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The Sins of Two Fathers	By : wickedorin Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 687 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
"The Sins of Two Fathers" and the general overall
concept of "The Sins of Two Fathers" is completely copyright Orin Drake
1999-2005, as are the characters Kyrie and Rodger and some more random
people that don't matter as much. The characters Seifer Almasy, Squall
Leonhart, Quistis Trepe, Ellone (Leonhart?), Laguna Loire and Rinoa "The
Great Big Bitch" Heartily (biased? me?) are copyright Squaresoft, as are
the terms SeeD, gunblade, Trabia Garden, Griever, and probably a lot of
other stuff I forgot to mention. Hell, if you played the game, you
know. Enough said. Oh yeah, and there are plenty of spoilers
everywhere for everything. That about covers it.

        Background:
To be completely honest, I had no idea this was going to turn into a serious
story. I started writing is as a free-for-all squickfic yaoi fan
fantasy, but it got so out of my control that the characters are actually...
endearing. What have I done?! Ah well. Lesse, there's
a real obvious homosexual relationship, but they don't really do anything
in this chapter, so... oh, there's language. You know me, I like
my nasty language, so look out. Angst, I love putting angst everywhere.
That's about it for now. I will warn you, though, that FF characters
actually don't make up a lot of this story, especially not in the beginning.
I will make it up to you all some day. Enjoy.

The Sins of Two Fathers

Chapter 7

by Orin Drake
        The blackness faded into
gray slowly, like watching an old computer screen struggle to light up.
From gray it finally turned flesh toned, and took on a feeling. Consciousness;
it's not something you know you're missing until you wake to it.

        She opened her eyes slowly,
feeling just the last part of an unnatural weakness flow from her muscles.
Sluggishly forcing herself to sit up, it took only a momentary sweep of
her surroundings to know she was in an inn of some sort. A very expensive
one by the look of things. The lamps, the fancy vases, sofas, soft
bedding, two tables, a desk in the corner; she had a sneaking suspicion
that she wasn't in Garden anymore.

        Shit, she swallowed.
Where the hell was she? Not even the smell of the room was familiar.
Glancing to the side, she noticed the large front window was wide open,
shutters dancing lazily and catching shards of late afternoon light in
a warm breeze. She was in a place warmer than Trabia, that much was
certain. But as for where, why, and what had happened...

        And then something by the
window moved. It had looked so perfectly pristine she'd mistaken
it for a decorative statue; instead, it was a man with his back to her,
dressed in a long black coat with perfectly silver hair. His body
remained still but his head had turned, making his ankle length hair shimmer
with the sunlight. Then those eyes. Those emerald green cat
eyes. Beautiful, but sinister. The ones she'd seen before the
blackness.

        For once, she was struck
totally dumb. Words were usually her way out, but even those failed
to work. Strange place, strange man, and apparently a lot of lost
time. Not good.

        The man forced a flat smile
and finally turned, walking toward her. She was taken for a moment
by his graceful gait, an almost royal feel in his motions. Even so,
dressed head to toe in highly flexible black leather, even covering his
hands and arms, he was a threatening sight. The small amount of skin
he showed was exceptionally pale, and the dull ivory complexion against
the black clothes almost made him appear to be a ghostly vision.

        When he sat on the edge
of the bed, it was all too real for her. Too real, and too weird
for words.

        "Well?" he whispered smoothly.

        What the fuck does he
want? "Well, what?" a hint of annoyance was clear in her voice.

        His diplomatic air gave
way to a more forceful one. His eyes narrowed slightly, and there
was no invitation about his suggestion. "Well, get up."

        For a moment in time, she
didn't give a damn who the lunatic was or what he'd planned on or already
done with her. She glared at him silently, her mind finally firing
back up to logical thinking. Turning her back on him was not an option.
Neither was humoring him. Well, not entirely. She could take
him by surprise, maybe. But he was watching her, closely. More
closely than she'd ever felt watched in her life; that was saying quite
a lot. Then again, there was nothing she could do just sitting on
a bed. She may as well obey. Slowly, she slid her legs off
from the side opposite the lunatic, careful to continue facing him.
With slow steps, she made her way to the foot of the bed, closer to him,
arms at her sides.

