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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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- 9
- 10
Chapter Nine
       ‘My friend, your desire is the bringer of life, the gift of the goddess. Even if the morrow is barren of promises, nothing shall forestall my return.’ -Loveless, ACT III
            Sephiroth stood in the observation booth situated above the cadet training gym, hidden behind a thick swatch of glass. Ignoring the uncomfortable folding seats, he stood at the large window, arms crossed over his chest, and watched the latest batch of SOLDIER hopefuls. Unlike Angeal, he had no interest in evaluating the cadets’ performances in hope of discovering a ‘diamond in the rough’. No, he was here for one reason, and one reason only.
            Cloud Strife.
            He watched as the boy ran through the typical warm-up kata, a cheap Jr. Buster in his hands. He was wearing the bland blue uniform of a Shinra grunt, complete with that gods awful yellow neckerchief tucked into it. His blond hair stood up in untamable golden spikes on his head, a little longer than Sephiroth remembered it, though not by much. He looked young as he went through the motions that would one day make him such an admirable adversary, but not nearly as young as Sephiroth knew that he should. Instead of the skinny, undersized sixteen-year-old that had gone to Nibelheim with himself and Zack, he was confronted by the tautly muscled, mako-preserved man who had defeated him twice in battle.
            Sephiroth grunted to himself, eyes narrowing as he noticed something that did not fit with what he knew of Cloud Strife. The boy’s movements were fluid and well coordinated--as to be expected--but also surprisingly awkward. While that would be of no consequence if he were truly an unenhanced cadet, it was not what one would expect of a seasoned warrior who had saved the world on more than one occasion.
            He glanced around the training room with intent green eyes, noting that the other cadets were just as awkward, but in a wholly different way. No, he thought as Strife cast a quick glare at the one-handed training sword in his right hand, there was something more. While it was obvious that the boy was holding himself back--likely to avoid raising questions about his superior abilities--Sephiroth realized that the slender, lightweight weapon in his hands had more than a little to do with his current problems.
            He smiled slowly, his question seemingly answered, as Cloud nearly fell over after performing a simple overhead swing. The boy was experiencing difficulties because he was used to a larger, much heavier weapon. He was having trouble compensating for what had to be a vast difference in weight and balance, which explained the inelegance with which he was now swinging that much smaller sword. Sephiroth had been the same the first time he had handled Masamune, only in the reverse. While Angeal’s Buster Sword wasn’t nearly as hard to wield as Masamune, it was a rather difficult weapon to use, and Strife had wielded it as though born to it.
            He would have to get the boy a proper sword, Sephiroth mused thoughtfully. Perhaps, something like the multi-bladed weapon he had defeated him with during the remnants’ failed Reunion. It wouldn’t do to have his only ally relying on such an inferior weapon when they had so much to do. The boy would have to be armed properly if they were going to someday destroy Mother.
            A surprisingly loud screech split through his head and he winced as Jenova’s wordless protest threatened to leave him with a pounding headache. Sephiroth closed his eyes and struggled to push her away, closing off his mind as quickly and efficiently as he could. The alien presence didn’t just withdraw, it was shut out, walls and barriers slamming down to protect Sephiroth’s still-susceptible mind from the horror that it had once embraced so eagerly.
            Sephiroth opened his eyes slowly, grateful beyond measure that he was still strong enough to fight Jenova off. It must be Genesis’ influence, he thought with a wry smile. It had always been easier to control his own mind when he was happy, and Genesis was the only thing that had ever made him feel so. He owed the fiery SOLDIER more than he could ever repay, but he was going to try. Perhaps, sharing command of the SOLDIER troops would be good place to begin. Between he, Genesis, and Angeal, a great deal could be done to improve the Shinra war machine.
            Sephiroth felt a shift within himself, a faint and wholly unpleasant stirring, that brought his focus back to the room below. Even from here, could see the uneasy, almost frightened look that suddenly swept across Strife’s youthful features. Sky-blue eyes only a few shades darker than Genesis’ began to search the room, the expression in their clear depths one he hadn’t seen since The Ancient’s death in the Forgotten City. Their undeniable mako glow deepened as the boy’s emotions continue to shift, those eyes searching room in a haunted, restless manner as he sought the source of his current apprehension.
