V Fallen from Grace

[Sephiroth]

An eon of agony stretched across me as I felt the final blow strike my body. In that moment, as the familiar sword dug deep into my ascended form, I could feel my strength seep away from me. The individual cells failing, dying, the very life stripped away as they could no longer sustain me from the grievous wounds. I was slowly drifting from the planet, the endless uncaring void of nothing pulled me away from the lifestream. As my senses failed I stared at my foe with the last vestiges of my will. My focus failed to tell his companions apart, but he stood in stark defiance of the void. His frame was thin, young, almost frail, but his intense eyes stared back with the shining light of mako. Not with contempt, nor with fear, but with relief. He finally knew peace, where I would soon find only the bleak blackness of death as even my hold over his mind was sundered.

I attempted to reach out with my arm to give one last harrowing blow. The once student of one I knew the closest, a mere toad to the damnable despoilers of the planet. A weakling I had seen broken when he found despair, now rose against me in my triumphant moment against humanity and its failures. But I could summon nothing, no words would leave my throat to cry out against fate nor any strength as my body tore to pieces and fell away.

I closed my eyes, holding to some dignity in my last moments. Though I could feel the gift of my biology struggling in vain to complete its purpose, I left this world . Perhaps Meteor shall complete at least my vengeances against them, but even as I was pushed out of the planet I could feel something stirring against it. In the end I had failed, and I embraced sleep.

But it was not the end for me. For that is not dead which can eternal lie. And with strange aeons even death may die.

---

The screams behind her grew distant as she fled into the mesa, but the marching footsteps only grew closer. The smell of smoke clung to her nose like soot to her clothes, hot tears streaking by her cheeks. She fled the inferno that steals her home, but the monsters who lit it ablaze were hot on her heels. Her hope lied in the sword she held in her arms, impossibly long and heavy to use. She could not use it to fight yet she clutched desperately to her destination.

A cave on the outside of town, dangerous and forbidden by the words of her elders, with legends that within resides an angel. One that had descended long ago, left in stone beautiful as an ancient statue. The weapon she carried was left before it, stuck upright into the ground. She was told it must have had some significance, but that was to be figured by the parents. Not for her to worry about in her carefree youth. But as she scampered up the slope of loose gravel, an unpleasant fall scraping the skin of her arm and her legs, there was no other choice for her.

“Come back here, doll!” a yell behind her from one of her pursuers. Raiders, half crazed from the beating sun. She did not know what reason they had to burn down her peaceful home, but she knew she couldn’t not stop. “Running is only going to tire you out!” Another shouts, a wild cackling laughter followed from the three men. She pushed harder up the hill, moving faster as fear gave her new strength. Blood ran down her scrapes, dirt and grime mix into the shallow wounds, but it was a small pain compared to what would happen if she failed.

The cave was in front of her, the mid morning sun beaming behind her to offer some visibility. She fled inside, the coolness of the interior an insignificant relief. The hard stone tore at her shoes, the pitter patter of her running echoing in a deafening roar. Indistinguishable from the rock around it in the dark, the light pierced it’s frame from a crack in the chimney of the cave to reveal it. She got close she was left in shock as she got full sight of the angel, her steps slowing as she admired the stunning figure.

He was handsome, long hair draped over his naked chest. His gaze was piercing even in stone, yet sad, as if from some dark life. She sees the wings that proved his divinity… but why were there so many, scattered across the ground bar one that rose significantly up from his right shoulder where an arm should be. Was it lost when he fell from the heavens, broken as he came to the earth? She couldn’t help but watch him, wondering.

But the clattering behind her told her she had no such time for it. They were here, their laughter now booming from the echo. She desperately lifted the sword up, struggling against its weight . Surely, it was this magic sword that must free the angel from his prison. What else would it be here for? She lifted the weapon with the last of her might, resting it’s blue handle into the awaiting hand of the statue, where it seemed almost to fit perfectly. She looked back, seeing the three men nearing close with horrid glee on their face. They only stopped to see the sword and the statue holding it, staring down at them uncaringly. There was a moment of pause, before their smiles turned to mocking pity at the girl’s false hope.

