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The footsteps that woke Angeal from his already-fitful sleep were quiet. One pair? No, perhaps two. Low, hushed voices pierced through the desolation outside the tent, crunching through glass dust and drifting further away as Angeal strained his ears to listen. He couldn’t make out what they were saying.
Weird. He could still smell the remnants of their campfire and burnt—thanks for the attempt, Bachman—provisions. It hadn't been very long since they retired for the evening, and that alone was strange, but even stranger was the fact that Sephiroth of all people had eschewed a full night’s sleep in favor of…whatever the hell this was.
With as much subtlety as he could manage, Angeal slid his boots across the tent and laced them up, trying to peer through the small gap where he hadn’t fully zipped the tent shut. Robio’s fog was as thick and pervasive as ever. The same gloomy, oppressive atmosphere that hung over the ruins in the more navigable hours of the afternoon was just as heavy, too, though the inky blackness of the night sky lent it a more eerie, mysterious quality. Shimmering purple particulate threaded through the air and glowed from within the surrounding rock formations like spectral veins.
Angeal hoisted himself to his feet and unzipped the flap slowly, keeping an eye trained in Bachman’s direction. Thankfully, he seemed to be a heavy sleeper. Angeal supposed he’d never had to worry about something attacking him in the dead of night, and with two SOLDIERs ensuring his safety at all times, he couldn’t exactly blame him for being so lax. ‘Being lax’ seemed to go hand-in-hand with being employed by Shinra as it was, and Angeal couldn't help but envy his betters. Thank the gods for SOLDIER and Public Security.
He hoped his parents would be able to sleep just as peacefully someday. It was wishful thinking, he knew, but if he just stuck to his guns and worked hard enough over the next couple years, maybe he could finally do something for—
“...your own?” came a voice from somewhere near the main path, interrupting his thoughts. “...wouldn’t…covering for you…least I could do…”
Angeal’s heart sank. Hah… Right, of course it’s them, he thought, rolling his eyes privately. Maybe it was a silly takeaway given the process of elimination, but the idea of his comrades sneaking out together the moment he and Bachman fell asleep left a bitter, denial-fueled taste in his mouth. Would he be happier if they’d looped him in on whatever they were talking about? Probably not, but it also didn’t matter at this point, did it?
The two of them stood far ahead of him, shrouded in darkness. Angeal took a few steps forward, each more pronounced than the last, and opened his mouth to call out to them, but something stopped him in his tracks. He couldn’t see them particularly well from this angle, but the goosebumps on the back of his neck told him that they could see him…or at least, one of them could. He could feel their eyes on him, and it was weird and painful and uncomfortablegetoutgetout—!
f̶̢̭̞̫̪̝̠̳͎͓̏̈̇̆́͐̏̚a̸͉͇͓̠͗̌̎m̸̺̫͍̟͍͔̭̯̫̘̪̥͚̼̠͌͘͠į̶͕̭̞͖̫͉̮̜͚͍́͗̈́̕l̷̟̯͙͓͉͙̍̆̏̿̇̏̒̀͑̂͘͜͠ý̷̫̞͍̠̣̰̦͛͑ͅ ̶͔̻̯́̓̒̓̈́̕í̸̧̡̧̧͚͖̤͇̪̱̳̞͜͝s̵̺͈̤̳̹͈̫̱̲̜̦͗̄̏͐̊͌̀̈̓͋͌̕ͅ ̷̡̛̮͇̠̔͂̋͑i̶̡̡̢̼̯̝̟͍̼̪̦̋m̷̛̯͔̥̻̭̝͍̱̫͕̺͍̘͈̎́͊̽͛́̕̚͝͝͝p̷̢̧̼̰̼̩̥͚̜̝̹̳̣͕͍̒̈̿o̸̡̗̝͍̤̰͖͓̺̘̹̓͗͆́̀̑̈́͜ͅr̵̟͉͎͚̘̰͚̪͈̆̆̓́͠͝t̴̡̛̤̮̮̗̋̈ā̴̡̢̡̡̧̛̯̣̱͕͈̫̫͍̅̌͛̆͒͂̇̽͂́̾̌͜͠n̵̮̮̰̟̙̹̳̓̎͗͜ţ̸̩̦̩͍̩̰͕̲͔̮̠͙̯̮̈́ ̴̨̜̱͍̳͕̺̣̹̳̗̓̉̽͋͂̀̈́͊͋̑̌̒͝͝͠ṱ̶̡̨̨̙̪̮̖͙̣͖̭̐̍̉̉̌͠͠ö̶͇͚͍͕͚̲̞͎͔̤́̎͗͆̌̓̊̈́͐͛̀̿̾͝͝ ̵̨̡͔̱̼̹̯̗͚̙̺̜͇̣͌̅̾͋̑͠ÿ̸̡̛̥̞̥̬͙̼́̂̂͐̇̐̾̿̓̈͘͠͝ò̷̹̺̙͈̘͍͖̂̆̿͆̒́͑͆̉̐́ű̶̢̠̞̻͍̰̹͚̖̽̏̾̾ ̴̰̯̭̮̖̟͓̘͈͇̙̩͕͖̭͛̈́͆̈̈́͛̽̂̂͑̕͝͝į̵̄s̴̡̪̞̝͕͙̭̮̣͔̤̀̉͒̈́̽̏͊̀̐͜͠ṉ̸̛͐͋̈́̈́̾̕'̷̧̥͉͇͉̥̤̟͕͚̤̟̼̿͊̒̇̊̕ṯ̷̡̪͖̯̦̪̹͎͚̳͈͗̎́͗̂͜ ̴̤̝͋͆̓̈́͊̃͛̓̊́̔̀͠i̵̩̙̼̰̪̫̱͌̐͗͗͗̇̆ţ̵͓̭̙̳̝̤͚̥̖͐̂̍̆̀̀̏̍̀̈͋͛̚
Whoa, what the—?
