[FF7-AU] Edge of the World - Chapter 8
[FF7-AU] Edge of the World - Chapter 8
Timeline: post-game, alternative universe
Rating: PG-13
Status: Incomplete
Words: ~4,000
Characters: Rufus, Hojo, Cast
Warnings: Violence. Contains graphic descriptions of gore.
Story Summary: Meteor falls, devastating the planet. The backwash of the Lifestream occurs in time to save a few, too late for others, and leaves some interesting legacies. Some who should have perished live, and others who should have lived, perish. A multi-parter alternative universe fic.
Chapter Summary: And showdown.
For peacefulchaos.
Clap.
Clap, clap, clap.
The applause rang out, short and staccato. The mockery was clear in it, even to Rufus’ failing senses, even as he dragged his attention away from the play of light around his fingers, the shock of the discovery.
The mania of the earlier moments had been lost, giving way to the wary air of a stand-off, the shrieks replaced by the low growls and murmurs from the creatures that encircled them. They were waiting for something, Rufus knew, and it was with no surprise that he beheld the parting of their ranks to give way to an all-too familiar figure.
"Reno," he said, calm and even as though he were facing his Turk across the Presidential desk. It was hard not to be. The burn of fever in his skin made him light headed, and the entire experience seemed somehow unreal.
"President," Reno said, and his voice rang with a note of mockery as he touched his EMR to his forehead in a salute. "Took you long enough." The corners of his mouth curled in a smile, cruel and humourless. "I guess I can actually start taking you seriously now."
The strands coiling around Rufus’ right hand flickered in response to his agitation, the only sign that Reno’s words had gotten through to him. He canted his head, careful to keep his face expressionless. "Enough nonsense, Turk."
The creatures shifted in response to his words and he tensed, expecting a leap, a sudden attack. But Reno growled, something low and inhuman, and they fell back again. The noises that they made were unintelligible, but Rufus thought he could sense their discontentment. No doubt about it; they desired blood, and the only thing keeping them in check was ... Rufus narrowed his eyes as Reno advanced, tapping the EMR nonchalantly against his thigh. He had seen this before, from the vantage of an observer. He had watched Reno stalked his prey down with methodical precision that no one would have thought the otherwise sloppy Turk capable of possessing. He had watched Reno’s targets cower in fear in the face of their impending death.
He straightened, because it was the only thing he could do. Because Rufus Shinra was the man who neither bled nor cried, and to whom fear was supposed to be an alien emotion. "Take me seriously?" he called, and the thing that coiled through his gut wasn’t fear, couldn’t be fear, because he refused to believe that he was terrified. "Your opinion of yourself is overrated."
"Really now," Reno said, and his smirk glittered with malice.
They leapt at the same time, electricity sparking from Reno’s EMR and the glow of fire from Rufus’ fingertips. He buried his hand in Reno’s gut at the same time the shock jolted through his shoulder, then air vanished as Reno locked his hand around his throat, kneeing him with almost casual grace. He choked, seeing stars, lungs straining for the breath that wouldn’t come. He called for fire, for the power of the Lifestream that had saved him mere moments before, expecting that surge of power, the weapon to burn away the nightmare that stood before him.
But nothing came.
He clawed at the hand around his throat, fingernails breaking skin. Reno’s hand was sticky with blood that was not his own, and his fingers slid as he fought for purchase. For air. For his very life.
And still there was nothing, except a growing weakness like lead in his limbs.
"Can’t control it?" Reno’s eyes shone a vivid, alien green as he leaned in, and his voice sounded like the chorus of a thousand small, mocking cries. The jeers of a million denizens of Midgar mocking his failures. Rufus would have snarled if he could, kicking at thin air as the Turk raised his arm, bodily lifting him off the ground. "And here I thought you’d be more of a challenge."
Frustration and anger yielded absolutely nothing. He struggled until the world started growing dark and faint, blackness creeping in around the edges of his vision. Struggled until he felt like he was falling through eternity; drowning, his legs flailing uselessly and finding no purchase. He swung a fist, but it cut through nothing more substantial than air, and meanwhile, the grip around his neck tightened like a vice, closer and closer, until he could almost feel those fragile, human bones grate against one another. How many were there in the neck? Seven? Nine? How would it feel like if they snapped, and would they go one by one, or all at the same time?
"You needn’t fear," Reno whispered, his voice soft and silky smooth beside his ear. Reno had never sounded like that, he wanted to say. The thought would have made him angry, because the Turks were his, and to see them ... twisted, distorted in this fashion... it made him want to find the ones responsible and destroy them utterly.
Except that no fire would come, no salvation presented itself. He was only dimly aware of fighting, and thought that Hojo must be occupied - a pity, really. He might have been of help. But now all hope was failing, and everything was growing fainter, feeling sinking into lassitude and numbness despite the glaring agony and the scream that couldn’t escape his throat.
Stupid. Foolish. He had been granted a power that he couldn’t control, and what use was that if he lost his life? Pathetic. So much wasted potential. This wasn’t the way he’d intended to die.
If, indeed, he’d ever intended to die. Even when facing down Weapon...
Even when facing imminent death...
With the last dregs of energy he had left, he dragged open eyes that he hadn’t realised he had shut. Never in his life had it been so hard to level a glare, but damned if he wasn’t going to stare death in the eye. Damned if he was going down like a coward.
Glowing green met glowing green, and then Reno’s eyes widened in shock, and his grip slipped.
He didn’t realise he was dropping until he hit the ground.
It was the flash of pain that brought him back, even as the impact knocked the breath out of him. It took precious seconds for him to recover, his limbs seemingly shocked into a refusal to respond from the impact. His gaze locked on Reno's face, but Reno was scarcely looking at him - no, the Turk was staring at something beyond, the expression on his face morphing from shock to bewilderment and then to anger.