        His eyes were on her the
whole time, taking in every detail. It went far and beyond just that;
her motion, her heartbeat, her body temperature were all viable sources
for judging how much of a bother she could become. She was a fighter,
that was clear. But she was not entirely expert, or entirely ready
for everything that could be thrown her way. He stood remarkably
suddenly, stepping toward her.

        She hadn't really the time
to think. She was trying to look innocent, useless and exceptionally
feminine while at the same time preparing herself for an all-out tooth
and claw battle when he'd dashed with one powerful stride toward her and
grasped Griever.

        "Who gave you this?" he
demanded violently, tearing the necklace from her, snapping the chain.

        The strength it took to
yank the chain to the breaking point caused a bruising pain in the back
of her neck. She hissed at him, intense anger surfacing. She
didn't give a fuck who he was. He broke her father's most sacred
possession. Her most sacred possession. "It was my dad's."

        A nearly sinful smile crossed
the madman's face. "Your father's? You're a Leonhart?"

        "And an Almasy." She
spat, trying to rip Griever out of his hands. To hell with the chain,
the pendant was most important.

        He smacked her hand away
with force. "And an Almasy?" he repeated, unbelieving. He suddenly
erupted into a hellish laugh that made goose bumps rise on her arms.
"Leonhart and Almasy. Now that is interesting."

        She wasn't fucking around
with this lunatic. She sent a fist flying into his solar plexus.
It was enough to cause him to gasp sharply and release Griever, but it
certainly wasn't enough to aid her escape. He straightened almost
immediately, picking her up by the shoulders and throwing her into the
nearest wall.

        Pain exploded throughout
her lower back and head, a dull blackness followed by flashes of bright
white becoming her whole landscape for a short time. She came to
completely only seconds later, when the silver haired freak had smacked
her unceremoniously across the face. She tasted the blood, but was
left with a burning numbness. It didn't matter. She had Griever
in her hand. The most important thing.

        "Stand up." The man
demanded firmly, but calmly.

        "No.", she'd have
liked to have responded. But pain like that wasn't exactly
her forte. Instead, she wisely kept her mouth shut and did as he
asked, placing Griever obviously enough in her pocket. Pressing her
weight against the wall hurt in little waves up and down her back,
but she couldn't trust herself to stand on her own. There was a pulsating
emotion that invaded every sensation in her body, and she didn't like it
at all. It was a sort of helpless rage, closely related to fear.

        The man stared at her conspicuously,
slowly roaming his eyes from top to bottom. He measured her up in
a number of ways; most notably that smell of close to desperate fear.
It certainly wasn't the strongest he'd ever smelled out of a creature,
but it was there. Complete advantage--somehow the daughter of Leonhart
and Almasy, unarmed, weakened--that he welcomely took advantage of.

        Kyrie had let her emotion
control the rest of her. That was a no-no in such a situation, and
she knew it. She cursed herself with the fires of hell mentally as
she distantly saw the destructive glimmer in her captor's eyes. She
couldn't have avoided it, then; he'd grasped one wrist already and had
successfully captured the other, binding them tightly in one fist.
She thrashed as she felt the heat of his body against her in an instant,
and cursed herself more thoroughly for allowing him to pin her legs against
the wall with his own.

        That look of half-amused
victory washed over every fiber of his being as he caught her eyes, gloating.
Fun to be had, with this one. He'd thought as much, swiftly wrapping
his free hand over her mouth. "You're older than they were when I
indulged in their flesh..." he hissed into her ear, several strands of
his hair lightly brushing over her cheek. "It's been so long since
I've touched any living body..."

        She didn't even hear him.
She just bit into his hand, not stopping until her teeth came together.

        He grunted, releasing her
wrists with a painful squeeze and digging his strong fingers into the back
of her neck. He couldn't feel pain like he used to. It was
there, certainly, but it didn't affect him in the same way. It faded
so quickly these days. But he certainly remembered that other creatures
could feel it.

        Even with the unbelievable
pressure and pain, she didn't release until she got a mouthful of his blood.
There was a primal satisfaction in that, in making him bleed even as he
strove to hurt her. His blood tasted good. Only as her
vision returned to polka dots of gray and white did she finally release,
and even then it wasn't entirely on purpose. He'd begun leaning against
her chest, constricting her oxygen to the point where she bordered on consciousness.
This point between awareness and unconsciousness was becoming a little
too familiar.