Whatever it was, it sure as hell didn’t feel like Sephiroth’s usual abrasive glare. His head felt strange and raw in the aftermath, like cold fingers had been rooting through his memories and plucking individual neurons like bowstrings. His eyes watered and he pinched the bridge of his nose to regain his bearings. It was only mildly successful, but it grounded him enough that he could hear his own thoughts again. Small blessings, I guess, he thought despite being both annoyed and confused.
“...that blade…” the same voice continued. “...can feel it… destined to be yours…”
With a long exhale and after rolling his shoulders through the beginnings of a headache, Angeal took a few more cautious steps forward, finally able to make out Alissa and Sephiroth at the top of a short set of stairs. He couldn’t glean much from Sephiroth’s expression, but his chin was tilted up toward a familiar building, his lips parted slightly in either awe or some other form of stupefaction.
“...shouldn’t go inside without them, no matter if…can handle it…” he replied, his voice oddly flat. “I’d...leaving them susceptible to…”
Angeal blinked. Huh… ‘On your own’...’them’...
It took him a moment to figure out what he found so strange about Sephiroth’s response, and when Alissa chimed in again, it dawned on him: With the context he had, Sephiroth was acting like she wasn’t there. His brows furrowed, and as the muscles in his jaw tensed—
b̷̡̯͕͈̞̗̬͓́a̴̜̘͐͒͊̍̈̾̔̀n̸̢̨̗̟͔̮̳̯̳͐õ̶̱̻̫̦̌̒͛͋̿̊r̸͓͔̟̯̣̰͕͇̯̼̩̼͛̾̀̈͌̊̄͗̍̒͑̌͝a̴̡̠͑͑̑̎̀̽̌̑̈́́̀̂͠w̷̩̒̔̈̎̂̓͒̔͂̓͘͘͝i̴̫̮̘͖̞͔̗͎̟͂̇̒͗̇̓̒͐͛͌ļ̵̙̣̫̥̺̆̐͗̍̔̈́̀̃͂͂̏͘ļ̶͎͈̬͎̗͈͚̙̭̹͉̮̱̂̓̓̉̽͠b̴̛̩̗̣͖͛̈́͒͋̅̉̂̈́̄̏ū̴͓̗̱̮̫̯̠͙̠͐̈̄͗̎̓͆̓̾̕͝r̸̢̬̬̜̪̝̣̜͖͍͔̳̟̅̑̉̂̈̆̅̈́̈́n̵̻̬̹̙̱̼̜̞̂͌w̴̼͎̹̙̹̬͕̮͌̽̃̔̍i̷̢̠͖͉̭͈̥̅̇͋͑̉̔̔t̷̛̛͈̪̗̝͕̤̹̱̝͐̅́̃͐ͅͅͅḩ̸̞͉̺̩̩͇̙̦̦̫͍̩̼͌̓͒͗̇͗́̾͝͠͠ŏ̵̻̯̱̊̕u̷͍̬̜̳̔t̷̜͔͓͎̤̣̊͐͛̌̓̐͜͝y̵̮̱͍̩̠̖̟̰̞͌̐̑͒̆̈́͐͑̉̚͝o̵̳͍͉̘̪̝̠̗̥͑͝u̶̪̼͇͍̲̹̣̰̭̗͓̫̾̈́̐̓̏͛͛̎͌̔̓̐
Good gods, that hurts…!
Clarity came back slower this time, and he took a few long, deep breaths to ease the dull throbbing at the base of his neck.
“But wouldn’t bringing them along mean…in needless danger?”
Angeal took a few more plodding steps forward. Ordinarily, he was much better at masking the sound of his footfalls, but the mounting pain was really starting to affect him. Their voices were getting louder and more distinct now. Angeal tucked himself behind one of the nearby stone effigies, crouching low and never taking his eyes off of them. He still felt the same probing gaze on the side of his head and wondered if there was some sort of monster lurking in the fog—something born from the negative energy of Robio’s deceased, like the things he’d fought back in VR. Sephiroth and Alissa were both facing the towering ruins, and he couldn’t sense anything else in the immediate vicinity.
“...if Glenn Lodbrock had been with you…” Alissa continued. “...while you were trying to bargain with…Rhadoran boy? They…all be dead. You had…make a decisive call, right? To save them? This…no different.”
“Glenn…different. He…me in that position and…poor leader for doing so. We had our directives…Shinra and he chose…abandon them. All of them…too soft.”
Angeal’s heart raced. Rhadore? Is that why Sephiroth’s so…?
Standoffish? Emotionally distant? He refrained from thinking the word ‘bitchy’ too loudly, even if he wanted to—especially with his head pounding as furiously as it was in response to his own irritation. It probably was better not to fuel the fire, and the source of Sephiroth’s reticence wasn’t really any of his business.
The other two began approaching the stone dais just outside the entryway, and Angeal found another tall effigy closer to the path, darting between his current one and the next on trembling legs. He pressed his back to the stone as soon as he was sure he was concealed, but the feeling of being watched didn’t subside, nor did whatever was watching him seem to have any interest in attacking him. He was surprised to find that his hands were clammy and wiped the moisture away on his sleep pants. It felt like his body knew something his mind wasn’t aware of, and his already-elevated pulse and blood pressure spiked to unprecedented levels upon coming to that realization.