Move, he told himself, and dug fingers into the ground, clawing up dirt as he sought to force himself to his feet. A hand grabbed his elbow and dragged him up, and he nearly hit back, until he caught sight of the glint of glasses in the corner of his eye. Hojo, then. The Professor must have fought his way back to his side. But Hojo's attention was riveted by something else, just as Reno's was, and Rufus followed the line of their gazes.
For a moment, he wondered if he had hit his head, for he had double-no, triple vision.
They might well have been clones of Sephiroth, the three of them who stood facing Reno down. Silver hair, green eyes. Their hairstyles differed, from cropped short to almost as long as Sephiroth's, just as their black outfits varied in small ways, but the looks of calculated cruelty on their faces was one and the same.
"Brother!" the smallest, the leader who held his double bladed katana levelled at Reno's throat, called out. His voice was higher than Rufus had expected it, not Sephiroth's deep baritone. Younger. Brother? he wondered, but the Sephiroth-clone's attention was on Reno.
"Brother," Reno said, his voice falsely pleasant. "Such a warm welcome."
"But of course," the other purred, even as the other two behind him chuckled. "What else could I do, when I come here and find you blatantly defying Mother's orders? These two were to be taken alive, she said."
He felt Hojo tense at those words, and the very subtle emphasis on Mother sent a chill down his own spine. Sephiroth had pronounced it in much the same way, tinged with mad reverence and possessiveness. There was little doubt as to who they referred to. But to speak to Reno as though he were one of their own...
"And who said I was going to kill them?" Reno snorted in disgust, pushing the blades away from his throat as though they were of no consequence. "I was merely toying with them."
"Back away slowly," Hojo whispered in his ear. "While they are distracted."
He felt Hojo shift as he spoke, moving slowly and as soundlessly as possible. He followed suit, taking a step back, bracing himself against the protest of injuries. One step back. Two.
"That's not what it looked like," another of the Sephiroth-clones spoke, the one that resembled Sephiroth the most, with that long hair, but Rufus noted the gunblade casually cradled in his hand instead of Sephiroth's weapon of choice.
Three steps back. Four.
"Of course," Reno drawled. "But observation was never your strongest skill, Yazoo." He smirked. "Nor yours, Kadaj. Don't look so pleased. Like I'm certain that you've failed to note that your prey is trying to sneak away from you."
The one named Kadaj barked a short laugh. "Of course I know they're trying to run." He glanced across, locking gazes with Rufus. Madness glimmered in green eyes. "But they won't get away."
Instinct made him stop. Instinct made the skin on the back of his neck crawl, and he risked taking his eyes off the scene in front of him to glance behind. He saw - silver, the long length of a heavy blade levelled at his back, the point resting just a hair's breadth from his back. He had been that close to skewering himself. But it was the wielder of the blade that arrested his attention.
The hair was the same shade as his own, gold under some light, pale straw in the dark. The eyes, once blue, were now green, and the life they had once shone with was gone, replaced by the dead gaze of a puppet. Dressed in black, like the Sephiroth clones, but it was the black of a SOLDIER uniform that he had never actually earned.
Cloud Strife. His familiar nemesis, the one who had blocked him at every step of the way, from cutting him down on the rooftop of their own Shinra building, to stealing the Tiny Broncho from out under his nose, to stealing the Huge Materia from Shinra 26 and foiling his attempt to destroy Meteor. The one who had been supposed to defeat Sephiroth. The one who had been manipulated by Sephiroth instead, who had handed over the black materia and sealed all their fates.
"Strife," he ground out, looking for something - a spark of recognition , perhaps, in those dead eyes. But there was only blankness there, and the tip of the sword hovered unwaveringly at his chest.
"Will you throw in your lot with Jenova now?" he asked. Now, when strength had failed and the tide had turned so decisively against them, the only weapon he held was words. A paltry last resort, like trying to fight a monster with a toothpick.
"This is Mother's will," Strife replied, his voice hollow and vacant. "You must come with us."
"Yes," Reno said. "She most earnestly desires to see you, President." A smirk as he glanced to Hojo. "And dare I say... step-father?"
One of the Sephiroth clones laughed. Rufus glanced back at them, eyes narrowed. "And just what are you?" he asked, his voice icy. "Sephiroth's little kid brothers?"
"Close, but no cigar," Reno said. "I thought you were more clever than that, boss." He snickered. "Oh, but that's right. You were unconscious for so very long, recovering from that little lovetap that Weapon gave you..."
He was so desperately out of his depth that it wasn't funny. Reno's comments made no sense, only highlighted how much he didn't know. It was, perhaps, a ploy to throw him off guard, an attempt to get under his skin. With an effort, he strangled his temper back into submission. "Then perhaps you would care to enlighten me."
The one named Yazoo cocked his head, his lips curling into the parody of a smile. "Mother is far better at explanations than we are. Come with us, and she will explain everything." The smile grew by a fraction. "Although... if you choose to resist, it will be a lot more fun."
Chilling, the thought that Jenova might want anything to do with them. The mind scarcely dared to contemplate the horrors of that suggestion - would she simply kill them, or did she require more puppets? He had no inclination to spend the remainder of his days as a mindless slave. He glanced back at Strife. Hojo was absolutely silent beside him. Waiting, he sensed. Counting on him to come up with a clever ploy, something to get them out of this.
Hojo was going to be disappointed.
"Very well," he said, shrugging. "It looks like we have no other choice. Lead the way."
Hojo glanced sharply at him, and Strife glanced at Hojo. Rufus took that moment of distraction to grab the blade of the buster sword, concentrating and willing the spells to come to him. He visualised them in his mind's eye - the sparkling stars in the depth of materia - visualised it and grabbed at it, drawing energy from that vision as though he held the very materia in his hand.