            Sephiroth smiled grimly as that mako-bright gaze returned to the darkened window again and again. The boy had sensed his presence through the Jenova cells they shared, which meant that had retained all of his enhancements. Good, he thought somewhat callously, Cloud would need them for what lied ahead.
            Sephiroth reached out, set his hand on the switch beside the window, and carefully turned on the light. The room lit up behind him, making him visible to anyone who cared to look. Strife reacted to the faint change in light immediately. His fair head whipped around, that mass of golden spikes swinging comically, bright blue eyes locking on his through the thick glass.
            As those eyes narrowed in pure, unadulterated hatred, Sephiroth let his smile deepen into a smirk, the contemptuous expression a challenge of its own. The boy, conscious of the eyes around him, sneered in his direction once before pointedly turning away. Sephiroth laughed to himself, the sound low and full of satisfaction, as he turned the light off once more. Strife might hate him, but he would help him. Sephiroth would see to that.
            A low ring sounded and he sighed as he pulled his PHS out of his pocket. He flipped the black and silver monstrosity open, a smile forming as he saw who was calling. He lifted the phone to his ear, everything else falling away, as he said, “Good morning, koneko.”
            A snort immediately sounded, and he found himself smiling at Genesis’ acerbic response. “Do you have to call me that on an unsecured line?”
            Sephiroth stepped away from the window and leaned against the wall, giving himself the illusion of privacy in Shinra’s world. “My apologies,” he said smoothly, although his tone was anything but apologetic. “What can I do for this morning, General?”
            There was a long pause, during which Sephiroth knew that the other man was considering responding with something equally inappropriate, and likely quite dirty. Genesis was nothing if not a contradiction. Then, a sigh floated over the line, followed by, “I thought we could have lunch together today.”
            “I’d like that,” Sephiroth returned, his smile gentling. He knew his fierce kitten all too well. As daring as the other man was, he’d never been quite brave enough to chance exposing the true nature of their ‘friendship’. Unlike Sephiroth, he felt that he had too much to lose to take such a risk. While he understood the other’s reasoning, Sephiroth had never liked having to hide their relationship. If he’d had his way, the entire world would have known how he felt about Genesis Rhapsodos a long time ago, Shinra regulations be damned.
            “I’ll be free around noon,” Genesis was saying, and Sephiroth could hear the faint sounds of pages turning, probably as he glared at the schedule that took up so much of his time. “What about you?”
            Sephiroth cast a sidelong glance at the window, thinking absently that two hours wasn’t nearly enough time for what he had planned. Still, it would take time to convince Strife to become his ally, particularly in light of their violent history, and that wouldn’t be done in a day, in any case. It would take time, but once Cloud realized what Sephiroth was trying to do, he would help, whether he truly wanted to or not. Of that, Sephiroth had no doubts. After all, it was the right thing to do, and the rewards would far outweigh the risks.
            “I have a meeting,” he said with a sudden, sardonic smile, “but I should be finished by then. Why don’t you meet me at my office and we’ll go from there?”
            “Will do.” There was a pause before that silken voice spoke again. “Is. . . everything going well this morning?”
            Sephiroth’s smile gentled at that uncharacteristic concern. “Quite well, Gen,” he assured the other man softly. “And you?”
            “I’m bored out of my skull,” came the prompt, irritated response. “I’m fucking drowning in paperwork here. Goddess, why doesn’t Shinra just give us fucking secretaries, like every other executive?”
            He chuckled at that, unable to help himself. “Likely because, as a SOLDIER, you are supposed to be able to handle anything.”
            “I’ll give you something to handle,” the other man mumbled, and it took all of
Sephiroth’s considerable restraint not to respond in kind. “Perhaps, that is something we can discuss at lunch,” he returned blandly.
            “Count on it,” came the rather heated response.