        As her teeth released, so
too did the hand on the back of her neck. It moved, instead, to the
front, holding her against the wall but giving little pressure to her airway.
The man quietly inspected his glove with a blank expression, not too thrilled
to have it pierced by teeth of all damned things. Certainly not by
his supposed victim. "That was rude." He commented.

        Kyrie caught her breath
and stared bitterly at the psycho. Unfortunately, his legs still
prevented her own from driving a knee through his intestines. Being
rather a victim for so long, one learns the ultimate victim's defense move
swiftly. Her hands were free, but a lot of good that would do with
his hand on her neck. As much as she hated to do so, as stupid as
it outright seemed, she dropped her arms to her sides and waited for his
next move.

        "Good girl." He slowly
lifted his hand from her neck, but did not let his guard down. Nor
did he back away from her right away. She'd proven fast; not fast
enough to take him when he had his goals in mind, but certainly fast enough
to gain the advantage if he let an ounce of guard slip. She had been
taught by his own students, she had damn well better be fast.

        There were a million questions
beating around in her head. But none of them surfaced above another.
And she wasn't sure if she should waste the breath to ask them. No
doubt he wouldn't answer. She wouldn't be able to pick a single question
out of the long list to start with, anyway. But really, what the
fuck was going on?

        He backed away fluidly,
but not out of anything resembling mercy. Not fear, either.
He simply sat on the bed, regarding her as she stood there, glaring back,
looking him over just as thoroughly. His eyes were glowing with an
insane lust of... something Kyrie didn't understand. She'd never
quite seen that look on anyone before. It was quite unnerving to
say the least. Finally he spoke, his voice soft and smooth though
he were almost trying to calm her down. "Are you a virgin?"

        She was struck dumb at that,
completely. What the hell kind of a thing is that to ask her?
"You are one hell of a prick." She commented outright; obviously
without giving it much thought.

        This time he only looked
at her, blankly. He didn't so much as raise his hand to warn her,
or give her a dramatically cutting glare. Just looked at her, took
several normal breaths, then commented in an offhanded sort of way, "I
nearly destroyed a world. But I cannot seem to control a single,
mortal, rambunctious young cunt."

        Her temper flared like it
never had before; in a very gentle, polite manner. "Maybe you just
aren't trying hard enough."

        He moved so inhumanly fast
that she had no time to react; but she really should have been expecting
it by then. He slammed his open hands against her shoulders, knocking
her back against that fucking wall. He then pinned her again, heavier,
harder with his body as she fought the loss of air in her lungs and the
pain in her head, both hands tightly around her neck. "You don't
know what you invite..." his lips pulled back in an animal growl.

        Regardless of barely being
able to talk, let alone her coherence for such activity under the circumstances,
she gasped, "Save it." Her intelligence in the field of battle had
completely fallen away to her stubborn nature.

        He squeezed harder, his
mouth right next to his ear. He whispered harshly, "Don't think you
are immortal because my students survived Ultimecia."

        "Your... students?" even
with the impending loss of consciousness, she couldn't help but be appalled
and curious at the same time.

        His grin bared all of his
teeth like a mad animal. "A Leonhart and an Almasy, you claim.
They were both my students. I taught them how to fight." He
looked away for a moment, seething. "I had hoped they would have
chosen to stay with me... but, I suppose, boys will be boys." He
slowly released her throat and let her lean limply against the wall.

        She coughed, gasping for
air as she steadied her legs underneath her. For whatever reason,
the man before her allowed her time to catch her breath without interruption.
She was about to blow that chance. "Maybe they would agree that you're
a psycho."

        "Shut your filthy mouth,
girl. I could have been a god..." he growled.

        She scoffed openly.
A god? Him? He looked no older than her parents for one thing,
perhaps younger. "You never could have been a god. You were
born a man."

        "I was born a god."
He hissed. "I was made a man."

        She threw her hands up into
the air and met his tone exactly. "And now you're a fucking lunatic."