Something really was out there, and he knew, instinctively, that it wasn’t something he could subdue or control.
Ş̵̛̤͖̤͓͈͉̲̤̬͚̪̤͕̅̾̿͌͋̈̎͝͠ͅu̴̯̭͑̋̑̉́̇̽̆͑͒ç̷̯̯͔̩̳͎̪͌̎̎̒͌̓͜h̸̩̩̜̍͑̽a̶̬͌͐̄̆̍ḑ̸̟͖̣̖͚̝̰̰̻̼̳̯̱̗̈́̊̎̿̓̎͐̅̔͝͠ų̵̠̜̫͍̖͍͉͎͉͙̏̓͒̍̈́̍̃͒͜͝ͅẗ̸̢̨͈̦͚͉͔̠͎̬͇̩̗͚́̉̉̔̇̄̃̈́͘̕͝į̷̼̘̪̮͎̞̯̎̾́ͅf̷̱͚̣̦̯̞̤̳̗̣̖̭̩͇͂̅͂̆̕ų̷̧̛̰͈́͑͆͛͛̾̀͂͗͘̕͝͝ĺ̸̻̣͙̰̦̣̜̠̥̜͓̦͙͇̈̀̉b̷͕͑͂̈́̒͗̈́̅͋̕o̸̡̧͖̖̘̤̩͙̼̞̞̞̫͆̃̀y̴̹͐͌́̀͐͆̈́̊̇̚
What…is this? A voice?
He couldn’t remember reaching up to cradle his head—a maneuver that quickly turned violent when he began crushing his temples between his palms, splintering, cracking, oozing—and when he blinked a few times to clear the static, Sephiroth and Alissa were further away again, somewhere beyond an additional flight of stairs. What was doing this to him? Was it one of them somehow, trying to keep him at bay? Some sort of high-level SOLDIER magic R&D had never bothered to brief him on, maybe?
But…why?
Another skinny effigy to duck behind; another wave of unease as something tracked his movement through the low fog.
“You might…like you don’t care, but…don’t want…to hate you. Isn’t that right?” Alissa asked, and her quiet chuckle afterward made Angeal’s skin crawl. “…honest with yourself…a bit sensitive…”
On second thought, maybe Angeal had been right to question her earlier. He’d felt like a bit of an ass at the time, but there was no denying that Alissa seemed to know an awful lot more than she should considering the status of her now-fallen unit. He couldn’t exactly discount her curiosity—it was always a good idea to read up on the places you were going to be deployed to, and honestly, Sephiroth could stand to put in half as much effort—but even then, there was a gleeful intimacy in the way she recounted Wutai’s various tragedies, almost like… Well, it certainly wasn’t damning enough on its own to start slinging accusations, but…
Angeal closed his eyes and begged for patience before stepping out from his hiding spot. He needed to intervene at some point, and if he didn’t do it now, Sephiroth was going to enter the ruins on his own. His hand was already poised to open the door, tracing its etched patterns with a reverence that felt completely foreign and a bit too all-consuming for Angeal’s comfort.
“Alissa! Sephiroth!” he called, just loud enough that he was positive they’d be able to hear him. His restraint also had the benefit of keeping his headache in check, though his relief was short-lived.
Only Alissa turned toward him. She feigned something close to surprise, her brown eyes wide and unassuming, but Angeal could see right through it. He grimaced, and he didn’t bother to hide it.
“Oh, sorry about that, Angeal. We didn’t mean to wake you up with our—” She made a haphazard gesture. “—y’know .”
Angeal noted that the quick wave she gave him came courtesy of her ‘injured’ arm, and for a moment, he felt like he had the upper hand in the exchange—like she was a terrible liar, and therefore, Angeal could get a few questions answered—but as they made unblinking eye contact, he got the sense that her fumbles, too, were intentional. A smokescreen, but for what?
He’d been so lost in thought, it took a few extra seconds for her word choice to register.
Ah, she said ‘we.’ She’s talking for him now, huh?
Hers and Angeal’s silent back-and-forth was already an odd dialectic dance, and the way she and Sephiroth spoke around each other only made it more bizarre.
b̸̮̫̙̼͎̖̮̯̺͍̂̈́̄̒̔͒̒̓̉̅̊o̸̢̝̺̰̤͌͒͋́ṱ̶̢̮͇̺̮̻̪̩̂̓̋̉͝h̴̡̡͈͎͚̠̹̖̄͑ ̴͎̆͑o̸̼̪̻̪̲̤̼̞̙͍̬͇͎̲̎͑̾̇̓̆̽̒̂́̆͠f̸̠̪͚̓̓͌̃̃̀̽̿̽͆̀̐͝͠͠ ̷̡̢̧̙͍͇̱͎̘̆̈́͛͋͂̍͊ẙ̶̢̡̛̛̫̩̺̯̱̳̠̋͒́̈́̀̄̄̏̀͂͘͠ͅỏ̴̧̡̝̫͇̠̟̱̈͆̔͌̐̃͜͝ų̷͈̥̝̒̒͛͒̔̀̈́͘̕̕ͅ ̸̡̧̛̮̖̦̈́͛̽̉̇̓̉̂͋à̶͈̤̤̺̤͌̽̏̎̓̕̕͝ͅŗ̵̨̣̯͚̳̬͎͚̭͚̰̼͕̍̄ͅȩ̵̨̯̦̩̳͠ ̵̧̪̦͇̳͔̬̟̱͔̪̣̾͗̉͒͒̌͝m̶̦̌͛̏̊͗̐̂́͐̎͒͝ḯ̷̤̠̰̰̺̠̓̔́̉̐̉̕͜ͅn̷̡̻̬̠̼̑e̴̳̣͉͂̆̽̂̿̾̑̇̚̚͠ͅͅ
Angeal winced, unable to make out any of the words ricocheting around his skull. When he made eye contact with Alissa again, he thought there was a slight curve to her lips, but anything he could deem suspicious vanished in an instant. In an effort to appear more relaxed, Angeal allowed his shoulders to droop; they’d been crowding his ears, coiled tightly.
