he said pointedly.
Tseng rolled onto his back, scooting back until his head was propped up on the armrest. "I have been with Rufus since he was five years old, Lazard. I've seen what your father did to him, what he did his best to turn him into."
He sighed again as he closed his eyes. "I understand what Reno meant now," he murmured in a low voice, "when he said that he wanted to save Rufus from himself. I do, too."
"Tseng. . ." Lazard set his glasses on the table and reached out to take his lover's hand. "Rufus is only a boy. Really, what could he possibly do to—"
"The Tsviets are dangerous, Lazard," Tseng cut in urgently, opening his eyes and squeezing the other man's hand. "Rufus thinks to use them to repair the damage that Sephiroth's desertion has caused. He believes that he can manipulate them into giving him their loyalty, and use them to take his revenge on both Sephiroth and Reno. He doesn't understand the force he is about to unleash. I have to find a way to stop him, before he destroys himself, and takes the rest of us with him."
"Perhaps, I can help." Lazard watched as his lover's features became utterly, beautifully blank, and tried not to take offense. "I know that Rufus and I aren't on the best of terms, but I am his brother. I know that I haven't treated him as well as I could have, but it's possible that he might be willing to at least hear me out, if for no other reason that that he has repeatedly expressed an interest in getting to know me."
"No," Tseng responded quietly.
Lazard arched an eyebrow even as he leaned over him. "No?" he questioned archly, a warning in his rich voice.
"It's too dangerous," Tseng told him flatly. "Rufus has been so unpredictable of late that even I must be extremely careful in what I say and do around him. If you were to approach him with this, he would see it as a veiled attempt to undermine his power, at best. At worst, he would suspect you of wanting The President's Chair for yourself."
Lazard sighed roughly as he looked away. "I can't deny that, at one time, I wanted exactly that," he admitted. "I thought that I deserved it, being Edgar Shinra's firstborn son. But not anymore, Tseng. Not for a good long while, now."
"I know, koishii." Tseng pushed himself into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around the taller man. "I believe you. Rufus, on the other hand, would not."
Lazard smiled a bit sadly at that. "Why do you insist on calling me that, Tseng?"
"Because you are dear to me," Tseng murmured deeply. He combed a hand through his lover's long golden locks and tugged lightly. Lazard turned to face him, his strong, aristocratic features etched in vulnerable lines, and Tseng offered him solemn smile. "I may be a Turk, but I am a man, as well, one who cares for you a great deal. I need you to promise me that you will not go to Rufus. Allow me to deal with him, Lazard. I would not like it if you suddenly disappeared, as so many others have in the past."
"You really think he would hurt me?" the other man questioned hesitantly.
"I think that Rufus would order your death without hesitation if he thought you were a threat, regardless of whether or not he regretted it afterwards," Tseng answered with uncharacteristic bluntness.
Pale blue eyes, only shades darker than his brother's, flickered as Lazard considered his words. Tseng could wait and pray to Leviathan that his lover would heed his words and do as he asked. Losing Lazard was something he never wanted to experience.
"All right," the newly appointed Vice President agreed at last. "I'll stay out of it, providing that you continue to keep me abreast of the situation. I am your equal, Tseng, and I recommend that you remember that."
Relief rushed through Tseng at the other man's cool words. "I am unlikely to forget it," he assured the other man soberly.
Lazard smiled, pleased by the admission, and Tseng did his best to return it. As the other man leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, Tseng swore that he would find a way to make things right. He would do everything in his power to help Reno save Sephiroth and The Planet, and he would save Rufus from the darkness in his soul, if it was the last thing that he did.

Rosso The Crimson smiled lazily across the wide expanse of tempered metal that was Rufus Shinra's desk. The man in question—the boy, really-returned it, though the smile never reached his icy blue eyes. His gaze never left her face, not even when she shifted so that her breasts were displayed to their best possible advantage, and she pouted as she slumped back into her chair. Rufus wasn't the least bit interested in her, which was a rare phenomenon, and told her that he probably didn't like girls.
Oh, well, she thought with a sigh, she'd just have to find someone else to play with. "Tell me," she entreated in a throaty, heavily accented voice, "why am I here?"
"I have an assignment for you," Rufus answered, his smile deepening fractionally as he slid two thick manila folders across the desk. "One which I thought you might. . .enjoy."
"Really?" Rosso arched one eyebrow, her red-tinted lips pursing prettily. "And why is that?"
"You'll see," he told her, sitting in back in his own chair to observe her reaction.
She made a non-committal sound even as she reached for the first file, her curiosity obviously piqued. She settled back in the padded chair and opened the folder, flipping idly through the papers, her eyebrow inching higher with every word that she read. Her breath caught audibly, the sound loud in the quiet room, and Rufus knew that she had reached the first picture. Sephiroth tended to have that effect on people.