        The malice in his eyes were
enough to shush her for the moment. "I can be a god again.
I have the ambition, the drive, the intelligence of
a god..."

        "You certainly bleed
like a man." She commented, infuriated and just a bit unsettled at
his words. As if she hadn't been thrown around enough already, she
felt the air rush from her lungs, saw the room spin amongst the green cat
eyes that pierced her.

        He pulled her away from
the wall then slammed her right back against it, trying to drive his point
home. "Aren't you sick of this wall yet?"

        "I'll let you know."
She spat back, trying desperately to ignore the bruises already covering
her. They'd only get larger and darker with every one of her comments.
But she could take it. She was sure she could take some bruises.
She just wouldn't be able to wear that shirt again anytime soon.

        The fists that held her
grew even more taunt, then suddenly shivered, then slackened. His
eyes blinked twice, totally losing their vicious sheen. They were
still his eyes, alright. And they were still just as unnaturally
green as they always had been. But they were so different, somehow.
So... pure. Untainted. Like an entirely different entity altogether.
"Help me..." he begged in a whisper, shaking her. "Help me, please..."
A child's voice hidden behind that of a man's. It was goddamned unsettling.

        Part of her was violently
ill at this sudden raw emotion, wanting to push him away. Another
part of her wished she could comfort him; wished she knew how to comfort
him. But she couldn't bring herself to believe that it was anything
but a trick. Those eyes, though. Those weren't the eyes of
a man who'd kidnapped her...

        "Make her let go..." he
whispered roughly. He was choking on his own fear, shaking her shoulders
in desperation, pleading. "Please, please... make her let... go..."

        She swallowed, not sure
she wanted to know the answer. "Her?"

        "Jenova..." the man sobbed
like a child threatened by monsters right in front of him.

        The moment that word fell
from his lips, she saw his eyes change. It was like they were lit
slowly from the inside, those stark child eyes rapidly darkening in one
way, brightening in another. The insane "adult" eyes shone back at
her in a matter of seconds, the hands that had grasped her for comfort
now shoving her away.

        "What magic is this?" he
demanded.

        Utter confusion. Magic?
Not her, not in this time and place. Being daughter of a sorceress
carried only a wives tale of power. Not to mention all the shit that
came with it. But he didn't know who her mother was. He didn't
even know she was a Leonhart until she'd told him. "Magic doesn't
exist anymore." She assured him firmly. "Not since Ultimecia."

        His glare got more harsh
with her words, but he seemed to realize she was telling the truth.
Maybe he didn't know he was as fucking crazy as he actually was.
He finally broke away from her entirely, walking absently to the other
end of the room.

        Hm. And now what?
She could try to run... but where to? Not that it mattered.
Away was away, after all. Slowly, as if she were doing nothing at
all but being ever so innocent, she walked around the bed and to the window.
Maybe that would give her an indication of where she was in regards to,
well, the world.

        Lucky for her the psycho
seemed to be preoccupied with his own quiet mumbling. She stood at
the window for a few seconds, contemplating just jumping out of it.
But with the looks of the cobblestones and the unusually high drop from
a second story window (Each floor must be triple fucking enforced or
something)... it was unlikely she'd do anything but shatter some bones.
Then there would be no fucking escape at all. Ever again, most likely.
She was pretty damn certain that trying to race him down stairs was a pretty
stupid move on her part, too. Not to mention she had the feeling
the room door was locked from the outside, for some reason.

        She held back an aggravated
growl in her throat and stared at the sky. It was nearly twilight
already. Not that it would help much; she wasn't at all knowledgeable
in the constellations. But where the fuck was she? It
was obviously not Esthar, the ground was covered too lushly with grass
and flowers for that. And it was certainly not Trabia, too warm and
too many trees. It was pretty fucking obvious it wasn't hot or barren
enough to be Centra, either. The hill and valley view extended too
far to be Balamb. So, by that logic, she must be somewhere in Galbadia.
Great. Lovely. And how did she get there? And what part
of Galbadia? It was green, lush, warm with a classy inn. Southern
portion? She couldn't smell ocean, but that may not mean much depending
upon where the breeze is coming from. Central-ish, maybe? It
was definitely the mainland.

