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Legacy of the Lifestream	By : butabara Category: Final Fantasy VII > General Views: 2387 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not Own FFVII or its affiliates. I make no money from this execise in literary creativity.

Chapter List
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Pain danced and radiated throughout Sukai’s lower back. Her muscles tensed, fought against the pain no matter how hard she tried to relax. She felt every quiver of her uterus, every twitch of every contraction, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before she really was rendered useless to her friends.

Once more she grit her teeth as the sharp, crushing agony of another contraction wracked her body – that one was longer, and closer to the last than the others before.

She tried to focus. She’d managed to gather enough information from the energy signatures on the ground to know that both her lover and his sister Guardian had entered Guardian Mode. ...Hm. She’d have to talk to Harmony about perhaps finding a better name for it.

Back on track.

The power had dropped unexpectedly. Sukai had no idea if that meant the threat was over, or her loved ones were dead.

Another contraction stole her breath and her knees wobbled, thighs burning with the strain of keeping herself upright enough to see the monitor. She’d have been fine, more able to control the pain and her reactions to it, had the door not burst open behind her. She whirled around and lost her impeccable focus, and the moment her will slipped a ragged cry of pain passed her lips.

“Miss Hiroshima-Williams!” Dr. Boughman gasped. He rushed to her, wrapping his arms under her shoulders and hauling her toward the hospital bed.

“You’re not wearing gloves or a clean-suit!” Sukai tried to protest, aware that the Stigma that covered her abdomen would be impossibly contagious by now. She didn’t know how she knew it; it was just a feeling… something inside of her breaking away.

Gods, how had she not noticed how tired she was? The moment Dr. Boughman placed her on the bed, it was as though her bones just… melted. She lay limp, dazed for a moment at the realization that not only was she actually in labor, but that it was causing the Geostigma to react violently.

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?” She whispered to no one but herself.

Another contraction forced her toes to curl into the sheets, her hands fisted so tightly on the plastic bars beside her that she heard her bones creaking.

“My mother should be here.” She rasped. “I promised. I promised she could be here.”

“Sukai, you mother is still comatose.” Dr. Boughman said as gently as he could. His features were dark with worry, and even through the pain Sukai saw how hard he was fighting to keep the resigned acceptance from showing through.

“Dr. Boughman.” Shelke said from the doorway. “I received your page. Is something wrong?”

“Yes.” He didn’t even bother denying it. “Shelke, I need you to go to the storage room at the back of the loading dock. There is a small box there. It’s blue, looks like a jewelry box. I put it away for just this situation.”

“Doctor, what is it?” Shelke asked.

“The Geostigma is mutating.” Dr. Boughman admitted. “I’ve seen it before, in other pregnant women with the Stigma.”

“What the… Hell… Is that supposed to m-” Sukai started, though her demand cut off with a low groan as another contraction hit.

“Shelke, the box.” Dr. Boughman said. “Sukai, how long have you been having contractions?”

“All day.” Sukai admitted in a pained whine. “I was trying to help… I couldn’t just let you all...” Against her will, tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was the pain, or the feeling of failure that made her eyes sting and her sinuses burn.

“How close are they?” Boughman pressed. “I need to know.” Though he was already frantically untangling lines, preparing to truss her up like a hog, she thought.

And then another pain swept through Sukai, and this time, she couldn’t even try to silence the scream. This wasn’t a contraction. This wasn’t a cramp. This felt like… like fire under her skin. It felt like ants, like those teensy little red bastards that bit fire into the flesh. But millions of them, crawling in her veins, spreading out from her abdomen where she knew the dark green-and-purple proof of her illness marred her skin.

The world around her flashed, like the rapid flickering of florescent lighting. It overloaded her senses, that quick blinking, and her mind fogged with dizziness. It made her sick to her stomach and she gasped, desperately lurched to her side and before she could even breathe she was heaving, dark, slimy brown and black sick splattering on the white floors.