“Not sure what you guys are up to, especially this late, but we do this—” He indicated the ruins. “—together. I’ve been over it with Sephiroth already, ditching the whole ‘lone wolf’ act, but I can go over it with you too, if I have to.”
He received an easy smile in response as she kicked her feet in place, and Angeal got the impression it was supposed to be endearing. “Nah, it’s fine. I heard you guys bickering earlier, so I get it. Sorry about that.”
When Angeal threw her a skeptical look—‘do you?’ it said—Alissa tucked her hands behind her back, leaning forward.
“We were just talking about that legendary sword, you know? There are obviously a lot of monsters out here, so we were worried that maybe, if we put it off…something might get to it first,” she said airily. “And that’d be such a shame, wouldn’t it? The blade of the famous swordsmith, Masamune, himself… There’s just too much history behind it to leave it here, so we thought we’d go exploring.”
Angeal gaze was steely. “The ‘legendary sword’ whose owner is responsible for slaughtering an entire village? That’s not exactly what I’d call heroic or something to strive for,” he said evenly. “Honestly, if you want my opinion as a SOLDIER who’s seen a lot more combat than you—” He didn’t enjoy pulling that card, but it felt justified. “—I don’t think we should really be going inside this place at all. Your mission was to survey the area. Ours wasn’t.”
Alissa’s answering smile was confident and serene. “But Bachman needs to return with some sort of footage, right? It’s not like you and Sephiroth gave him much to work with on the way here, so I know he definitely wants to see what’s inside. He’s said as much multiple times, even during dinner. And Sephiroth, well—”
She’s doing it again.
“You know, why don’t you let him speak?” Angeal interrupted a bit more harshly than he would’ve liked, glancing at Sephiroth’s back.
Silence fell. Alissa continued to smile softly, and Sephiroth made no indication that he’d heard any of their conversation. Cold dread gnawed at Angeal’s insides as he watched Sephiroth’s fingers trace another abrasion in the stone with the rapt attention of a lover, and he lunged forward before his screaming mind could talk him out of doing so, closing the distance between them and grabbing Sephiroth’s shoulder.
Several things happened in rapid succession. Nameless was withdrawn in a single fluid motion, silver glinting through the air before slicing through Angeal’s thin turtleneck and breaking skin. It wasn’t a deep cut, nor did it hurt—Angeal was fast, and he’d managed to stumble down a few steps at the first sign of movement—but it left him in shock all the same, staring down at the blood on his hands as he pulled one away from the shallow wound. Alissa had taken a precautionary step back as well, her eyes glittering, and when Angeal looked over at her, his stomach lurched.
wrongwrongwrongterrorpain—
ś̵̢̨͎̯̝̻͇̩̦̟̫̹̯̬́̊̽̒͐̈́̀̀͝u̴̦̞̳͍̘̳͔̝͙̇͛̅̈́͗̐b̶̨̲̼̹̂̃͑̄̀͊m̸̢̨̡̘̱͈̺͍̻̺̗̲͇̤̀̿͐̐͑̐̔̏̓̓͘̕i̷̢͙̦̮͙͙̥̝̖͈̝͐̉͝ţ̶̣͕̅̌̐a̸̡̢͓͓͔̩̬͉̯͙̘̥̒̾n̶̡̟͉̰̥̖̗͚̣͙̝̦̱̔͜g̷͇̬͓̻͂͜͠e̶̢̘̳͐͑̏å̴̤̖͓̺̹͖̖̗̈́͗̓̏̓́͊͆̆̄̑̏̕l̶̡̨̜͍̘̖̖͔͇͓͙͗̒̃̄̓͂̋̔̐́̈́̈́͝
He wanted to…fall to his knees?
“... That sword is meant to be in my hands,” Sephiroth said hollowly, barely looking at Angeal. Nameless hung limply at his side, a vivid streak of blood smeared across its edge. A trick of the darkness made his eyes appear glazed over. “It’s mine by right, and I’m going to retrieve it. If you interfere, I won’t hesitate to cut you down.”
It was like looking at a necrotic version of him. Even Sephiroth’s posture was strange, like he wasn’t fully in control of himself. Angeal’s mouth had gone dry.
Finding his voice and wiping the blood on his pants, he responded, “Sephiroth, regardless of how you feel about me or the idea of working with a team, this isn’t you. I don’t know what she—” He stopped himself, but the cat was already out of the bag. Alissa didn’t react, and to be perfectly honest, Angeal didn’t care if she did. “You don’t act like this, even when you’re being a stuck-up brat or pushing me away. Snap the hell out of it!”
Alissa slid between them with unnatural ease, almost like she was floating, and tilted her head in a way that felt condescending as she glanced at Angeal’s wound. Her hands were still clasped behind her back, and Angeal couldn’t help but glare up at her.