            The dial tone sounded in his ear and Sephiroth grinned to himself as he tucked the phone away. A bored, frustrated Genesis always made for an interesting encounter, and he was looking forward to the experience. He cast one last look at the window before sweeping from the room. A great deal of paperwork had piled up during his own unexpected absence, and he only had forty minutes until Strife’s class ended. He had to time it just right, so that he didn’t embarrass the boy by actually pulling him out of class. After all, a summons to General Sephiroth’s office was not a normal occurrence, and appearances had to be preserved.
            For now, at any rate. Once he had convinced Strife to assist him, they would have to remain cautious, but only insofar as their mission was concerned. Angeal and Genesis would no doubt be surprised when he announced that he was taking on a protégé, as he had never shown an interest in doing so before, but that would be the easiest way to keep Strife close. They would need to meet often if they were to defy the fates Gaia had chosen for them.
            So much to do, Sephiroth thought as he made his way to the center of Shinra Tower. He nodded curtly to those who addressed him, but didn’t respond as he passed through the busy halls. So much hinged on getting his hands on Hojo’s files. He wouldn’t know if preventing--or reversing--the degradation process was even possible until he had the opportunity to peruse the man’s notes. And then, there were the remnants. . .
            Sephiroth sighed to himself as he took the elevator up to the SOLDIER floor. The remnants would be quite young right now, little more than children, but something had to be done for them. He could not simply leave the boys to rot in whatever hell Hojo had created for them. They were pieces of him, and he refused to leave anything of himself with the madman who had dared to call himself his father while torturing him to create the ‘perfect’ soldier.
            Kadaj, especially, needed to be saved. The young man was too much like Genesis to emerge from Hojo’s house of horrors unscathed. Perhaps, the madness could be prevented if the boy were removed from such an unhealthy environment at a relatively young age. If not, he had a great deal of experience in dealing with near-manic mood swings. He had developed a distant fondness for the youngest, most temperamental version of himself, simply because the boy reminded him so strongly of his fierce kitten.
            Yes, he would locate the boys and free them, and he would reunite the little tyrant with his precious Nii-san. He would find a way to care for the boys, and he would thwart more of Mother’s machinations in the process. And then, he would figure out what to do about Vincent Valentine.
            Sephiroth thought of the dream Gaia had given him and concealed a shudder. He didn’t know where Strife had found his biological father, but he was determined to find out. Whether Valentine joined them in their mission or not, he wanted to meet the man who had suffered so greatly for love of his mother, and had counted killing his murderously insane son as an act which required repentance.
            He had so many questions for Vincent, most concerning the woman who had given birth to him. Lucrecia Crescent had been a scientist, one of Hojo’s assistant’s, or so Sephiroth had gathered from snippets he’d gleaned from Strife’s mind. Of course, Cloud had also believed that she was Hojo’s wife, although the very notion begged for one to suspend all belief. Hojo had never cared for anyone other than himself. The thought of him sharing his life with another person was almost as alien a concept to Sephiroth as life without Shinra had once been.
            Alien. Sephiroth smiled darkly as he strode down the hall towards his office. Wouldn’t Mother be angry when she discovered that he intended to replace her? Jenova, The Calamity From The Skies, Heaven’s Dark Harbinger, supplanted by a simple human woman in the eyes of her chosen son. Oh, yes, he was looking forward to her reaction to that.
            He approached his office, pulled his keycard out of his pocket, and let himself inside. He closed the door but resisted the urge to lock it. As Shinra’s most important SOLDIER, he was expected to be accessible and available twenty-four-seven. He glanced around the familiar surroundings and paused, struck by how strange it seemed to be here. A long sword-rack, a remarkable piece Wutaian in design, graced the wall behind his desk, waiting for Masamune to be placed there. A large black-lacquered desk, chosen by Genesis himself to match the smooth lines of Masamune’s stand, was centered perfectly before it, so that his precious odachi would be visible to anyone who entered. A rather uncomfortable black chair with flat cushions sat before the massive desk, purposely chosen for its lack of comfort, so as to discourage long-term visits.
            He glanced at the sofa that was set off to one side, smiling faintly as he recalled the rather heated moments he and Genesis had stolen upon its smoothly upholstered cushions. A low table, once again Wutaian in design, sat before it, a lovely Zen garden gracing its center. While he himself had never been overly fond of Wutaian craftsmanship, Genesis had always been obsessed by it, and he had never had the heart to tell his lover just how uncomfortable the reminders of his time in Wutai had always made him.