“Damnit!” Boughman cursed. He rushed to her side, helping her to sit up and forcing a bedpan onto her lap. “Sukai.” He said, repeating her name until she stopped retching long enough to look up at him. Her eyes were dark, and he blanched. “Subconjunctival hemorrhage.” He muttered. It was more than that, he realized, as from the corners of her eyes, bright red began oozing down her cheeks. Sukai shuddered. Gagged. Hunched over and was sick once more, and when she looked up at him again, blackish blood trickled from her nose as well.

Shelke burst through the door then, carrying the small box he’d sent her for. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Sukai’s condition, and the inventor found that what terrified her the most in all of this was not the pain, but rather it was the look on the young woman’s face. She’d never seen such emotion in Shelke’s expression, such fear.

“Sukai.” Boughman drew her attention again, and she watched him pull a large syringe from the long box. It was glowing, shimmering in gentle blues, greens, and silvers, though the liquid inside seemed to be nothing more than water. “Aerith gave this to me, for you. It’s her Gospel. It’s the only way to save you.” He pressed.

Her heart clenched. So it was true, then: She was dying. Fear welled inside her, along with anger, despair, and guilt. She sat quietly. Strangely, not a contraction nor sting from the Stigma assaulted her as she delved within herself. She was so close… Her child was reaching for life, already. If she allowed that injection, that little life would be lost. The child would die before it could take its first breaths.

“We don’t know for certain that it would kill the child...” Shelke put in, correctly guessing Sukai’s thoughts. She placed her hand on Sukai’s shoulder, her expression smoothed to the neutral emptiness normally found there though her eyes brimmed with unshed and shone with pleading hope.

“We don’t know for certain that it won’t.” Sukai whispered. She swallowed heavily, the warm cramping that warned of a contraction tightening in her abdomen. She took a deep breath – coughed and spluttered as dark blood oozed from the corner of her mouth. “Put me under, Doctor.” She ordered. “Intubate me and put me under, and cut her out of me. If… If I survive that long, then you can give me the Gospel. But I refuse the injection while my baby is still inside me.”

“Your body is so weak, you may not survive the general anesthesia.” Boughman said quietly. Shelke wasn’t the only one fighting tears, Sukai noticed. Dr. Boughman’s voice wavered, words catching in his throat and Sukai slumped, slowly lowered herself back to the pillow.

“Then I die. But my baby has to live. Sephiroth’s-...” And that was it. Just the thought, the sound of his name from her lips brought out a heavy sob. Her hands lifted, palms pressing hard to her eyes as she cried. A few months… that’s all she’d been given. She had what few people in all of existence were lucky enough to find, and fate was so cruel as to take it from her when she’d only just found it. She cried for her. She cried for him. What would he do? She knew how devastated he would be, and it hurt in ways she’d never felt, to think that she would leave him alone, now.

“Bring me a camera.” Sukai rasped through a sob. “Shelke? Will you help me clean up? I don’t want him to see me like this.” She begged.

Shelke swallowed the lump in her throat. Her shaking hands pulled Sukai’s away from her eyes, and she helped the inventor sit up. “Of course I will.” She whispered. “Doctor, there is a laptop on my desk in my quarters. Bring it to me, and while Sukai completes her testament you and I will create a proper surgical suite.”

*!*!*

Sassi lay crumped over the body of her dearest friend. Her sobs shook the earth beneath them, her tears fell like hot knives from the sky. What had she done? Harmony was dead! Dead, because of her! She did this! Yes, it was true that Chaos had a hand in it, but… No. No, she wouldn’t try to qualify that cop-out. She let the beast in… She let him convince her that she couldn’t trust her Guardian, and now Harmony was dead.

Her world crashed down around her, the voices of friend and foe alike faded to the background as she sat back and cup a bloodstained cheek with a trembling hand.

“I’m sorry.” She sobbed, caressing the cold cheek with her thumb. “I’m so sorry, Hari. I never meant for this to happen… I… Gods, I’ll never forgive myself!”

The wails of despair from the man pinned to the mud not far from her tore her apart, and the way he screamed at Sephiroth told her all she needed to know.