Something responded. Something in him sang to life, something that had never been there before. His vision splintered green, his eyes stinging momentarily as though on fire, and then he felt the ripple of the bolt spell as it slammed through the blade, racing through the metal and up the hilt.
Strife had no time to react. The spell slammed into him, snapping his head backwards with the force of it, and the air was momentarily tainted with the reek of burning flesh. But where a spell of that strength should have been capable of knocking a SOLDIER off his feet and perhaps killing a lesser man, it only served to make Strife stumble, taking a step back.
Rufus wasted no time. He couldn't concentrate enough to bring another spell to bear, but opted for more physical means instead. His elbow slammed into Strife's neck, and he felt cartilage shift. Light arced past him as Hojo released a fire spell at the Sephiroth clones, and Rufus gathered breath into aching lungs and prepared to run for his life.
He managed a single step. With inhuman speed, Strife kicked his feet out from under him. The blade of the buster sword moved in a blur of silver, and even before he could hit the ground, the flat of the blade caught him in his ribs. He heard a crunch, dimly, even as ribs cracked from the force of the blow, then he was careening backwards through the air. Red and black seemed to burn through his vision as he slammed into a pile of debris, and all his panicked mind could register was that he couldn't breathe.
Bastard re-arranged all my internal organs... somehow, his hand managed to move far enough to clutch at his burning chest, but no matter how hard he tried to suck in a breath, his lungs just couldn't seem to expand. His vision narrowed and expanded crazily, and he heard a crunch as Hojo slammed into the ground not a meter away from him, likely a victim of the same move. Dimly, some part of his mind yelled at him to do something, anything, but his world had narrowed down to burning in his lungs.
One thing at a time. His fingers clawed at skin that didn't seem to register sensation any more, and he couldn't even cough. Nausea washed over him, even as he tried to bludgeon his body into cooperation.
Strife was standing before him, and his face was utterly expressionless as he sheathed the buster sword in its scabbard across his back. He saw Reno step up behind, saw the dangerous smile on the Turk's face, and knew there was no rescue there.
Breathe. Breathe, damnit! And finally, finally, he felt a trickle of air down his throat. Barely enough, but it was something - and the next breath was stronger, and the next. Then he was coughing, retching, curled up pathetically around his broken ribs.
He thought caught something in Reno's eyes then, a flicker of indecision. A shift in the way he stood, perhaps nothing more than the movement of weight from one leg to another. Reno, he said, or tried to say, but his voice wouldn't obey him. He saw the Turk narrow his eyes, then blink as though confused.
"None of this would have happened if you hadn't resisted," Reno said, shrugging a shoulder. "Be a good boy and come along -"
A roar split the air, cutting off anything else that Reno might have said. He heard the familiar rattle of machine guns before bullets slammed into the strip of ground separating them. Reno and Strife leapt back, both glancing to the sky as a familiar looking airship winged past.
The Highwind.
He barely forced the retching under control, swallowing back what tasted like blood. Tried to stand, his fingers scrabbling at the debris for support. He saw a flash of red as someone leapt from the airship, heard the more even reports of a handgun over the din of the machine guns. Saw an oversized shuriken slash past, narrowing missing Kadaj as the Sephiroth-clone stepped aside at the last moment. The Highwind came round for another pass, guns blazing, and two more figures leapt from it.
"Cloud!" one of the figures, female and black-clad, called out. Out of the mists of hazy memory, Rufus dredged up a name - Lockhart, a member of Avalanche. He saw her run towards Strife, and tried to call out a warning. Too late, as Strife whirled, striking back with the buster sword. Lockhart dodged, rolled aside and fell into a fighting crouch, fists raised.
He lost track of both of them then, as the Sephiroth-clones sprang into the action, and then there was a blur of red as something clashed with them, something huge and winged that swept past too rapidly for him to track. Gunshots echoed, and he heard the screech of metal as they impacted on Kadaj's double bladed sword. Another red blur, and the orange of fire, as another creature dashed into the fray. Hojo's escaped specimen, or another of his kind.
He made it to his feet, before his knees buckled and gave out under him. The movement attracted attention, and someone moved towards him. A girl - Wutainese perhaps. She seemed familiar enough, and he struggled to place her, even as her eyes widened in surprise.
"You!" she yelled, and half the combatants on the field glanced in their direction. Shiva, but she was loud...
Speaking was too much of an effort at this point, so he settled for raising an eyebrow. The edge of the shuriken blade was under his chin in a flash, digging in hard enough to draw blood.
"Heh," the girl said, shaking her head slightly. "We all thought you were dead. Never expected to find you here... or as one of those infected..."
"Hardly," he croaked out, hating the weakness in his voice. "No more infected than you are."
That got to her. He saw the surprise in her face, and a name came to him then - Kusaragi? Kurasagi? Kisaragi. Godo's daughter. Princess of Wutai. No wonder she seemed familiar. "You're not infected?" she demanded, stepping forward to peer into his face. "But your eyes are..."
"Exception to the rule," he said. "Along with my companion over there." He glanced at the Highwind as it made another pass, its guns tearing up the ground. There was his ticket out of here. "Would you be so kind... as to take us with you?"
Damn, it sounded pathetic. But he could scarcely think of a better way to say it at this juncture. Kisaragi's eyes narrowed as she considered Hojo, who was apparently still out like a light. "That's... Hojo, isn't it? The hell...?"
"Yuffie," another voice called out, one that Rufus did not recognise. There was a blur of motion, and a stranger stood before them. Rufus' attention was drawn to his eyes first - that deep glowing red that he vaguely recalled having seen once before, another lifetime ago. The rest of the outfit was red too, outlandish, and he had the strangest gauntlet on one arm that Rufus had ever seen.