            And he never would, Sephiroth thought as he approached the desk. He loved the other man too much to risk hurting his feelings over something that was so insignificant. So, the furniture had stayed, and he had taught himself to appreciate its beauty while ignoring his knowledge of its origins.
            He called Masamune, watching as it manifested in his left hand, and carefully set it in place. Genesis would be very upset if he were to show up and find the massive katana simply set against the wall. He was quite proud of that overly-ornate rack, and he loved the way Masamune looked mounted on it. While Sephiroth thought that the sword looked nice enough, he knew better than to seem anything less than enthusiastic about any gift he received from his hot-blooded lover.
            As he sat behind the massive desk, he thought of the beautiful, hard-backed copy of Loveless that the other man had given him several years ago for his birthday. Bound in leather and hand-written in lovely Wutaian characters, the tome was nearly priceless, one of the first direct translations ever discovered of the epic poem. While he had never truly cared for Loveless, he did enjoy listening to Genesis, whose voice rang with such passion, recite it.
            The book was in Genesis’ possession right now; it had been since their last separation, when he had arrived at his apartment to find it--and Genesis--gone. While the loss of the book hadn’t bothered him, what it represented had. He had believed that Genesis was finished with him, that he had lost him, and he had spent the next four weeks utterly miserable. Until Genesis had shown up at his apartment door, asking if they could talk, he had despaired of ever repairing the rift that had formed between them.
            A call from Hojo, reminding him of his appointment in the lab, had interrupted them, and he had been forced to leave with the situation unresolved. In the past, they hadn’t been able to move past their issues. Genesis had drawn further and further away from him, until the duel that had resulted in his injury, and the discovery of his degradation. In a way, he had lost Genesis that day, he simply hadn’t realized it until it was too late.
            Sephiroth felt his chest tighten with grief and hastily pushed such thoughts away. He was here to change all of that, and he would let nothing stop him. He glanced at the small black mail rack that sat on the right corner of his desk, the in-box filled to overflowing, and sighed heavily. Genesis wasn’t the only one who hated paperwork. But it had to be done, and he had never shirked his duties, even though there had been a time when he had longed to do so. That had been after Genesis’ flight and Angeal’s death, when he had been alone save for the responsibility of caring for Zack. Unfortunately for them both, he hadn’t been up to the challenge.
            He could still remember the way he had turned on Angeal’s beloved puppy, the fever of Mother’s madness sweeping away what little had remained of his human loyalties. He had dueled Zack, not with the intention of killing the young First, but of removing an obstacle from what he had believed was his destined path. The boy who had already lost so much had been betrayed by the one person who had sworn to protect him, cut down by the very sword that had once saved his life. It was no wonder Zack had sacrificed himself to save Cloud. After experiencing betrayal, he had been determined not inflict such pain on another.
            And he had died for his loyalty. Sephiroth’s spirit had been trapped in that pitch-black nothingness, struggling to gain control over himself, as Zack had paid him a brief visit on his way to the Lifestream. He had forgiven Sephiroth for everything--including his refusal to face Angeal and Genesis as he had known he should--but he couldn’t forgive him for hurting his little Spike. Cloud had been Zack’s only link to his humanity during the five years he’d spent as an experiment in Shinra Mansion, and what had been done to him simply couldn’t be forgiven.
            As much as it had hurt, Sephiroth had understood. He himself hadn’t been able to forgive Shinra for what they had done to Genesis and Angeal in the name of science. One driven insane as his body slowly rotted from the inside out, the other moved to take his own life because he could not live with what had been done to him. No, he hadn’t blamed Zack in the least for his enmity.
            Never again, he swore to himself fiercely. Never again would those he loved be forced to suffer because of Shinra’s machinations. He would tear down Shinra Electric Power company brick by corrupt brick if he had to to ensure it.