"So, this is the great General Sephiroth," she all but purred, and Rufus knew that he had her. "He is. . .stunning."
"So I'm told," Rufus said lightly, but with an edge that spoke volumes about his own opinion of Shinra's former general. "He was the strongest of Shinra's SOLDIERs, before he deserted."
"Ah." Rosso glanced up from the picture, her sapphire-blue eyes glowing with a light that had little to do with mako. "You would like me to bring him back, then?"
"No," he answered flatly. "I want you to kill him."
She blinked, the only outward sign of her surprise. "Why would you want to kill such a fine specimen?" she asked, her mind already imagining the absolutely endless possibilities.
"He betrayed me," Rufus said, shrugging as he added, "I thought that someone with your. . .skills must be bored with holographic simulations. The General would provide a greater challenge for you. The ultimate challenge, one might say."
Her smile took on a dark, disturbing quality at that. "He would be mine?" she questioned with disconcerting eagerness. "Mine to do with as I please?"
Rufus only nodded. "So long as he dies, you can do whatever you want to him beforehand."
Rosso shivered delicately at the thought of killing such a magnificent warrior. "I accept your offer," she stated, her naturally low voice husky with excitement. "What would like as proof of death? His most impressive sword, perhaps?"
"You can do what you want with his sword," Rufus replied with the barest hint of distaste. "What I want is his head."
She threw back her head and laughed uproariously. "Oh my, you are a bloodthirsty one, aren't you, darling?"
Rufus eyed her coldly before allowing a small smile to shape his lips. "I don't respond well to betrayal. Rosso. That's something that you should remember."
"And why would I betray you," she questioned, suddenly serious, "when you give me gifts such as this?"
She held up the glossy photograph of Sephiroth, and Rufus found himself surprised by the one she had chosen. It had been taken by the security cameras during the coup, just after Sephiroth had reported being attacked by a man who resembled General Rhapsodos. Sephiroth was covered from head to toe with the blood of his enemy, his long silver hair streaked crimson, his patrician features coated with it. He looked utterly terrifying, even to Rufus' already jaded eyes, and he felt the first stirrings of misgivings about Rosso The Crimson.
But he wanted Sephiroth dead, Rufus reminded himself, and Rosso might be the only person capable of giving him what he wanted. As for Reno...
"There is one condition that I must insist upon, before you are to be given this assignment," he told the beautiful, warped young woman sharply. "This is not negotiable, Rosso."
"Of course, darling," she told him with beginnings of another smile. "What can Rosso The Crimson do for her most generous benefactor?"
"Sephiroth stole something from me, Rosso, something irreplaceable." Rufus reached into his desk and pulled out a single piece of paper. He leaned forward and placed it atop the second folder, giving it the precedence that it deserved. "I want it back."
Rosso took the paper, both eyebrows shooting up as she realized just what she was looking at. "The great general stole a Turk?" she asked mockingly. "How does one go about doing such a thing?"
"By playing on a young man's stupidity," Rufus stated coldly.
Rosso studied him for a long moment before looking back at The Turk's profile. "He was your man, then?" she asked archly. He gazed at her in stony silence, and she quickly backed off. "You would like him returned unharmed, yes?"
"Yes."
"Then, it will be done." She paused, and then added, "I will retrieve him after I have dealt with The General, if that is acceptable?"
Rufus nodded curtly. "So long as my Turk is not harmed, you have my permission to kill as many of his traveling companions as you see fit. I have nearly all of their profiles in there, as well, should you feel the need to familiarize yourself with Sephiroth's allies."
A thought came to Rufus then, an idea that made simply killing Sephiroth pale in comparison. "Of course, The General's lover will probably try to stop you," he said in as casual a tone as he could imagine. "But I imagine that won't present much of a problem for you."
Rosso's expression darkened, twisting with jealously, as she quickly snatched up the second folder. She flipped through it, scowling as she came upon an image of Sephiroth and a red-haired man kissing in what looked like an elevator. Sephiroth looked completely involved in what—and who—he was doing, and Rosso was already imagining the creative ways that she could make the redhead suffer for daring to touch what was hers.
"Who is he?" she all but growled, needing a name to carve into his gravestone—or his flesh.
Rufus smirked at her enraged reaction. "Genesis Rhapsodos," he replied calmly. "A SOLDIER 1st Class, and Sephiroth's second-in-command."
"No," she corrected haughtily, "he is a dead man, nothing more. I will see to that."
"Excellent," Rufus murmured with satisfaction. "Give me a list of whatever you think you'll need for the mission, and I'll have it delivered to you tonight. You can leave first thing tomorrow morning."
Rosso smiled again, this time with a sadist's dark anticipation, and Rufus nearly laughed aloud. Yes, Sephiroth would understand how if felt to lose what mattered most to him, and Reno would be back here, where he belonged, and he would learn what it meant to betray a Shinra.
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Final Fantasy VII: Angelic Threnody