Kisaragi glanced over, her entire being still radiating suspicion. "What should we do with them?"
The other hesitated. Rufus resisted the urge to grit his teeth, seeing the possibility of rescue slipping away from him. No choice but to marshal what was left of his wits and engage. "How are your relations with Jenova, lately?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as light as possible.
Kisaragi scowled at him, which was all the answer he needed. Not that he'd been expecting anything different.
"Of course," he continued, before either of them had the chance to say a word. "You could always leave us here. Jenova does seem to have a particular interest in us - and I could hazard a few guesses as to just what she wants." He shrugged, one-shouldered. "At the very least, you'll just have another two mindless minions to contend with... but at worst..." He gave them both a very thin smile. "You could be handing her the very key she needs to secure her victory."
"Don't you think you're over-rating yourself, Shinra?" Kisaragi snapped.
Another pass by the Highwind, another flash of steel and the roar of more bullets in the background made speech momentarily impossible. They locked gazes instead, and somewhere behind Kisaragi, the area was momentarily brightened by the flash of fire spells.
"What does Jenova require?" he asked, when the noise had died down somewhat.
"How the heck would I-" Kisaragi's eyes narrowed abruptly. "Mako. You would give that to her, you-"
"Or the information as to whereabouts of Shinra's stores could be extracted by force," her companion said softly. "It matters not... it does appear that we have no choice but to take him with us. And ... Hojo also."
Kisaragi looked like she was about to protest. She glanced at her companion, who only stared back evenly. Annoyed, Kisaragi scuffed her foot in the dirt and huffed, "Fine then," she said, shrugging as though it were of no consequence. "But when Barret blows his top, you can go explain it to him!"
Her companion hatched a tiny smile, barely visible beneath the edge of the cape he wore. Wordlessly, he extended a hand - not the clawed one - stooping to pull Rufus to his feet. Memory stirred as Rufus glanced again at the red eyes, but as he tried to chase the strands down, they eluded his grasp.
"We must be gone," the man said. "We cannot hold them off for long."
Even as he uttered the words, an explosion ripped through the air, sending debris flying and flames shooting to the sky. There were yells, and what might have been a scream. The creature with the flaming tail came dashing back, followed more slowly by Lockhart, who kept glancing towards the direction of the blast.
"Back!" the creature said, gasping for breath. A massive gash on its side leaked red, and Lockhart had an arm wrapped protectively around her ribs. "They are too strong - they have Cloud too strongly in their grasp, we cannot get through to him at all-" Its gaze lighted on Rufus, and Rufus thought he read surprise in its expression.
"He's coming with us," Kisaragi said, even as she waved the Highwind over.
Lockhart compressed her lips into a line, but didn't object. The Highwind came in lower, dropped a ladder, and hovered. Hands shoved Rufus towards it, and he lingered long enough to see them bundle Hojo up. Sparing a glance towards the inferno that was cutting the Sephiroth-clones off from immediate pursuit, he strained to catch a glimpse of Reno, but the Turk was nowhere in sight. Gritting his teeth, he shoved away the twisting pain of loss, and scrambled up the ladder. And tried convince himself that the burn in his chest was nothing but his broken ribs.
--
Notes:
Sorry about the long delay between chapters. There might be another delay between now and Chapter 9 - but that's because I'm trying to get a significant number of chapters written before I start publishing them in earnest. This is probably a good place to stop (better than Chapter 7, anyway!).
Thank you all for your incredible patience with me - I do intend to finish this fic and the outline is mapped from start to finish. Cliche though it may be - I have to say that I really wouldn't have the incentive to finish this if not for all the support and understanding I've received from readers (and you not least of all :). I can only hope the wait has been worthwhile.
- Elvaron, April 2011
In the meantime, have a teaser:
Spoilers ahoy
Rufus found himself returned to the cabin as Avalanche discussed his fate and Hojo's. Cait brought him his meals, but left, looking subdued. Perhaps Reeve's mood was rubbing off on him - Rufus had never known the obnoxious little robot to be anything less than hyperactive.
He paced the length of the cabin, too restless to sit. His thoughts scattered over the globe, between Midgar and Junon and Reno and then to the rest of the Turks, to Hojo and to Reeve and to the rest of the executives. To his father, who was doubtless laughing in whatever hell he had ended up at what a screw up his boy was. With a scowl, he shoved that thought aside, and turned on his heel. Ten steps down. Turn again. Ten steps up.
Glancing at his hand, he tried to recall the feel of materia magic swirling around it. While it was a useful skill, it concerned him more than any supposed infection. Shinra had experimented - extensively - on its SOLDIERs in an attempt to breed one that could use magic without wielding materia. The attempts had all failed, sometimes with grotesque results, and his father had eventually been convinced to cut funding to the project.
Most of the attempts, he recalled, had been by way of mako infusion, and when that alone had failed, they had attempted to graft materia into the bodies of the test subjects-
--he froze, thinking of chips of materia scattered on a tabletop, casting a sickly glow over the room.
The long scar on his leg throbbed.
He was still dressed in the clothes that he had salvaged from that wreck of a house. He yanked up his trouser leg, looking at the scar that had formed over what had formerly been neat stitching. Ran a hand down the length of it, and felt hard knobs under his finger tips.
A chill ran down his spine.
There had been gashes on his arms too, he recalled, and pulled back his sleeve. There, on either sides of the inner elbow - he felt two more hard objects embedded in the muscle, overlaid by scars. Each of them was distinct, half an inch in diameter, and nothing short of surgery was going to get them out.