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            Cloud Strife glanced down at the card in his hand, gritting his teeth as he gazed at the flawless script gracing it. My office, 1100 hours. Come as you truly are. Sephiroth. He glanced around the barracks that he shared with nineteen other cadets, grateful to see that they were minding their own business. He had only just returned from sword exercises to find the simple, innocuous-looking card lying on his pillow. He hadn’t even had the chance to shower yet, and here he was, faced with a command to meet his nemesis face-to-face, in the man’s office no less.
            Gods, just the thought of facing Sephiroth again was terrifying. Not because he feared for his life, but because he didn’t know what to expect. It was obvious from the look they had shared in the training gym that Sephiroth wasn’t the man he should be at this point in time. The contemptuous expression he’d worn was proof enough of that. But he could think of no reason why Aerith would send him back as The Nightmare who had nearly destroyed The Planet. If nothing else, he trusted the flower girl’s judgment, which meant that there was more going on here than he knew.
            He hoped so! Cloud thought fervently. It would be a disaster if he were to find himself confronted with the power-hungry madman he had thrice been forced to destroy. Sephiroth had a great deal of power within Shinra. If he forced Cloud into a confrontation, he would lose, but Cloud would be the one to the price. Not that Cloud wasn’t willing to kill the man a fourth time if it came down to it, but he would probably find himself on trial for murder afterwards. Sephiroth was still a legend here, the greatest warrior on The Planet, loved and respected even if he was feared.
            Cloud looked down at his hand to find that he had unintentionally crushed the note. He sighed and dropped it into his pocket, turning to his footlocker to retrieve a uniform. He lifted the lid and paused, his too-blue gaze locking on the mismatched black armor he had worn for the last three years of his existence. Come as you truly are. Cloud shook his head at that. He had been shocked to find himself, fully clothed, in the barracks which he had once called home. First Tsurugi had been in its usual place in the muilt-sheathed weapons harness on his back, Kadaj’s Souba still clutched in his unworthy hands, as he tried to make sense of it all.
            Aerith had tried to tell him, Cloud had realized immediately. He had been too distraught, not over his death, but over the knowledge that he had been denied access to the Lifestream once again, to hear her words. He had cursed Gaia for her refusal to let him go, to let him join Kadaj in death, and had begged Aerith to let him go. Her response had been a sadly beautiful smile before kissing him one last time. He had awakened here, much to his horror.
            He had hated the time he’d spent as a cadet in Shinra. He certainly had never wanted to return to it. Yet, if what she had hinted was correct, he had been given a chance to change things. He was still the same man he had been when he’d died, which had surprised him. He didn’t look that much different than he had at sixteen, but still, the changes were there, obvious enough to anyone who bothered to look.
            Luckily, he wasn’t very popular among his fellow cadets, who tended to ignore him unless he did something to draw attention to himself. And Cloud was very good at blending into the background. He had spent his entire life learning how to do so, and hopefully, that skill would continue to hide what he truly was from the world.
Cloud sighed heavily and glanced at the cheap watch strapped to his left wrist. Class had run late, and he had already missed Sephiroth’s eleven-o’clock deadline, but he really needed a shower. Fuck it, he thought with finality, Sephiroth could wait. He stunk, and he wasn’t going anywhere until he’d bathed.
            He folded the pieces of his piecemeal black combat uniform over his arm, pausing as his hand brushed something sharp. He barely felt the sting of split flesh as he uncovered the twin-bladed katana that had once belonged to a boy who had loved him. Souba seemed to glint at him accusingly in the harsh overhead lights, and he sighed heavily, grief threatening to choke him as he ran a hand over the flat side of one curved blade. He would never forget the impassioned look in Kadaj’s luminescent green eyes as he they fought, neither willing to give in to the desires of the other, even though the boy’s path could only lead to death. Kadaj had been so damned young, yet he had possessed a staunch conviction that had kept him set on his destructive course.
            In the end, Cloud had been forced to take his life. It had been Sephiroth’s form which he had fought, Sephiroth’s voice which had taunted him during their battle, but it had been Kadaj’s life which had been snuffed out by First Tsurugi’s blades. He, and no other, was to blame for the boy’s death. He hadn’t been good enough, fast enough, smart enough, to find a way to reach him. And for that failure, he would never forgive himself.
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Final Fantasy VII: Angelic Threnody