        She let a curse fly under
her breath. This was fucking useless, trying to guess. She
turned slowly to find that freak of an insane psychopath looking at her
with a great deal of thought. About what, she knew she didn't want
to know.

        When he noticed her looking
back, he let an unsettling smile cross his lips. "I suppose it's
time to rest up. Big plans for tomorrow."

        Ugh. Kyrie did not
like the sound of that. She wasn't tired, first off. She didn't
even know how long she'd been unconscious. And just what was he suggesting
in the first place? She stared at him, expressionless, waiting for
a proper answer to her unspoken questions.

        He walked toward bed but
in her direction, as though he weren't the single most hated thing in her
existence. "I don't suppose you're going to be a good little girl
and just stay cozy here with me, hmm?" a suggestive tone entered his silken
voice. "It has its merits, I can assure you."

        Nothing but the most spiteful
glare he thought he'd even encountered met that suggestion; and that was
truly saying a lot. It made him chuckle to see such a fragile mortal
take on a god like she had. Certainly her parents' child. Only
stupider. "Suit yourself." He whispered, very softly extending
just his fingertips out toward her.

        Oh sh-- was about
the only reaction she had for that. She felt all of the muscles in
her body jam as though overloaded, and the minutes became a blur of jittery,
motion-blurred seconds. Magic. It must have been. Something
to slow her responses, maybe? When time moved correctly again, she
discovered the ultimate danger of being unable to defend herself against
magic. She was sitting on the bed, her arms bound tightly behind
her back--one atop the other so that her wrists touched the opposite elbows--with
rope that obviously did not stretch. Maybe it wasn't rope.
It was too tight to really get a feel for it, but just loose enough to
not cause her limbs to completely lose circulation. She tried to
move her legs to get balance, to find something that would slice whatever
this was off of her--discovering that her frye boots had been well taken
advantage of. A very long, woven leather rope had securely bound
her ankles together, looping in and out of the metal rings for security.

        And that bastard, that fucking
lunatic who had done this, was sitting in a small sofa across from her,
underneath the window. He was obviously in the process of getting
ready for sleep, and she glanced outside at the misty stars. Just
how much time had elapsed? Not much by the look of things, but...
And what the fuck had happened in the mean time? Swallowing hard
but trying not to show her concern, she ever so gently squeezed her legs
together. Nothing unusual. Her back still hurt like hell and
her shoulders had begun to cramp a little, but that was about it.

        He grinned again at her
reaction. Ah, that scent of worry, of fear. It was gratifying.
He finished with the buckles of his coat and stood, folding it over the
back of the chair.

        He most certainly was not
a god, but he was sure as hell sculpted like one. Not overly muscular,
but statuesque; certainly enough to intimidate. He certainly could
have snapped her neck easily a dozen times by now. She wondered what
she was being kept alive for. It was obviously not political, as
he hadn't even known her bloodline. It was also pretty obvious he
didn't mind hurting her, but why not killing her?

        And then he turned to look
at her as he slipped his boots off. That look. That smirk.
She was cold. Completely and utterly stone cold. Never in her
life had she been so defenseless.

        Slowly he pulled his long
gloves off, folding and laying them on the cushion, the bite mark she'd
made barely visible. Through all of his slow, deliberate actions,
he did not interrupt his gazing at her. So many ways to silence that
girl. So many ways to make it sting. He was nearly void of
pain, but he hoped he wasn't void of pleasure.

        A very viscous panic was
creeping its way down her spine. There was no way she could stop
anything he wanted to do with her. No way to prevent it when she
couldn't loosen the bonds that held her. It had never been like that
before. She'd always had a chance, always a defense. Even if
it were her bare hands, that was something. But not here, not this
time. All of her trust was left for dead in the frighteningly powerful
hands of a psycho.

        He slowly stalked up to
her, very lightly sitting beside her on the bed. The guy was literally
dripping with sexuality, lined with an undertone of simply bad intentions.
He hid none of it from her as he grinned widely, moving his hand to lightly
brush against the exposed skin of her back, the bruises making the flesh
that much more sensitive. With the other hand, he roughly took a
handful of her hair as he forced their lips close, but not touching.

        She only growled.
She would not beg for this bastard. Anger replaced fear; but it was
still there, waiting in the background.