“You know, you’re injured now. That makes you a bit of a liability, just like I was to you guys earlier…” He watched faux-concern stitch itself over her face. “Maybe you should sit this one out. My arm’s feeling a lot better, so I can probably take your place at the helm. I really don’t mind.”
Yeah? Well, I do.
He looked past her and at Sephiroth, whose gaze was boring dim, dreamlike holes into the ground. “You just struck a fellow SOLDIER, you know. Threatened me, too,” he said carefully. “If you continue to act like this, there’ll be repercussions when we get back to Midgar, and I know you’re no stranger to those. They were just rumors, but…”
Saying what he was about to say was such an underhanded tactic, especially for him, but he couldn’t just run away from whatever was going on with his tail between his legs. Whether he considered himself Angeal’s comrade or not, Sephiroth needed him. If he had to hurt him to break him out of whatever spell he was under, that’s exactly what he’d do.
He swallowed. “Did they really…submerge you for that long?”
After Rhadore and in one of the Drum’s mako tanks were both implied. Angeal watched awareness flicker to life in Sephiroth’s eyes for a millisecond, latching onto it.
“Some of the Seconds and Thirds wouldn’t stop talking about it. They said somebody had seen them escort you to one of the lower cells, and they didn’t see you again for…” Angeal tried not to let his mind conjure an image of everything he’d been told. He was sure at least some of it had to be a lie. “...weeks. Not at the gym, not at the mess hall…not anywhere.”
The silence in the aftermath of Angeal’s question was deafening. Sephiroth’s mind seemed to be processing information very slowly. His lips eventually moved soundlessly, like an animatronic, before his voice breached the gulf between them.
“... I’ve never taken my meals in the mess hall,” he said. Each word was little more stable than a croak. “All of them are carefully curated for me and brought to my room.”
Angeal had to do his best not to read into the response. At the start of their mission, his answer might have sounded smug, but now…
What the hell did they do to you?
“Mako submersion… It burns, right?” Angeal asked, already knowing the answer. He remembered the day he’d undergone his own submersion just a few weeks after the SOLDIER evaluation, and it hadn’t been a pleasant one. “I’ve been through it, too. Even more than some of our comrades, from what I’ve been able to figure out by talking to them, but…” He shook his head. “That’s really…an extreme punishment, isn’t it? Is that what you want? To go through that again?”
Sephiroth’s breath hitched.
“It was R&D, right?”
Alissa had begun walking a slow, predatory circle around Sephiroth before stopping just behind him. When he hesitated, she took a calculated step forward, draping her chin over his shoulder. Angeal bristled at the sight of Sephiroth’s dark, blown-out pupils widening at her sudden proximity.
“You wouldn’t have to endure the things that man did to you ever again. You were weak before. You allowed them to hurt you, and you deserved that pain for your weakness…but you understand what I want, right? What obtaining this sword could do for you?”
Her voice was similar, but pitched far lower, almost as if she’d aged. There was a hypnotic quality to it, too, and Angeal found that her words penetrated his own mind by proxy, leaving him lightheaded and breathless. His knees buckled, and an answering wave of pleasure, like a warm tongue over an open wound, did its best to stymie the pain. Despite that, beneath all the confusion and his warring synapses, his head still screamed for reprieve.
The thing I felt out there, watching me… It was her.
When he focused on Sephiroth once again, eyes hazy, it was like looking in a mirror.
“This power would change all of that. You’d be untouchable… I’m always so proud of you, but seeing that blade in your hands… I’d be incandescent with happiness,” Alissa purred. She placed a gentle kiss to Sephiroth’s jaw and circled her arms around his waist, fingers interlocking to immobilize him. Sephiroth barely blinked, but as his eyes fluttered, several tears streamed down his cheeks, his lips parting to make way for a shaky exhale. Angeal watched the largest tear hit the ground before he felt brave enough to try verbally countering whatever Alissa was doing to him.
“I don’t know what she’s talking about, or what part of you she’s talking to, but nobody deserves punishment for being weak,” he said as resolutely as he could. “I know you’re a special case, but what about the rest of us? Why did we join SOLDIER? It’s not like we were slaying behemoths out in the countryside on day one. We also needed that strength.” His tone was a bit more sardonic than he would’ve liked, but he needed to drive the point home. “Do you think your comrades, Lodbrock, Lin, Winsord—do you think they deserve to be punished for what they did? Was what happened to you in that tank normal or fair?”
Alissa didn’t interject, and that alone was enough to make Angeal wary. Silence pervaded the thick gloom, followed by a slow, tremulous nod. Angeal’s extremities felt cold in the wake of it. “... Yes,” Sephiroth admitted in a voice barely above a whisper. “I do. I should have never gotten involved with them... It was a mistake, and I paid for it. So did they. The reasons were clearly laid out and explained to me before my punishment, and I understood them.”
More tears flowed, accompanied by a twitch of his eyebrow.
Balling his hands into white-knuckled fists, Angeal studied his face for any other tells. He’s still in there. Keep pushing.
Alissa’s responding smile was wide. “It was a fool’s errand, wasn’t it? And they, themselves, were fools. You’re always going to be different from the others, Sephiroth. You’re special. You were born special. There was never a need to mingle with people like them, even if you were from the same division.”
Angeal wanted to tear her apart. He found his angle upon replaying Alissa’s words in his mind, hoping that, by some miracle, it would get through to the boy towering above him.