"Hojo," he hissed, as his very breath seemed to freeze in his throat. "You bastard."
*
Timeline: post-game, alternative universe
Rating: PG-13
Status: Incomplete
Words: ~4,000
Characters: Rufus, Hojo, Cast
Warnings: Violence. Contains graphic descriptions of gore.
Story Summary: Meteor falls, devastating the planet. The backwash of the Lifestream occurs in time to save a few, too late for others, and leaves some interesting legacies. Some who should have perished live, and others who should have lived, perish. A multi-parter alternative universe fic.
Chapter Summary: And showdown.
For peacefulchaos.
Clap.
Clap, clap, clap.
The applause rang out, short and staccato. The mockery was clear in it, even to Rufus’ failing senses, even as he dragged his attention away from the play of light around his fingers, the shock of the discovery.
The mania of the earlier moments had been lost, giving way to the wary air of a stand-off, the shrieks replaced by the low growls and murmurs from the creatures that encircled them. They were waiting for something, Rufus knew, and it was with no surprise that he beheld the parting of their ranks to give way to an all-too familiar figure.
"Reno," he said, calm and even as though he were facing his Turk across the Presidential desk. It was hard not to be. The burn of fever in his skin made him light headed, and the entire experience seemed somehow unreal.
"President," Reno said, and his voice rang with a note of mockery as he touched his EMR to his forehead in a salute. "Took you long enough." The corners of his mouth curled in a smile, cruel and humourless. "I guess I can actually start taking you seriously now."
The strands coiling around Rufus’ right hand flickered in response to his agitation, the only sign that Reno’s words had gotten through to him. He canted his head, careful to keep his face expressionless. "Enough nonsense, Turk."
The creatures shifted in response to his words and he tensed, expecting a leap, a sudden attack. But Reno growled, something low and inhuman, and they fell back again. The noises that they made were unintelligible, but Rufus thought he could sense their discontentment. No doubt about it; they desired blood, and the only thing keeping them in check was ... Rufus narrowed his eyes as Reno advanced, tapping the EMR nonchalantly against his thigh. He had seen this before, from the vantage of an observer. He had watched Reno stalked his prey down with methodical precision that no one would have thought the otherwise sloppy Turk capable of possessing. He had watched Reno’s targets cower in fear in the face of their impending death.
He straightened, because it was the only thing he could do. Because Rufus Shinra was the man who neither bled nor cried, and to whom fear was supposed to be an alien emotion. "Take me seriously?" he called, and the thing that coiled through his gut wasn’t fear, couldn’t be fear, because he refused to believe that he was terrified. "Your opinion of yourself is overrated."
"Really now," Reno said, and his smirk glittered with malice.
They leapt at the same time, electricity sparking from Reno’s EMR and the glow of fire from Rufus’ fingertips. He buried his hand in Reno’s gut at the same time the shock jolted through his shoulder, then air vanished as Reno locked his hand around his throat, kneeing him with almost casual grace. He choked, seeing stars, lungs straining for the breath that wouldn’t come. He called for fire, for the power of the Lifestream that had saved him mere moments before, expecting that surge of power, the weapon to burn away the nightmare that stood before him.
But nothing came.
He clawed at the hand around his throat, fingernails breaking skin. Reno’s hand was sticky with blood that was not his own, and his fingers slid as he fought for purchase. For air. For his very life.
And still there was nothing, except a growing weakness like lead in his limbs.
"Can’t control it?" Reno’s eyes shone a vivid, alien green as he leaned in, and his voice sounded like the chorus of a thousand small, mocking cries. The jeers of a million denizens of Midgar mocking his failures. Rufus would have snarled if he could, kicking at thin air as the Turk raised his arm, bodily lifting him off the ground. "And here I thought you’d be more of a challenge."
Frustration and anger yielded absolutely nothing. He struggled until the world started growing dark and faint, blackness creeping in around the edges of his vision. Struggled until he felt like he was falling through eternity; drowning, his legs flailing uselessly and finding no purchase. He swung a fist, but it cut through nothing more substantial than air, and meanwhile, the grip around his neck tightened like a vice, closer and closer, until he could almost feel those fragile, human bones grate against one another. How many were there in the neck? Seven? Nine? How would it feel like if they snapped, and would they go one by one, or all at the same time?
"You needn’t fear," Reno whispered, his voice soft and silky smooth beside his ear. Reno had never sounded like that, he wanted to say. The thought would have made him angry, because the Turks were his, and to see them ... twisted, distorted in this fashion... it made him want to find the ones responsible and destroy them utterly.
Except that no fire would come, no salvation presented itself. He was only dimly aware of fighting, and thought that Hojo must be occupied - a pity, really. He might have been of help. But now all hope was failing, and everything was growing fainter, feeling sinking into lassitude and numbness despite the glaring agony and the scream that couldn’t escape his throat.
Stupid. Foolish. He had been granted a power that he couldn’t control, and what use was that if he lost his life? Pathetic. So much wasted potential. This wasn’t the way he’d intended to die.
If, indeed, he’d ever intended to die. Even when facing down Weapon...
Even when facing imminent death...
With the last dregs of energy he had left, he dragged open eyes that he hadn’t realised he had shut. Never in his life had it been so hard to level a glare, but damned if he wasn’t going to stare death in the eye. Damned if he was going down like a coward.
Glowing green met glowing green, and then Reno’s eyes widened in shock, and his grip slipped.
He didn’t realise he was dropping until he hit the ground.
It was the flash of pain that brought him back, even as the impact knocked the breath out of him. It took precious seconds for him to recover, his limbs seemingly shocked into a refusal to respond from the impact. His gaze locked on Reno's face, but Reno was scarcely looking at him - no, the Turk was staring at something beyond, the expression on his face morphing from shock to bewilderment and then to anger.