        "Come on now." He
purred. "Be a good girl. Give in to temptation." He moved
his hand from her back and softly pressed his thumb between her lips.

        She clamped down hard.
A spray of blood splashed against her throat, the metallic taste growing
with the intensity of her rage. Again she savored every drop of it,
every last indication that she had caused harm to him.

        The man hissed and released
her hair in favor of grasping her jaw, squeezing just enough to dislodge
her teeth. He took his hand back and shook it, inspecting the dripping
crimson. It was nothing compared to her eyes. Driven.
Hate filled. The trickle of blood from her lip and the color of her
eyes... all of it only served to remind him of another whom he'd unsuccessfully
tried to murder in the most pleasurable of ways.

        "You just love to bite,
don't you?" he pushed her hard onto her stomach, tugged his belt
off and and used quite a bit of controlled force to smack her bare back
with it. The action left an instant red welt swarming around a trickle
of blood.

        Red in a field of black
and blue; she must have looked like a fucking national flag by now.
She yipped unexpectedly, well over the loud crack of the leather
and flesh. Never had her parents needed to use such discipline.
She had no idea what to expect, but it hurt a hell of a lot more than a
sucker punch. Dazed with the pain, she didn't even struggle as the
belt was looped around her head and pulled tightly to act as a gag.

        "No more biting tonight."
The man growled, satisfied. He leaned over her, clawing deeply at
her shoulder, and ran his tongue slowly along her new wound. Blood
for blood, it was only fair. "You just sleep."

        The feeling of his tongue
lingering on her flesh, even more heated than the wound itself, sent unwilling
shivers through every part of her body. She clenched her teeth together,
desperately trying to keep herself from making a single sound. Long
after his touch left her body and he walked away, she could still feel
it--crawling around on her skin, seeping past her flesh and into her blood
stream.

        "And I will be keeping this."
He announced, holding her gunblade up just long enough for her to realize
she was entirely without it. He dropped it somewhere on the floor
on his side of the bed, and she cringed with the careless "thunk"
he'd enticed from her weapon.

        Asshole. She
mumbled inside her head.

        Her eyes were absolutely
blazing. Had anyone told her that she would be tied up in a strange
man's bed at any point in her life, she'd probably have used another of
those famous right hooks. This was unbelievable. She was absolutely
pissed. It didn't matter how gorgeous the shirtless man beside her
was, or how smooth his voice was even when he murmured and whined with
obvious nightmares. What mattered was that she wasn't at all where
she wanted to be, with a world class maniac holding her against her will.
That bothered her. A lot. He'd had the sense to gag her, which
wasn't making her all that happy in itself.

        Three words welled up in
her mind: this isn't fun. Not that she expected it to be.
But after the subtle conversations she'd had with Rodger, she'd hoped her
first time tied up next to a guy would be, you know, fun. And just
a little more consensual. She simply stared at his back and imagined
what it would be like to rip his spine out with her gunblade. Or
her bare fucking hands.

        She chose to stare at the
silver vase that she could see just over his body on the night stand, instead.
It reflected the window, and the calm starry night. How she wished
she was out there rather than in this place. She'd rather be at home.
And she'd really rather be with Rodger. Hell, she'd rather
be eating cafeteria food... alright, not that far, maybe. But close.
Her dreaming was interrupted by a sudden flash of yellow.

        She squinted, trying to
focus harder on the reflection in the vase. Certainly there were
no chocobos running around on the second floor of an inn, right?
Then the flash of yellow appeared again. This time with a head attached
to it. And bright blue eyes...

        Cloud? From Esthar
Airstation? Was that really him crawling through the window?
Her captor had to have drugged her. That was the only explanation
for this. The shop keeper of a store for mainly cross dressers, with
a giant sword, crawling into the window of an inn in which she was being
held against her will by a man who thought he was a god... who'd slipped
her what? And how could she recover from this reluctant and horrible
trip? Maybe she was dead. Maybe she was in hell. Or limbo.
Or somewhere really bad.

        He carefully, quietly stepped
in through the window, catching a glimpse at the eyes desperately drawing
his attention. "Kyrie?" Cloud mouthed silently, seeming to
be just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

        She didn't dare even nod.
She wanted out. Now. But she didn't want the freak behind her
to wake up in the process. She took a deep breath and hoped he knew
what he was doing.