“‘Special’ maybe, but not alone,” he cut in, speaking directly to Sephiroth. “So don’t go thinking you have to shoulder everything by yourself, or like you need to push people away to survive. That’s how people like her really weaken you, and you’re smarter than that.” He didn’t mean what he was about to say—not in the moment, at least—but it needed to be said anyway. “And you have me, Sephiroth. I don’t care that the guys in your previous unit were declared fugitives or that you think you’re a monster. So what? Sounds like a cool person to get to know, and…I want to. Someday.”
Alissa’s eyes were cold, even as her lip curled into a smirk. “What complete and utter drivel. Do you believe even half of what you’re saying?” Her voice was at its lowest and most venomous now, but Angeal wasn’t paying attention to her. Sephiroth's eyes were fluttering again, and his dilated pupils had waned somewhat, leaving Angeal to assess the situation rather quickly: He could lunge for him while his grip on Nameless was lax, or he could charge Alissa. Alissa was a massive unknown, and she was also just as attuned to her surroundings as Angeal was. Sephiroth, on the other hand, was disoriented, and Angeal had studied his fighting style both in VR and during katas countless times before.
He made the choice that made the most sense to him.
Sephiroth had virtually no time to defend against Angeal’s sudden attack, and as a result, both of them fell to the ground. Angeal’s standard-issue blade was still secured to his hip, the holster straining as they rolled once, twice over uneven stone; Sephiroth was disarmed after the second tumble, his hand pinned beneath them and his sword becoming an unyielding lever as their combined weight forced Sephiroth’s wrist to bend. He’d held onto the blade for longer than Angeal expected, no doubt incurring a nasty sprain in the process, but as they came to a stop, Sephiroth rotated his wrist, almost as if to say I heal faster than you.
No sooner had that message been communicated to Angeal than pain lanced through the back of his head, allowing Sephiroth to buck the older boy off of him and reverse their positions. Sephiroth’s lean frame was surprisingly dense. His eyes were still unfocused, fixed on a point somewhere to Angeal’s left, and Alissa drew close to them as Angeal struggled, peering down at him from above.
“Not very intelligent, are you?” she asked.
Angeal stared at her for a moment, eyes burning. “You don’t have as much control over me…whatever you are.”
Alissa didn’t answer. Sephiroth pressed even more of his weight into Angeal’s hips and shoulders, and Angeal took that to mean that his submission was irrelevant because she still had full control over Sephiroth. Nothing he wasn’t keenly aware of, unfortunately.
“What are you gonna do, Alissa…? Have him kill me?” he goaded her hoarsely. “Give me another migraine if I don’t do exactly what you want me to?”
It was a suicidal gambit, but one that successfully baited her.
“Your employer has never been too fond of evidence, particularly when it implicates them or puts them in a compromising position. Even if it took a fortnight to arrive here, your body would find a way to vanish by morning.”
Keep stalling. “You think so?” He glanced back at Sephiroth, trying to suss out any potential weak points, and came up with nothing. “Because I think as long as they don’t lose track of their prized weapon here, they’d be more than happy to overlook me going missing. Maybe you don’t realize this, but—” A thought suddenly dawned on him mid-sentence, and he rolled with it. “—the only reason we were sent out here to search for you guys is because of people like Bachman needing PR footage. All just a giant marketing campaign with Sephiroth at the forefront. As for me?” He chuckled, and the sound was dry in his throat with Sephiroth’s bulk on top of him. “I’m just the unlucky bastard who scored second place in some run-of-the-mill training program. Could’ve been anyone.”
“Whether the Turks clean up the mess or a random fiend does is irrelevant,” Alissa replied.
“Oh?” It was getting harder to maintain his false bravado. His ears were ringing. “And what’s the plan for Bachman? What are you gonna tell him?”
Alissa looked bored by his line of questioning. “It’s more than believable enough for him to have died alongside you.” She crouched down so she could address him from a closer distance, and Angeal mentally recoiled. “How does this sound? ‘Upon identifying the largest structure in Robio, both SOLDIER 1-C Hewley and his unit’s videographer were ambushed by the local fauna, sustaining several lethal wounds. While the videographer, Russ Bachman, perished immediately, it took several hours for Hewley to succumb to his injuries. He passed at 0400 after suffering from a seizure.’”
“You really want my feedback?” Angeal honed in on the first part of her answer. “A bit stiff.”
There was a distant tugging in the back of his mind, a whisper; in an instant, Angeal’s head was full of sweet smoke, like whipped sugar, like death. He tried and failed to blink away the strange and sudden euphoria, his eyes watering. Pink suffused everything around him and pooled at the edges of his vision. For a moment, it hurt to breathe. Then, the same fingers from earlier were spiders skittering across his ribs, prying open previously-blocked-off airways.
Relief. Intrusion. Numbness.
Was this what dying felt like?
“Sweetie, can you hear me?”
Huh…?
When Angeal opened his eyes, he found himself curled into the hollow of something. A tree, maybe? The trunk of it was visible, solid and slightly warm beneath his hands, but the rest of it disappeared into a thick blanket of opalescent fog that hung overhead.
The town’s largest farmhouse—Genesis’ home, he reminded himself—had been reduced to a soft, messy outline sketched against a backdrop of paper-thin milk glass. Insects chirped and the telltale scuffling of animals from the bordering woods told Angeal he was back home, but the soundscape seemed almost…artificial. The atmosphere of a person’s ‘perfect’ childhood made manifest, kind of like a wish, or a far-off dream.
The hem of a familiar gown fluttered in his periphery.
“Angeal, honey?”
His mother hadn’t aged a day since he left for Midgar. Had he?