Move, he told himself, and dug fingers into the ground, clawing up dirt as he sought to force himself to his feet. A hand grabbed his elbow and dragged him up, and he nearly hit back, until he caught sight of the glint of glasses in the corner of his eye. Hojo, then. The Professor must have fought his way back to his side. But Hojo's attention was riveted by something else, just as Reno's was, and Rufus followed the line of their gazes.
For a moment, he wondered if he had hit his head, for he had double-no, triple vision.
They might well have been clones of Sephiroth, the three of them who stood facing Reno down. Silver hair, green eyes. Their hairstyles differed, from cropped short to almost as long as Sephiroth's, just as their black outfits varied in small ways, but the looks of calculated cruelty on their faces was one and the same.
"Brother!" the smallest, the leader who held his double bladed katana levelled at Reno's throat, called out. His voice was higher than Rufus had expected it, not Sephiroth's deep baritone. Younger. Brother? he wondered, but the Sephiroth-clone's attention was on Reno.
"Brother," Reno said, his voice falsely pleasant. "Such a warm welcome."
"But of course," the other purred, even as the other two behind him chuckled. "What else could I do, when I come here and find you blatantly defying Mother's orders? These two were to be taken alive, she said."
He felt Hojo tense at those words, and the very subtle emphasis on Mother sent a chill down his own spine. Sephiroth had pronounced it in much the same way, tinged with mad reverence and possessiveness. There was little doubt as to who they referred to. But to speak to Reno as though he were one of their own...
"And who said I was going to kill them?" Reno snorted in disgust, pushing the blades away from his throat as though they were of no consequence. "I was merely toying with them."
"Back away slowly," Hojo whispered in his ear. "While they are distracted."
He felt Hojo shift as he spoke, moving slowly and as soundlessly as possible. He followed suit, taking a step back, bracing himself against the protest of injuries. One step back. Two.
"That's not what it looked like," another of the Sephiroth-clones spoke, the one that resembled Sephiroth the most, with that long hair, but Rufus noted the gunblade casually cradled in his hand instead of Sephiroth's weapon of choice.
Three steps back. Four.
"Of course," Reno drawled. "But observation was never your strongest skill, Yazoo." He smirked. "Nor yours, Kadaj. Don't look so pleased. Like I'm certain that you've failed to note that your prey is trying to sneak away from you."
The one named Kadaj barked a short laugh. "Of course I know they're trying to run." He glanced across, locking gazes with Rufus. Madness glimmered in green eyes. "But they won't get away."
Instinct made him stop. Instinct made the skin on the back of his neck crawl, and he risked taking his eyes off the scene in front of him to glance behind. He saw - silver, the long length of a heavy blade levelled at his back, the point resting just a hair's breadth from his back. He had been that close to skewering himself. But it was the wielder of the blade that arrested his attention.
The hair was the same shade as his own, gold under some light, pale straw in the dark. The eyes, once blue, were now green, and the life they had once shone with was gone, replaced by the dead gaze of a puppet. Dressed in black, like the Sephiroth clones, but it was the black of a SOLDIER uniform that he had never actually earned.
Cloud Strife. His familiar nemesis, the one who had blocked him at every step of the way, from cutting him down on the rooftop of their own Shinra building, to stealing the Tiny Broncho from out under his nose, to stealing the Huge Materia from Shinra 26 and foiling his attempt to destroy Meteor. The one who had been supposed to defeat Sephiroth. The one who had been manipulated by Sephiroth instead, who had handed over the black materia and sealed all their fates.
"Strife," he ground out, looking for something - a spark of recognition , perhaps, in those dead eyes. But there was only blankness there, and the tip of the sword hovered unwaveringly at his chest.
"Will you throw in your lot with Jenova now?" he asked. Now, when strength had failed and the tide had turned so decisively against them, the only weapon he held was words. A paltry last resort, like trying to fight a monster with a toothpick.
"This is Mother's will," Strife replied, his voice hollow and vacant. "You must come with us."
"Yes," Reno said. "She most earnestly desires to see you, President." A smirk as he glanced to Hojo. "And dare I say... step-father?"
One of the Sephiroth clones laughed. Rufus glanced back at them, eyes narrowed. "And just what are you?" he asked, his voice icy. "Sephiroth's little kid brothers?"
"Close, but no cigar," Reno said. "I thought you were more clever than that, boss." He snickered. "Oh, but that's right. You were unconscious for so very long, recovering from that little lovetap that Weapon gave you..."
He was so desperately out of his depth that it wasn't funny. Reno's comments made no sense, only highlighted how much he didn't know. It was, perhaps, a ploy to throw him off guard, an attempt to get under his skin. With an effort, he strangled his temper back into submission. "Then perhaps you would care to enlighten me."
The one named Yazoo cocked his head, his lips curling into the parody of a smile. "Mother is far better at explanations than we are. Come with us, and she will explain everything." The smile grew by a fraction. "Although... if you choose to resist, it will be a lot more fun."
Chilling, the thought that Jenova might want anything to do with them. The mind scarcely dared to contemplate the horrors of that suggestion - would she simply kill them, or did she require more puppets? He had no inclination to spend the remainder of his days as a mindless slave. He glanced back at Strife. Hojo was absolutely silent beside him. Waiting, he sensed. Counting on him to come up with a clever ploy, something to get them out of this.
Hojo was going to be disappointed.
"Very well," he said, shrugging. "It looks like we have no other choice. Lead the way."
Hojo glanced sharply at him, and Strife glanced at Hojo. Rufus took that moment of distraction to grab the blade of the buster sword, concentrating and willing the spells to come to him. He visualised them in his mind's eye - the sparkling stars in the depth of materia - visualised it and grabbed at it, drawing energy from that vision as though he held the very materia in his hand.