The General had been the one to deliver the final blow, and she knew without question that it was at Harmony’s demand. Her coven-sister had done this to save her. The Guardian had protected the Cetra from herself.

“Sassi, you have to get up.” Loz’s voice cut into her misery. His large hand burned on her shoulder, stained the soul, scattered memory behind her eyes. She saw Harmony’s face, filled with awe the very first time they met. Felt the nearly eerie connection, something within promising that this girl, dirty and bleeding and broken, would one day be the most important person in her life.

{Flashback}

Sassi wrung her hands in her lap, silent tears falling onto her gloves as she waited for the officer to call her back to his office. She was dirty; mud smeared across her cheeks, blended with dried blood that covered pale flesh in lines so mercilessly scratched into her. If she thought about it, she could still feel the sting of tree branches whipping and slicing at her face.

Father was dead. The police had teams out at the chasm searching for his body even then. A medical team had also been dispatched, but Sassi knew how useless that was. There was no way Father could have survived a fall from that height.

Father was dead. She had uttered the words to the officer on the other side of the desk the moment she stepped into the station. The look on the man’s face merged with Father’s; Jimmy Flint’s eyes were so wide she could see the whites all the way ‘round, his mouth curled into a manic snarl.

Father was dead. She killed him. She hadn’t meant to! She tried to save him! A part of her – dark and angry and cruel – whispered that he deserved what he got, that he was evil – Sassi was free of his harsh fists and cruel tongue, now. She was safe, now. He would never raise a hand against her again. He certainly couldn’t be in the same heavenly afterlife as Mother, either.

Father was dead, and she was all alone. Her breath lodged in her throat before bursting from her lips in a heavy sob. Her shoulders shook, chest heaving with rapid exhalations. She felt dizzy. She felt sick. She felt hands on her shoulders though she couldn’t focus enough to see the calm, compassionate face of the office kneeling before her.

A cup of water was forced against her lips, a calloused finger hooking under her jaw and tilting her head back for the cool liquid to trickle down her throat. She’d never imagined something as simple as a cold drink could calm her rising panic, but it did. Or… maybe it wasn’t the water.

An odd sensation tickled at her consciousness, creeping in and enveloping the fear and anguish. It seemed to separate the darkness, to lock it away from the space behind her eyes and quite suddenly she felt warm all over. Safe. The door hissed, automatic mechanisms whirring as glass slid open and another teenage girl stumbled into the station.

She was even more filthy than Sassi, and her own pale flesh was littered with bruises. The left side was the worst of the injuries on her face, eye swollen almost completely shut and lips split, dried blood crusting down her chin. Sassi’s gaze traveled down the girl’s body to the tattered clothing she wore. Her clothes had obviously been ripped off of her at some point – they hung off of her body and Sassi didn’t even need to see the blood dripping down the girl’s inner thighs to know what had happened to her.

Then that feeling intensified, and her eyes shot up to the girl’s face. She was staring right back at her, no trace of fear or pain or anguish in her expression, just… awe. She looked at Sassi like she was precious. Like she was a sacred idol to be worshiped. Sassi had never had anyone look at her with such reverence, and it blanketed her panicked mind in a wave of peace. She opened her mouth to question the girl, to ask her who she was – what she was, but the officer she had been waiting for called her name at that exact moment.

She looked back to find the stranger with her back to her, talking to the other officer over the counter. With a curious, yearning stare at a bruised back, she allowed herself to be led away.

The girl was sitting on the concrete steps outside when Sassi exited the building. She found herself thanking the gods. That warm feeling had vanished when the girl was no longer in sight, but now it was back and it burned so much hotter with every step closer she took. Finally she was right beside her, her body lowering to sit next to her on its own.

“Are you okay?” She heard her own voice ask. The girl looked at her with broken eyes, but that eerie, consuming wonder was still there. She didn’t answer at first, but when she did her voice fell over Sassi like heavy rain over a raging wildfire.