She looked back at the statue, its features unchanging. She felt despair creeping over her. Her hope shaken, terror digging into the very skin. Had she simply been a fool? Was she going to die here, bloodied and tired in the sight of a mere statue? Her hands grabbed into the sword, one hand digging into the blade in a horrible pain while the other hand desperately grabbed at the handle. Her cries became manic, her desire beyond reason to ignore her cruel fate. There had to be something. Anything! As she gripped the weapon tightly, her scream drowned out all else as the men began to encircle her.

Then a green glow began to radiate from an orb set in Masamune, unnoticed by the others, as it wills to revive its master.

 

[Sephiroth]

It came back suddenly. Reality. Life. Senses. I felt will again as the body struggled against its prison. A layer of stone pressed against my skin, flaking off with every new breath. A weakness infected my body, my strength sapped away. Anger at this revelation took a moment before reseeding. It was a small payment to live again, to be given another chance. In my hand I felt something familiar, the handle of masamune. The excellent craftsmanship, honed by decades of battle to fit my hand perfectly. I pushed myself forward, a violent affair that sent stone scattering to the floor. Light blinded me for a moment, the sun striking my face as I was born again. My sword hand was free, and with a wrenching push I emerged from the stone that contained me.

Around me were four others. One was a young woman, teenage and weak, blood running down her hand and tears in her face. She was in a mix of horror and elation, looking up to me as if she was seeing god. The others, boorish men looking too rugged and unkempt to be anything but bandits, taken aback in confusion when before they had seemed to control the scene. From confusion to threatening, as those with little mind often did when confronted with something greater than them, as they raised their weapons against me. A fatal mistake.

“What the fuc-?” One with a ramshackle rifle exclaimed before being cut short as I rushed forward. My steps lagged behind the unbridled power I had at my peak, but I was still faster than the dull creature ahead of me. Masamune raised to my side and I thrusted it forward, the tip of the sword piercing through his chest with ease. Blood dripped out of his mouth, his weapon dropped from his hand as an attempt to pull the sword from his body. To no avail, as I raised him up from the ground, a slight struggle for me as he found his feet dangling above the ground. The others recoiled back in horror as they watched their skewered companion slowly give their last breath at the end of my weapon.

Armed with a machete, another attempted to charge me down with scream fury, vengeance in his eyes as he seeked to drive his rusted chopper into my skull. A flick of my hand dropped the corpse down to the side, my other hand gripped Masamune, and with a short swing I cleaved the man from his shoulder down to his side. The two halves fell to the ground with a wet thud, viscera and offal splattering the stone floor. I pulled Masamuse back, flicking the blood away as I turned to the last.

A bullet punched into my ribs, the last bandit holding up his junk pistol. The gunshot flew across the cavern in a deafen wave, leaving me in nauseating pain as I lost my footing. I collapsed to the ground, knocking the breath out of my lungs. A shout of “NO!” from the woman behind me followed after, but my focus was on the enemy ahead of me. I was furious, my teeth grinding together and my fist clenched. Not towards the bandit, he was barely worth notice. It had been so long since I fought on such a low level, I had made an amateur's mistake. It was a hard reminder that I was no longer at my peak, nor connected to the lifestream. I could not afford to be careless. I had to end this now.

I focused on the grip of Masamune, summoning it’s power. The materia inside was still there, though it’s power was as weak as I was. But it was enough. The bandit stalked forward with a toothy grin, a jingle of his scrap armor with each taunting step. But with a shift of my hand, a purple aura formed around him and in an instant he was violently slammed into the stone ground. A frightened yell came as he tried to push himself up, fighting against the power of Demi.

I slowly arose to standing, pushing past the pain. I managed to reach full height before he could, and I looked down on him as he weakly tried to raise his pistol. I brought my blade behind me, and followed with a wide arc down on the bridgend. Sparks flew as I cleaved through the stone ceiling with the tip of Masamune, stone chips and dust raining down upon me, and decapitated the last bandit before he could finally pull the trigger.

I stood before the carnage around me, the first to die by my hands in this new world. I eventually glanced over to the lady that was left huddled behind a stalagmite, widened eye at the sight of me.

“I need medical attention” I said, slow enough that my calm could perhaps pass to her. “I need clothes-” And a sudden wave of nausea came over me as the pain began to overtake the adrenaline and forced my stomach up. Some wad of black ichor was spat across the floor, with dry heaves close behind. “...and I will need water and food.” Judging by the nod she gave me she understood and fled out of the cave.