Something responded. Something in him sang to life, something that had never been there before. His vision splintered green, his eyes stinging momentarily as though on fire, and then he felt the ripple of the bolt spell as it slammed through the blade, racing through the metal and up the hilt.
Strife had no time to react. The spell slammed into him, snapping his head backwards with the force of it, and the air was momentarily tainted with the reek of burning flesh. But where a spell of that strength should have been capable of knocking a SOLDIER off his feet and perhaps killing a lesser man, it only served to make Strife stumble, taking a step back.
Rufus wasted no time. He couldn't concentrate enough to bring another spell to bear, but opted for more physical means instead. His elbow slammed into Strife's neck, and he felt cartilage shift. Light arced past him as Hojo released a fire spell at the Sephiroth clones, and Rufus gathered breath into aching lungs and prepared to run for his life.
He managed a single step. With inhuman speed, Strife kicked his feet out from under him. The blade of the buster sword moved in a blur of silver, and even before he could hit the ground, the flat of the blade caught him in his ribs. He heard a crunch, dimly, even as ribs cracked from the force of the blow, then he was careening backwards through the air. Red and black seemed to burn through his vision as he slammed into a pile of debris, and all his panicked mind could register was that he couldn't breathe.
Bastard re-arranged all my internal organs... somehow, his hand managed to move far enough to clutch at his burning chest, but no matter how hard he tried to suck in a breath, his lungs just couldn't seem to expand. His vision narrowed and expanded crazily, and he heard a crunch as Hojo slammed into the ground not a meter away from him, likely a victim of the same move. Dimly, some part of his mind yelled at him to do something, anything, but his world had narrowed down to burning in his lungs.
One thing at a time. His fingers clawed at skin that didn't seem to register sensation any more, and he couldn't even cough. Nausea washed over him, even as he tried to bludgeon his body into cooperation.
Strife was standing before him, and his face was utterly expressionless as he sheathed the buster sword in its scabbard across his back. He saw Reno step up behind, saw the dangerous smile on the Turk's face, and knew there was no rescue there.
Breathe. Breathe, damnit! And finally, finally, he felt a trickle of air down his throat. Barely enough, but it was something - and the next breath was stronger, and the next. Then he was coughing, retching, curled up pathetically around his broken ribs.
He thought caught something in Reno's eyes then, a flicker of indecision. A shift in the way he stood, perhaps nothing more than the movement of weight from one leg to another. Reno, he said, or tried to say, but his voice wouldn't obey him. He saw the Turk narrow his eyes, then blink as though confused.
"None of this would have happened if you hadn't resisted," Reno said, shrugging a shoulder. "Be a good boy and come along -"
A roar split the air, cutting off anything else that Reno might have said. He heard the familiar rattle of machine guns before bullets slammed into the strip of ground separating them. Reno and Strife leapt back, both glancing to the sky as a familiar looking airship winged past.
The Highwind.
He barely forced the retching under control, swallowing back what tasted like blood. Tried to stand, his fingers scrabbling at the debris for support. He saw a flash of red as someone leapt from the airship, heard the more even reports of a handgun over the din of the machine guns. Saw an oversized shuriken slash past, narrowing missing Kadaj as the Sephiroth-clone stepped aside at the last moment. The Highwind came round for another pass, guns blazing, and two more figures leapt from it.
"Cloud!" one of the figures, female and black-clad, called out. Out of the mists of hazy memory, Rufus dredged up a name - Lockhart, a member of Avalanche. He saw her run towards Strife, and tried to call out a warning. Too late, as Strife whirled, striking back with the buster sword. Lockhart dodged, rolled aside and fell into a fighting crouch, fists raised.
He lost track of both of them then, as the Sephiroth-clones sprang into the action, and then there was a blur of red as something clashed with them, something huge and winged that swept past too rapidly for him to track. Gunshots echoed, and he heard the screech of metal as they impacted on Kadaj's double bladed sword. Another red blur, and the orange of fire, as another creature dashed into the fray. Hojo's escaped specimen, or another of his kind.
He made it to his feet, before his knees buckled and gave out under him. The movement attracted attention, and someone moved towards him. A girl - Wutainese perhaps. She seemed familiar enough, and he struggled to place her, even as her eyes widened in surprise.
"You!" she yelled, and half the combatants on the field glanced in their direction. Shiva, but she was loud...
Speaking was too much of an effort at this point, so he settled for raising an eyebrow. The edge of the shuriken blade was under his chin in a flash, digging in hard enough to draw blood.
"Heh," the girl said, shaking her head slightly. "We all thought you were dead. Never expected to find you here... or as one of those infected..."
"Hardly," he croaked out, hating the weakness in his voice. "No more infected than you are."
That got to her. He saw the surprise in her face, and a name came to him then - Kusaragi? Kurasagi? Kisaragi. Godo's daughter. Princess of Wutai. No wonder she seemed familiar. "You're not infected?" she demanded, stepping forward to peer into his face. "But your eyes are..."
"Exception to the rule," he said. "Along with my companion over there." He glanced at the Highwind as it made another pass, its guns tearing up the ground. There was his ticket out of here. "Would you be so kind... as to take us with you?"
Damn, it sounded pathetic. But he could scarcely think of a better way to say it at this juncture. Kisaragi's eyes narrowed as she considered Hojo, who was apparently still out like a light. "That's... Hojo, isn't it? The hell...?"
"Yuffie," another voice called out, one that Rufus did not recognise. There was a blur of motion, and a stranger stood before them. Rufus' attention was drawn to his eyes first - that deep glowing red that he vaguely recalled having seen once before, another lifetime ago. The rest of the outfit was red too, outlandish, and he had the strangest gauntlet on one arm that Rufus had ever seen.
