Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Project S was going to change the course of history. 

Doctor Gast slowly drummed his fingers along the thick file on his side of the table, pages upon pages of research into his magnum opus. His eyes were withered and weary from a long night of no sleep. How could he bring himself to slumber when he was so close? 

He knew his health was important, for he'd not be able to work at his best without sufficient rest. But no matter how much he’d urged himself to remain in bed, seal his eyes shut, and let his mind drift away– Project S had utterly ensnared him. 

His other two colleagues were sat at the table, a slim man named Professor Marcus Hojo– an ambitious scientist who rose the ranks of the Shinra Corp’s science division at an alarmingly high rate– and Professor Lucrecia Crescent– a top biotechnologist with countless credentials, eager to pursue her passions in science. 

They’d all seen the proof. Jenova, that strange being dragged out from frozen dirt, was an ‘Ancient’- referred to as Cetra in more professional fields. Every single test had shown it to be so. And now, with backing from the Shinra corporation, they were given the funds to conduct an experiment to resurrect this extinct race through the power of genetic engineering. Construct the one who shall converse with the planet, as the Cetra once had thousands of years ago, so they may lead humanity to the so-called ‘promised land’. 

Gast had no right to refuse this. Whether the myth of the promised land was to be taken literally or metaphorically, the existence of someone who could speak to the planet would be invaluable to science. Yes, they’d be living under Shinra– but this was for the sake of a greater good. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, so they say. 

What started as the Jenova Project had now birthed Project S. 

“I’ll do it,” Lucrecia whispered softly. 

Doctor Gast frowned, leaning forward from his chair. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can offer a foetus for Project S.” 

Doctor Gast was silent for a few moments. It was rare for him to be shocked by something– and perhaps it was too strong a word to describe his current state– but this willingness to get one’s own flesh and blood involved was certainly a surprise. He glanced at Hojo, trying to search for whatever emotion was in the beady eyes half-hidden by his dark glasses. All he saw was the grin he was all too familiar with; a mask Hojo always wore to hide his true feelings. Gast suspected, however, that the grin was not actually incongruent with the professor’s thoughts. 

Lucrecia reached her hand to Hojo’s and intertwined her fingers with his own– he stiffened. Gast’s brow twitched upwards. 

“You, ah, have conceived?” 

"No,” Lucrecia shook her head. “But I am willing to do so for the sake of this project.” 

She looked back at Hojo, and Gast wondered if she was attempting to please him. 'Science is above all’ was a phrase the professor liked to repeat. 

“We’ve been together for a few months now, so there won’t be the issue of searching for a father.” 

Hojo groaned quietly, rubbing his forehead. Gast could tell he’d not wanted her to say that; for whatever reason, he’d noticed the professor was extremely private about his personal life. All Gast knew was that Hojo was a man who ascended from the slums when all the odds were against him, that his fascination with science was all-consuming, and that he did not like to interact too personally with others– it seems Lucrecia became an exception to that. 

“I see,” Gast offered the couple a polite smile, noting that Hojo’s cheeks had flushed a light shade of red. “I admire your dedication, Professor Lucrecia, but you must understand– this is an experiment. We have been commissioned by Shinra to do this on their terms. You are a brilliant scientist, there is no doubt of it– but we have access to willing donors already, so I’ve heard.” 

He sighed. 

“I fear you cannot afford to get attached to the subject. Regardless of who their parents shall be, they are Project S. Donors may have compelling motives to give up their child, perhaps a need for money or such. But you , Lucrecia, you are truly willing to give your own offspring to this experiment for the sake of... what, exactly?” 

“Science,” Hojo interrupted.  

Lucrecia had been about to answer the question, but her partner (my, Doctor Gast would have to get used to this development) already knew what to say. She shut her mouth and looked down at her feet, nodding in agreement. 

“Is that not motive enough, my boy?” he cackled. 