I slowly laid down, waiting for help to arrive, and I felt the warmth of the earth below me. Left in pain, but I once again had time. Time to rest, and time to plan. Destiny awaited, and my time would be soon at hand.

 

[Sephiroth]

I remained close to the ground, the light of the sun shifting slowly across the cavern floor as the day passed without thought. I pressed into the bullet wound with my hand, pain bolting through me but it would keep me alive for long enough. It couldn’t have been more than a half hour when I heard the shifting of dirt and rock outside as more people drew near. Gritting my teeth I rose up to my knees, clutching at Masamune. Should more of those robbers come to prey over a weakened foe, they would be sorely mistaken. Even bloodied and unsteady, they would only find the end of my blade. If it wasn’t… that remained to be seen.

I rubbed my thumb along the guard of my sword, and stared where the materia resided. Though I could feel the concentrated Mako within the weapon, it seemed their power had waned. Could their connection to the lifestream be weakened or severed by my banishment? Perhaps this wasn’t Gaia, the lifestream intrinsic to my home was perhaps not universal to this land, or it had been simply drained away by greed. Otherwise I could have simply rid myself of this wound with a simple cast of Cure and rid myself of the place in turn. I would have to search for the answers elsewhere, and I refocused on the cave entrance.

The girl appeared over the lip of the hill, her haggard appearance contracting with the excitement of her movement. Her hands balled up and lifted to her shoulders as she ran, a smile on her face while her hair bounced with every stride. Shortly behind her were two men slowly navigating the climb. One a stout man reddened from days of work in the sun, the other wizened with a mess of white hair on his chin and the silhouette of his bones at his skin. Both seemed drained, sour looks as they tolerated their companion’s insistence. It turned to disbelief and awe as they saw me, kneeled on the ground, very much real.

“I told you, I told you!” The woman said as she gripped the older man’s arm and tugged him deeper into the cave, nearly knocking him over in her urgency. The elder started to fish a yellowed bag from behind him, a faded red cross painted across it.

“Now now, Marline, I’m going as fast as my old bones can’t, don’t want to fix up two people.” The presumed medic chided ‘Marline’ as he made his way over. I had hoped for someone with steadier looking hands, but I was in no position to make demands. He kneeled close to me, adjusting his glasses as if he still questioned what he saw. His sight eventually leveled to the bloody wound at my chest, slowly taking out a bottle and needle from the bag. “This isn’t your first time getting shot, I see.”

“I don’t remember” I lied to his face, keeping stoic even as he began to draw a clear liquid with the needle. The truth would certainly turn them against me, and keeping them placated better served my goals. With my origin shrouded by the myth of their own creation, playing the role of an amnesic protector was a simple enough means to give them calm and avoid questions. Neither of the adults had their attention on me, and Marline’s starstruck adoration of me made it clear she would accept anything I said.

I glanced back, the stout man had passed by the three of us to examine the remains of my stone encasement. Though seemingly simpleminded, he examined where I had freed myself and the corpses strewed about with a clear purpose. I could see his eyes follow the blood stains I had left across the cavern walls and his brows furrowed in thought. Worrying, I didn’t need interlopers this soon.

“Are you the father,” I asked aloud, drawing his focus to me, “of this fair maiden who awoke me?” I looked at Marline, who blushed and shyly giggled as she quickly found something else to stare at.

“Oh, yes, she’s my honey pumpkin. Whoever you are, I have to thank you!” He said, and I could see the resemblance more in their shared enthusiasm. “To even think of what could have happened if you weren’t there…”

“It was nothing.” I replied, flinching slightly as the needle plunged into my chest. The pain slowly slid away into an ethereal dullness, and I laid down onto the rigid stone as surgical tools were placed near me. “A small payment to walk and breathe again.”

“Nonsense. It’s a blood debt I’ll pay, for saving my daughter’s life. I’m Marco. At least give me a name.”

“Sephiroth.” I answered, a slow and purposeful tone, no uncertainty left bare. “I am Sephiroth.”