“Mom…” He rubbed his eyes aggressively, taking in his surroundings with a fresh perspective. “Where—is this—?”
It was supposed to be two separate questions, but came out sounding more like one. Gillian smiled, and when she held out a slim hand in offering, her eyes crinkled.
"You’re back home, dear. Where you belong."
Something struck Angeal as a bit odd. 'Sweetie', 'honey', 'dear'… It was a rapid-fire rotation of every epithet his mother had ever called him. That alone, however, didn't stop her voice from sounding the same, her touch from feeling the same, the earnestness of her gaze, the slight droop of her shoulders… It was all there, just how Angeal remembered.
Then, her image dissipated into static. Angeal tried to speak, but his mouth had been sealed shut.
"—geal…?"
Wham!
His shoulder collided with one of the stone steps, then two, and when he tried to push himself upright, his vision swam. He caught a glimpse of a black and silver blur somewhere above him, followed by the rest of Robio fading into view.
“Where’s…?” He trailed off. For a brief moment, he thought he saw Gillian at the top of the stairs.
… Mom…?
Alissa was clutching at her stomach with both arms, eyes wide. Sephiroth held Nameless aloft with bone-chilling poise, the tip of its blade stopping just short of her throat. Reality gradually sharpened and gained form around them, and when it did, Angeal noticed Sephiroth’s arm was trembling furiously. His complexion was paler than death.
Alissa, whether she was an avatar, a vessel, or something else, hadn't been able to fully maintain two illusory worlds. In a roundabout way, Angeal's plan had worked.
“Mother…?” Sephiroth whispered in a tone of voice remarkably similar to Angeal’s internal monologue. His eyes were bright with tears, searching. “What…is this?”
Alissa’s shock dissolved into devastation, and as she took what Angeal suspected was an intentionally clumsy step forward, making a strange guttural noise, Sephiroth took a panicked, reflexive step back. Dark purple ichor ran the length of Nameless’ blade alongside Angeal’s own blood, and he wheezed as he tried to find his voice, to warn Sephiroth.
She’s a monster.
“You…must be at your limit, love…!” she managed to croak out, smiling up at him ruefully. Her teeth were stained black. Another shaky step forward. “You’ve lost your senses, but we can–we can…!”
‘—fix that,’ Angeal’s mind supplied. It came to him through a strange fog, and the shape of her next words came easily, too.
Echoing them both with far more anger, Sephiroth spat, “There’s nothing to fix!” He lowered his blade a few inches, caught off-guard, and Angeal wanted to shout. “You… I saw it, you…were another woman? It was brief, but...” Unmistakable. Alissa shook her head vigorously, tears streaming down her face, and Angeal watched more blackish-purple refuse trail down her leg. The wound had been deep. “Tell me then, mother… What did I see? Why did you…?”
The pain was distracting. Now that Angeal was more lucid, he realized the tumble must’ve dislocated his shoulder. He clutched it, hissing up at Sephiroth through gritted teeth, “Alissa Goldie!” A head of silver spun toward him, eyes still slightly unfocused, and Angeal took the opportunity to drive his own hooks deeper. “She’s a fake, Sephiroth! I don’t know who or what she is, but—”
She’s not your mother.
Sephiroth watched, stricken, as Alissa peeled her arm away from the wound. Ichor and some sort of strange energy flowed freely. He readjusted his grip on Nameless.
“I’ll always love you, baby…” she murmured through shimmering tears. “Even if you h–hurt me, or want me dead… No one else will ever… Not like I do…” She sank to her knees, and at the same time, Angeal got to his own. “P–Please, my baby boy… taken from me… by that horrible man…!”
w̵͚͈̲͔̰̓̆i̸͓̺͈̼̥̣̦̝͂̃̄̌̀͒̔͋̑̊́̊̀́l̷͖̩͛́̕͠͠͝l̶͙̋͆ ̵̨̝̥̻̹͉͓̻̖̗͇̟̀̀͆̅͗̕͜h̶̨̨̬̺̼̳̤̭̘̰͛̑̏̓͜e̵̜̹͐̀̍̐͊̈̍́̊͑ ̶̨̢̹̺̩͖͍̖̺̓͊̈͊͗̓͋̒͗͂ͅĺ̶͖̓̂́͌͛́ô̸̟͖̣͙͖͋̄͂́̀̎̓̚͜͝ͅṽ̴̧̥̼̗̣̯͓̥̜͉̈́͊͛̑̔̎̈́̿̆̿̆͠͝͝e̸͎̼̝̦̥̲̊̏̆̄͒̾͝ ̷̡̡̨͚̜̥͕̜̦͇̏̉̊͊̄̅͌͜ͅẏ̴̙͙̲̳̪̹͚̘̘͙̀͂̀͐̃̈̆̄̅̈́̅͘͜͜͜o̴̧̧̢̢͎̹̪̣̜͇̤̳̦̟͊̀͂̾̔̍͂͝u̶̘̥̠̥̪̍͛͊̔̒̎̉̏̈́̉̎͒͝ ̷̭̟͓͚̞͍̳̝̠̭͇̜̹̎͜͜i̸̗̼̜͇̽̋̔́́̄̈́̽͘͠n̵̜̞͈͉̯̦̈́̓ ̴̘̹͎̼̫̮͍̻̃͊̓̆̚m̶̻̥̪͗̉̈́̏̆̐͆̀̋̑̋̀̓̒͐y̸̡̢͙͓̜̤̘̺̙͎̐̂̔́̈͆̓͋͘ ̸̥̺̪̻̖̹̈́͂͜ś̷̛̠̻͎̥͓̲̆͐̀ť̴̛̥̞̉̆̊̕̚͠ē̸̢̧̛̱̫̦͙̜̰͂̾͝a̴̘̼̽ͅd̴̥̫͕̜̋̈̎͒̈́̔͝
“Sephiroth,” Angeal said firmly. He didn’t know what had happened to Sephiroth’s real mother, but at that moment, even though Sephiroth stood much taller than him, he’d never looked so small. Fumbling and uncertain, with a dislocated shoulder and a heavy heart, he murmured consolingly, “She’s gone. Has been for a while, I’m guessing.” There was a sharp intake of breath from…somewhere. One of the three of them, or maybe all three of them in tandem. “I’m sorry.”