“Are you?” She whispered. Sassi thought about it. She didn’t know why she felt so comfortable talking to this complete stranger, this girl whom had obviously been through Hell tonight, just like she had, but it was like talking to an old friend. Like writing in a diary. Something inside her just knew that this girl would never betray her, never judge or ridicule.

“...No.” Sassi admitted.

“Neither am I.”

Sassi gulped and looked up from her folded hands. “I’m Sassi.” She offered. “Sassi flint. My… My father died tonight. I killed him.” The girl held her gaze, and Sassi was relieved near to tears when the only emotion that flickered in the girl’s expression was compassion.

“I’m Harmony. I was...” She choked on the words, and Sassi couldn’t help but throw her arms around her when she sobbed and curled into herself. “I was betrayed by my best friend and… and raped.” She whimpered.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” Sassi asked softly. “Someone to be with you?” She shouldn’t ask… It wasn’t like she could offer anything. The officer inside didn’t even know she’d slipped out – she refused to be put into a system of foster homes, near people she could so easily hurt without meaning to.

“Yes.” Harmony answered. “I have my own apartment. I’m emancipated.” She took a few deep breaths, pushed herself for control of her instability. “Do you?”

“No.” Sassi answered, looking away so that Harmony couldn’t see her shame. “And I… I don’t want to go into the system. I… Bad things would happen.” She glanced back and Harmony, losing herself in mossy green eyes. It was like she could see the cogs turning, could hear the thoughts echoing as the girl mulled something over.

“Um...” Harmony started awkwardly. “I have to go to the hospital. They want to… do a rape kit. You can… You can come with me?” She offered, though it sounded more like a plea. “And when I’m finished, you can stay with me. My couch is small, but it’s comfortable.”

Sassi didn’t use the couch that night. By the time they’d returned to Harmony’s tiny apartment, both girls ended up in Harmony’s small bed, wrapped around each other, desperately accepting the comfort of just being held. In those moments, Sassi knew everything she needed to about her new friend. They could be broken together.

She wasn’t going to be alone.

{End Flashback}

Rain pelted Weiss in stinging waves, the water sharp on his skin for the furious wind whipping through the forest. The sound of cracking wood echoed all around him, trees crashing to the ground under the strain of the fierce gusts. He was getting close, he knew it. The light through the trees, the agony positively dancing through the air, the scent of blood and magic and the unguarded Protomateria taunted and teased his senses, and he would not ignore the call.

His lips split in a maniacal grin when he broke the treeline. The youngest remnant – the one that had captured him – was pinned to the ground by Sephiroth himself, and he was wailing like a child. The screams were pained, panicked, horrified in a way that only one whom had lost everything in live could achieve, and Weiss scanned the meadow to find the reason.

Ah, the Guardian woman. She was sprawled inelegantly in the muddy grass, and the red-headed Cetra crouched over her. Weiss didn’t need to look closer to know: she was dead. What a wonderful little twist. He ignored the others when they turned toward him, ignored the shouts to stay away from Vincent Valentine’s unconscious form. He’d failed to get the Protomateria from him once, and would not do so again.

Bright gold eyes followed the pale man, magic pulsing within the demon. The power within the man was familiar, blasted him with recognition and instantly, he forgot about his original desire. This man was nigh directly responsible for weakening his power as it was before the Cetra summoned him from Vincent. This was was responsible for his humiliating defeat. Omega was responsible, and Omega was inside Weiss.

A roar of fury, a scream that promised the wrath of all Hell itself tore from his throat, fangs bared and lips curled. He lunged, claws outstretched and black-and-purple energy swirling to life at his palms.

Weiss smirked. In slow motion he saw the faces of the others twist to horror and desperation, saw them sluggishly diving at those on the ground, and then his blades were back in his hands and Chaos’s energy ray was swirling away to nothing before him.

Weiss laughed, a deep, wicked, deranged sound. He didn’t know how he was resurrected or why, but he was going to take full advantage of it.
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Legacy of the Lifestream