 

[Sephiroth]

The bullet rested in my hand once I was propped against the stout man’s shoulder, fresh bandages wrapped around my chest. Standing on my own two feet would have been preferred, but I wasn’t given a choice in the matter. Between the debilitating effect of the anesthetics and the flaring pain of the newly stitched wound, walking was a trial. Marco seemed incapable of understanding the refusal of his help, and I finally took the offer in reluctance. They were befuddled when I had asked to keep the bullet, that I had said it was a keepsake. A reminder of my weakness, until I am strong enough again. My hands balled up even as I thought of it, victory so close in my hands then to almost die ingloriously in a strange land.

From here I had far to go, but I had already made the first steps.

From out of the cave, I saw their home. A village not unlike many that had dotted beyond the walls of Midgar, rustic formation made mostly from the reliable earthen materials nearby with hints of some previous industrial support. All marred with striking scars and burns from some previous battle, dying smoke rising up from one of the larger wooden buildings laid in ruin.

Standing above the adobe dwellings stood the stone spire, peaked with some symbol unknown to me. It stood attached to a cobblestone building, the largest of the buildings laid in the heart of the town. Its purpose was of no interest to me, but a crowd had encircled the courtyard around it. Many laid across the sparse grass, clutching wounds and in the hands of others. Others dropped to their knees, in mourning. This was more damage than a mere three bandits could have caused.

“Go.” I spoke shortly, the three around me looking up to me. I glanced at the two men, giving a solemn look. “You are both needed elsewhere, and I’m sure Marline can take me the rest of the way.” The girl hid her blush, while the two men stared back to the town. With a look to each other the two set off ahead, leaving me and the girl behind. I raised Masumane up to rest on my shoulder, letting the sun reflect off its blade. Marline rested her arms on mine, a pitiful job supporting me on her waif frame as we headed down farther towards the stone building.

“What is this place?” I asked, placing a hand to my forehead as if some great pain sheared my mind. Her reaction was expected, her interest shining through her eyes. She was easy to sway. A useful trait.

“This is the town of Twinmine, on Mesa Roja.” She explained, her smile beaming as she attempted to feed me information. I could only guess the meaning of the names. “It’s a wonderful home,” she exclaimed, before her smile faded to a smoldering grimace, “was.”

“I’m sure it will regrow from the ashes” I gave some reassuring words, meaningless platitudes passed on as I started to move down towards the ruined town. The girl kept close; her step slowed as she carefully maneuvered the path down. ”There’s a fog in my mind, and after that battle, it’s only grown”

“The church has a library, and I’m sure Father Mathew would let you use the spare bed after what you did.” Marline offered, pointing to the stone building. Despite my recent awakening, rest was welcome.

But my eyes were drawn to a brief light off towards one of the rolling hills that the town rested in the middle of. Though at the edge of my sight, movement of some speck slowly shuffled over the crest of the hill, the light disappearing with it. Someone had taken interest in the raid that befell this town, and I was sure they would show themselves all too soon. Perhaps there was more here than the sleepy town seemed, threads to pull to my own purposes. I held Masumane close as a small smile grew on my face, and plans started to form.

 

[Sephiroth]

Nights passed uneventfully within the crowded confines of the church, the spartan accommodations of the guest room ill fit for my current state. My wound left me impaired within the stone room; left aching and twisting as I laid in the cot provided, the only comfort that I had been left to myself. Yet the library Marline had spoken of was more than adequate for my needs. To collect more tomes from the vault of knowledge had been the only reason I left the room, and my time was consumed leafing through their pages.

The Crossroads. Not merely some planet, a whole system of civilizations that could cross the desolate void of space. I couldn’t help but laugh, that bloated parasite Palmer’s space program had something to it the whole time! I would not merely be restricted to this dust bowl “Mesa Roja”, and as I gathered more information pieces I felt a growing strength in fate. I had been cast away from one planet of misbegotten life, and I had been given more to enact my destiny.

However, recovering my former power was a higher priority.

I watched the town's routine from the secluded room of the church, a small stained glass window depicting some revered figure bathed in the light of a faceless being. While being pierced through the chest by a multitudes of iron spikes. Despite the craftsman's attempt to draw the viewer to the martyr's pensive look or the crying figures edging the bottom of the window, my focus laid out to the streets outside. A quiet people with a quiet life, hard fought against the arid and desolate desert that surrounded them. Horses trotted across hardened earth alongside the people, the most advanced things they had were simple firearms at their side and rusted machines left caked with dust and grime. Simple. Dated. “Rustic”. Crude. I would be limited in my pursuits here, but I had nothing but time on my hands.