Angeal hadn’t even seen Sephiroth move. Nameless sliced its way through Alissa’s sternum with unsettling ease, and beyond the initial splatter from the exit wound, dark ichor pooled in the crumbling mortar of the ruins’ stone steps, spreading from channel to channel like branching rivers. Sephiroth’s torso and chin were wet with it. ‘Alissa’ had tried to cling to him as she collapsed in his arms, and he’d allowed himself to be pulled down to his knees. Not in submission, not because of her earlier brainwashing, but because...
He honestly believed it was her.
“... I’m sorry,” Angeal whispered again.
Eventually, the body, too, crumbled into nothingness. Angeal watched Sephiroth scramble to pull the strange-smelling ash into his arms, choking on a bottled-up sob and unintentionally making himself filthier. He couldn't help but felt like a voyeur as the boy across from him wept, like this side of Sephiroth was something he shouldn't be seeing.
Angeal knew they were never going to discuss this at length, even though they should. He was too sensitive to risk stepping on Sephiroth’s toes, and Sephiroth was far too stubborn to bare any part of his soul willingly. He opened his mouth a few times as Sephiroth tried to swallow down any evidence of distress, hoping to break the silence with a few well-worn cliches about grief, then closed it.
Words just…really weren’t enough.
Angeal settled on getting to his feet, and he remained still for a moment, gauging Sephiroth’s reaction before climbing the steps toward him. He gave his shoulder a cursory roll, swore—because holy shit, it still hurt—and eventually knelt down a few feet away, pointedly looking somewhere else.
“… Please stop,” Sephiroth eventually rasped. He was scrubbing moist clumps of Alissa’s ‘body’ off his arms now, but it did little to help. “My well-being isn’t any of your concern. Yours or his.” It was obvious who Sephiroth meant, and Angeal couldn’t even bring himself to frown. “I just want to be left alone.”
Is that why you almost followed a complete stranger into such a dangerous place? Not because she reminded you of someone? Not because you felt like you needed her?
Angeal wasn’t going to say any of that, nor did he really want to. Instead, he took a deep breath and opted for, “I need to wash up. You could probably use it, too.” He looked around purely for Sephiroth’s benefit; he knew exactly where he was going. “I’m gonna head back toward that pond we passed earlier, get some of this off.”
Sephiroth finally looked at him, and when their eyes met, there was an implicit understanding: You’re the one who injured me. You owe me, at the very least, your company. You can pretend to hate me later.
“It was shallow,” Sephiroth responded coolly. “Your life isn’t in any danger, and I hardly think you need a chaperone.”
Angeal shrugged. “Never said it was. After all of that, it’d be stupid to wander around without some sort of buddy system in place. If nothing else, you can brag about saving my ass, Great Hero.”
A series of complex emotions crossed Sephiroth’s face as Angeal got to his feet. He started down the stairs, courteous enough to give Sephiroth the wide berth he’d asked for, when he heard a quiet voice behind him.
“Hewley?” Sephiroth hadn’t moved.
Ah, still formal. Don’t know what I expected.
“What is it?”
Eye contact seemed to give him the encouragement he needed, and he followed in Angeal’s steps, looking pensive. “... I’m sorry. For injuring you.”
He hesitated, mulling over something, before holding out a stiff hand in offering. The two of them engaged in an awkward dance as Angeal fumbled returning his handshake with his non-dominant hand, but after that—
Sephiroth was…warm. Not at all cold-blooded. Not made of metal, either. Angeal held on for a bit longer than was socially acceptable, and when Sephiroth tried to wriggle free—‘this was clearly a mistake, you’re overindulging,’ he’d said—he tightened his grip. He’d given voice to the thought swirling around his mind already, but he needed to say it again.
“You’re not a monster.”
A beat of silence. Then, Sephiroth clicked his tongue. “Again with this?” He pulled his hand from Angeal’s grasp. “I’ve told you before, I don’t need your validation.”
But a part of you probably still wants it.
“Yeah,” Angeal agreed. “I know.”
Sephiroth seemed to be waiting for the other shoe to drop, and when it didn’t, he simply stared at him. The longer the silence stretched on, the more Angeal was tempted to fill it.
“She was beautiful, by the way,” he said. “Your mother.”
He was beginning to enjoy watching Sephiroth react to things. A look of incredulity crossed his face first, followed by something almost sheepish. A subtle flush crept up the back of his neck.
“That’s a strange comment to make, particularly in lieu of what just happened,” he said evasively. “A bit insensitive too, though I suppose tact was never your forte, was it?”
He pushed past Angeal, shoulder checking him in the process—thankfully, it was his good shoulder that took the brunt of it—and Angeal smiled despite himself. He wasn’t going to start an argument, no matter how much Sephiroth wanted him to.
Whatever you say, brat.