        An absolutely venomous look
of hatred washed over his eyes as he glanced at the back of the silver
haired man. A connection between the two was obvious, but he left
it alone for the moment in favor of untying Kyrie. And that, she
was glad about.

        "Sshh." He whispered
lightly, unbuckling the belt that gagged her and placing it quietly on
the floor. He tried at the knots at her ankles for quite some time
before he realized he'd just plain forgotten how to go about this whole
thing. Instead, he reached for a small knife in his boot and sliced
Ms. Leonhart free. As the last loop was cut, he whispered barely
above his breath, "Don't move."

        A cold feeling clasped her
chest, but she didn't feel that it had been a threat. She hoped very
much that he'd come to actually help her, and chose to put all of
her faith into that thought for the moment. She only stared at the
lunatic's back, imagining her teeth sinking into him, wanting to hear his
scream of pain before she gutted him. She wouldn't mind tasting his
blood again, either.

        Cloud was stalking silently
around the room, searching for something. Something he was obviously
rather annoyed that he couldn't find. He was convinced Sephiroth
would never have left Masamune behind, no matter the circumstance.

        With a sudden gasp, the
silver haired man turned violently in his sleep with so much force that
he rolled atop Kyrie. That in itself actually wouldn't have bothered
her. It was the fact that he had some... obvious intentions by the
feel of things. He hadn't just rolled on top of her. He was
on all fours with one suddenly very snug arm around her, grinding somewhat
violently against her and making his intent feel quite clear. Not
screaming was easy. She was a little too beyond conscious sounds.
But not fighting back was not an option. She grasped both sides where
the shoulder and neck met and dug tore with her fingernails.

        His eyes flashed open, overcoming
her with their color alone. Surprise and overwhelming malice swam
in those depths rather than pain, and it was paralyzing.

        "Sephiroth!" Cloud screamed,
his sword already piercing the man's side.

        Kyrie saw the sword appear,
bloodied, on the other side of the man's body. The momentum from
the power of that hate filled thrust alone was enough to disengage her
unwelcome parasite. Sephiroth...

        She didn't know how it happened,
but it did. Somehow the shock and surprise that was still pressing
down inside of her chest just ceased to exist for a moment. She rolled
and leapt off the bed on Cloud's side, knowing exactly where her gunblade
was. There was no second guessing, no insecurity. She just
grabbed the handle and unsheathed it, glad to hold it's weight and power
in her hands.

        Cloud hoped to the highest
heaven that she knew what the hell she was doing with that thing.
Darting away from her, he paced over to the end of the bed and closer to
Sephiroth.

        Snap open, six bullets from
her leg, load, close, aim. It was like second nature. Her weapon
pointed surely for the place at which the psycho would rise from the floor.
Almost instantly as her finger rested on the trigger, she saw a small burst
of light and Cloud fly backward. That man, Sephiroth, rose so quickly
and used such forceful magic that her trigger finger didn't even have the
time
to squeeze in reflex before she felt a similar burst of light pass
through her. It was quite like whatever had caused her muscles to
jam and her conception of time to change earlier, only with an electric
shiver of painful pins and needles through every bit of her body.
It was so intense that her gunblade slipped from her hand; but she was
utterly determined to keep it in her grasp. The burst of pain only
lasted for a second, and she was able to regain her grasp with both hands
on the end of the hilt.

        Unfortunately, it was not
in time to actually take a shot at the bastard. "Sit, child."
He ordered, spreading his hand out toward her. An invisible, icy
chill spilled throughout her directly from that hand. She completely
lost control of her body only long enough for her legs to give out underneath
her, folding her perfectly into the chair directly behind her. She
found that this time, with agonizing dismay, her hands were completely
immobile. She couldn't even unwrap them from around her gunblade,
which was pinned toward the floor as if stuck on a powerful magnet.
Shit. She was useless.

        "And as for you..."
he continued, paralyzing Cloud just an instant before he'd have used that
giant sword to slice the man in half from top to bottom, "You are
even more of a nuisance to me."