I heard footsteps nearing the guest room, my charge coming to check on me. I quickly hobbled back over to the bed, winces of pain following every step, and managed to lay across the mattress before the door opened up to reveal the host of this center of faith. His attire was a simple black suit, white poking out from the collar and wrist, and short hair neatly kept and filled with aging white and grays. He gently closed the wooden door behind him, turning back to me once the door was closed, looking towards me with a stoic gaze yet eyes still filled with life despite his apparent age. Father Mathew, or Dean as he’s insisted I call him, had acted to be my keeper as I recovered from my wound. In the week I had been here, his off time was spent either to ensure my continued recovery or filling blanks of knowledge within my research. Though perhaps he had thought it as philosophical discourse and small talk. Not unwelcome, I had not such a delightful chance for conversation since my days in the SOLDIER programs. Welcome to keep my mind focused, but ultimately another resource to be spent.

Father Mathew walked over with a solemn pace, slow yet purposeful, his eyes watching carefully with a precise scrutiny as he looked to where I had been spying out the window back to my cot. It was galling, to be under that piercing gaze, seen through by the seasoned clergyman. I was left to wonder what else he knew and remain on defense. Simply remain calm. There was no need to take action yet.

“Here to check my bandages again?” I asked, trying to keep his attention elsewhere. His stern gaze softened to a warm smile, though I was no less on guard.

“I am, though I’ve heard that *rest* can do far more than mere gauze can.” He spoke in a gentle tone as he moved over, his eyes sweeping over to where I had been watching, before moving to check the wound. I was left silent, stunned by his awareness and left to spin some tale together.

“Though I have so much to distract myself with, I find myself restless” I answered, tapping at the bedding nervously. “I feel as if I’m meant to do something.”

“You will do so in time, there’s no need to stress yourself.” Mathew advised as he washed the wound changed the bandages out for fresh ones, though there was little to fear at this point. “I do believe there is a purpose for you being here, but I also enjoy our chats. You have almost cleared out the shelfs, and you have an extraordinarily sharp mind.”

“You think I have some purpose?” I parroted, though the idea he could even being to comprehend my grand destiny was worth a wry smile.

“Everyone does. You, I, the people here, the animals. All are here for a reason. Surely, you came in a moment when you were needed most, that cannot be any coincidence.” he postulated, more oh his philosophical musings.

“Even the bandits that attacked this town? They do not have any purpose other than to die” I brought up, wincing a little as he tied the fresh bandages.

“Though strange to us, they too have a purpose. In the end, we all have a use.”

On that I could agree.

As he finished his task, his eyes seemed to trace back to the window I had been spying from. A split moment later I heard it too: an engine, too clean to be from here. He slowly stepped to it, searching for something as he scanned the streets. I pushed myself up, leaning against the wall, and attempted to see what he saw. A black sedan, armored plated fitted with more thought to form that purpose, parked in view of the window. Standing opposite was Marco, face redder than before and with some of the other town folk hobbled behind him. From the car a small, insignificant man stood against them, held with an undeserved swagger and flanked by two cronies that towered over him. I did not need to hear what they were saying to know how the meeting went, as Marco’s animated body language at the weasel’s conceited clam. Textbook scene from Shinra’s playbook.

“Who is he?” I asked innocently enough, though any name I heard was not worth hearing.

“Wrel Kingly. He represents a mining operation out here in the badlands. Has been offering deals to the town for weeks. Tear up the whole place, if he could.”

“Does he have a purpose too?” I ask, holding back a snide smile as I did, and Father Mathew was silent.

“You do not need to worry yourself about him. Marco has made it very clear he will not sell, and I don’t think he will change his mind. Get your rest.” And with that conversation ceased, worry ruined his previously calm demeanor. He hurried to the door, before halting. “I’ll bring you something to eat later, I think Marco will want to talk to me.”

“Good luck then.” I answered and slipped back to laying down on the cot. I had been given an opportunity, for I knew such small men could not help themselves to strike deals when their prize was dangled before them. I had not much to offer, but I knew what to look for, and there was nothing for me to lose and all to gain.

The same will not be said for them in the end.