Kisaragi glanced over, her entire being still radiating suspicion. "What should we do with them?"
The other hesitated. Rufus resisted the urge to grit his teeth, seeing the possibility of rescue slipping away from him. No choice but to marshal what was left of his wits and engage. "How are your relations with Jenova, lately?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as light as possible.
Kisaragi scowled at him, which was all the answer he needed. Not that he'd been expecting anything different.
"Of course," he continued, before either of them had the chance to say a word. "You could always leave us here. Jenova does seem to have a particular interest in us - and I could hazard a few guesses as to just what she wants." He shrugged, one-shouldered. "At the very least, you'll just have another two mindless minions to contend with... but at worst..." He gave them both a very thin smile. "You could be handing her the very key she needs to secure her victory."
"Don't you think you're over-rating yourself, Shinra?" Kisaragi snapped.
Another pass by the Highwind, another flash of steel and the roar of more bullets in the background made speech momentarily impossible. They locked gazes instead, and somewhere behind Kisaragi, the area was momentarily brightened by the flash of fire spells.
"What does Jenova require?" he asked, when the noise had died down somewhat.
"How the heck would I-" Kisaragi's eyes narrowed abruptly. "Mako. You would give that to her, you-"
"Or the information as to whereabouts of Shinra's stores could be extracted by force," her companion said softly. "It matters not... it does appear that we have no choice but to take him with us. And ... Hojo also."
Kisaragi looked like she was about to protest. She glanced at her companion, who only stared back evenly. Annoyed, Kisaragi scuffed her foot in the dirt and huffed, "Fine then," she said, shrugging as though it were of no consequence. "But when Barret blows his top, you can go explain it to him!"
Her companion hatched a tiny smile, barely visible beneath the edge of the cape he wore. Wordlessly, he extended a hand - not the clawed one - stooping to pull Rufus to his feet. Memory stirred as Rufus glanced again at the red eyes, but as he tried to chase the strands down, they eluded his grasp.
"We must be gone," the man said. "We cannot hold them off for long."
Even as he uttered the words, an explosion ripped through the air, sending debris flying and flames shooting to the sky. There were yells, and what might have been a scream. The creature with the flaming tail came dashing back, followed more slowly by Lockhart, who kept glancing towards the direction of the blast.
"Back!" the creature said, gasping for breath. A massive gash on its side leaked red, and Lockhart had an arm wrapped protectively around her ribs. "They are too strong - they have Cloud too strongly in their grasp, we cannot get through to him at all-" Its gaze lighted on Rufus, and Rufus thought he read surprise in its expression.
"He's coming with us," Kisaragi said, even as she waved the Highwind over.
Lockhart compressed her lips into a line, but didn't object. The Highwind came in lower, dropped a ladder, and hovered. Hands shoved Rufus towards it, and he lingered long enough to see them bundle Hojo up. Sparing a glance towards the inferno that was cutting the Sephiroth-clones off from immediate pursuit, he strained to catch a glimpse of Reno, but the Turk was nowhere in sight. Gritting his teeth, he shoved away the twisting pain of loss, and scrambled up the ladder. And tried convince himself that the burn in his chest was nothing but his broken ribs.
--
Notes:
Sorry about the long delay between chapters. There might be another delay between now and Chapter 9 - but that's because I'm trying to get a significant number of chapters written before I start publishing them in earnest. This is probably a good place to stop (better than Chapter 7, anyway!).
Thank you all for your incredible patience with me - I do intend to finish this fic and the outline is mapped from start to finish. Cliche though it may be - I have to say that I really wouldn't have the incentive to finish this if not for all the support and understanding I've received from readers (and you not least of all :). I can only hope the wait has been worthwhile.
- Elvaron, April 2011
In the meantime, have a teaser:
Spoilers ahoy
Rufus found himself returned to the cabin as Avalanche discussed his fate and Hojo's. Cait brought him his meals, but left, looking subdued. Perhaps Reeve's mood was rubbing off on him - Rufus had never known the obnoxious little robot to be anything less than hyperactive.
He paced the length of the cabin, too restless to sit. His thoughts scattered over the globe, between Midgar and Junon and Reno and then to the rest of the Turks, to Hojo and to Reeve and to the rest of the executives. To his father, who was doubtless laughing in whatever hell he had ended up at what a screw up his boy was. With a scowl, he shoved that thought aside, and turned on his heel. Ten steps down. Turn again. Ten steps up.
Glancing at his hand, he tried to recall the feel of materia magic swirling around it. While it was a useful skill, it concerned him more than any supposed infection. Shinra had experimented - extensively - on its SOLDIERs in an attempt to breed one that could use magic without wielding materia. The attempts had all failed, sometimes with grotesque results, and his father had eventually been convinced to cut funding to the project.
Most of the attempts, he recalled, had been by way of mako infusion, and when that alone had failed, they had attempted to graft materia into the bodies of the test subjects-
--he froze, thinking of chips of materia scattered on a tabletop, casting a sickly glow over the room.
The long scar on his leg throbbed.
He was still dressed in the clothes that he had salvaged from that wreck of a house. He yanked up his trouser leg, looking at the scar that had formed over what had formerly been neat stitching. Ran a hand down the length of it, and felt hard knobs under his finger tips.
A chill ran down his spine.
There had been gashes on his arms too, he recalled, and pulled back his sleeve. There, on either sides of the inner elbow - he felt two more hard objects embedded in the muscle, overlaid by scars. Each of them was distinct, half an inch in diameter, and nothing short of surgery was going to get them out.
"Hojo," he hissed, as his very breath seemed to freeze in his throat. "You bastard."
*