        The blonde growled, trying
his damnedest to get that sword just an inch closer. "I thought I
killed you!" he yelled in complete frustration.

        The man scoffed calmly.
"Looks can be deceiving. I certainly wasn't expecting to see you
again." He crossed his arms and rested his chin on the backs of his
fingers, talking as though he were trying to communicate to a slow child.
"You should know that I am forever tied to this planet. As long as
it exists, so do I. So does Mother."

        Kyrie sat back, watching
this whole exchange (as if she had a choice in the matter). Cloud
was as old as Sephiroth? Interesting. They'd battled before,
as well. It was like watching a soap opera just a little too close
to real life.

        "Don't give me that mother
shit." Cloud growled.

        Sephiroth only grinned,
almost shyly, acting flattered. "Still quick to anger. So long
and still so much the same."

        The shop keeper grunted
as the sword moved just slightly, barely forward. But it was a sign
that the magic was far from permanent, or as powerful as it could be.
There was hope. "The same goes for you, you fucking..."

        "I am not an unfair man."
Sephiroth chuckled to himself, interrupting. "I'll give you as fair
a chance as you gave me, you pathetic reject." A ball of black energy
erupted outward from his body. The next thing Kyrie knew was that
way too goddamn familiar blackness, surrounding all senses. Complete
and utter blackness.

        She groaned quietly, becoming
completely aware of what had just transpired. It was a slow process,
like having been drugged. Familiar in all the worst ways. And
when her eyes finally opened and adjusted the barest hint of a lightening
sky, there was another moan. Aggravation, defeat, regret. It
sucked to have been taken so easily. And with no real defense against
magic--it just sucked.

        She looked over to see Cloud,
still asleep and collapsed at the foot of the bed. There was absolutely
no sign that that crazy jerk had even been there; even the fucking bed
was made as neat as any hotel maid could have dreamed. Well then.
What to think of this situation. It was certainly new and different.

        She rose quietly, sheathing
her weapon that had fallen to the floor. No damage done, but it was
still loaded. She thought she'd certainly better put the safety on.
Better at this point to keep it loaded and at the ready. Just in
case. Sephiroth may not be around, but if he had magic, he may be
able to control... things. Hell, she didn't know. All she knew
were stories from her parents, pictures, history lessons. Sure monsters
still existed, but not quite the way they used to. They were pretty
much completely restricted to the uninhabited islands and forests, these
days.

        And as for Cloud... well,
she didn't feel threatened by him. In fact, she truly believed he'd
helped her out of the goodness of his own heart. She felt she'd soon
find out how much of an idiot she was; he'd taken a deep breath and turned
slightly. What an ordeal. Part of her wanted to lay on that
bed and sleep for a long time, then take a nice, strong, caffeinated drink
and ponder what had just happened. But there wasn't really time for
that.

        She walked over to the window,
careful not to hurry Cloud's waking up. She wanted to see what sort
of situation they were involved in, first. The most unfortunate sight
met her eyes, however. Even through the darkness of pre-dawn, she
could see bodies strewn about the cobblestones below. Several.
One had on a maid's uniform, and one looked like a doorman. That's
all she cared to see; they were in trouble. Possibly the only ones
left alive in the building. Shit, the whole town for all they knew.
It was pretty certain that Sephiroth was long gone.

        She sighed with a bit of
disgust, trying to fully wake herself up. The welt on her back was
unbearably stiff and still stinging, joining the orchestra of bruises.
Most especially when she tried to stretch her arms over her head.
She mumbled a strong string of curses to herself and walked up to the mirror
on the far side of the room, turning away from it and looking behind her.
Her back didn't look that bad, she supposed, but it sure as hell
didn't look great. She looked like she'd been in one hell of an interesting
accident, at least. There were also a few small black and blue marks
on her face from when the freak had backhanded her, but it wasn't too much.
She just looked fully like a domestic dispute victim.

        "You got pretty banged up,
there..." Cloud commented groggily.

        She gave him an understated,
agreeable glance, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. "I take
it you're not just a mild-mannered shop keeper."

        He stood slowly, his head
still spinning a little. "Yeah." He agreed, sounding almost
defeated. "You could say that."
- 6
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The Sins of Two Fathers