“ Doctor Gast,” the older scientist corrected, a soft sigh huffed from his nostrils. 

“Yes, Doctor Gast, my apologies,” Hojo cackled. “But surely, it’s understandable why one may be willing to make sacrifices for the sake of something that is truly greater– and not some fleeting materialistic need.” 

Professor Hojo leaned back on his chair, the unsettling (yet strangely charismatic) crooked grin spreading across his pallid face. 

“Besides, I frankly believe it is more logical for Project S to be the offspring of two great scientists than the spawn of some wretched derelict from the slums. It would be more likely to carry above-average cognitive capabilities, and I have no doubt Shinra will find that useful.” 

Gast wondered for a moment why Hojo always seemed to hold such bitterness for the people of the slums, when they hailed from the very place that he’d arisen from. And he most certainly did not like the tone with which the professor spoke regarding these people in an unfortunate situation. He of anyone should understand that greatness could come from anywhere, considering his own roots. 

But the doctor did not express his distaste for Hojo’s words. He remained stoic, pushing his delicate glasses up his nose and scratching his moustache. 

“I see...” he murmured in a quiet voice. “Professor Lucrecia, you understand what this procedure would involve, correct? Jenova’s genetic samples will be injected into Project S while they are still in your womb. There may be unforeseen side effects, perhaps even a risk of death.” 

Doctor Gast bit his lip. He knew he could not allow personal opinions to get in the way of this experiment, but he could not help but hope that, somehow, he could change Lucrecia’s mind about this. She was one of the best scientists he knew, a wonderful and passionate character– he knew such a sacrifice could break that, even if she refused to see it so. 

“I am aware of the risks,” she nodded, eyes hardened with sincerity. “This is what I wish for. I, of my own free volition, consent to all necessary procedures for the sake of Project S.” 

“Now, now, let’s not be so hasty,” Hojo chuckled, his hand squeezing hers back. “There is still a process of approval we must go through, petty paperwork and evaluations. But I have no doubt you, my dear, shall have the honour of conceiving Project S.” 

His grin widened, almost looking like it was splitting his face in two. 

“And I am sure we can all agree it shall be our greatest achievement yet.” 

The doctor sighed and forced himself to smile. Was he allowing personal feelings to cloud his judgement? He knew that, without a doubt, he’d not be so hesitant were the conceiver a woman he did not know, some ‘derelict of the slums’ as Hojo had so eloquently put it. It was just that Lucrecia had potential, real potential– and the idea of something going wrong and impacting her prospectives as a biotechnologist was one he despised to consider. Her ambitions were admirable, in many ways she reminded him of himself. But to give up one’s own child to science, for the sake of ambition and ambition alone... he could not help but question if she had truly assessed the risks of an emotional attachment. 

Well. Who was he to stand in the way of such dedication? 

“Doctor,” Lucrecia called to him in a soft voice. “It will be all right. Just think, in a little over nine months, we shall have a human-cetra hybrid. The project will be a success. The specimen will, eventually, give us– and Shinra– all the knowledge one could ever crave. Just think of it, Doctor Gast– to communicate with the planet Gaia itself. It could speak of things we’ve never even dreamed of!” 

Doctor Gast smiled at the professor’s words. And for just a moment, he caught one on Hojo too– not one of his plastered sneers, but a genuine smile; the corners of his lips quirked up into a little beam. How strange it was, to see such an expression on Professor Hojo– even if it only lasted a split second. 

“We all know Shinra seeks monetary gain,” Professor Hojo spoke, the lens of his glasses reflecting both of his colleagues. “Endless resources in the promised land; such a single-minded endeavour. They fail to see the value that knowledge itself can bring.” 

“They are blind to it,” Doctor Gast muttered. “But it matters not. We are the ones leading this project. Though Shinra has its own interests, it is not incongruent with our wish for knowledge. So, Professor Hojo, Professor Lucrecia.” 

The doctor stood up, acknowledging them both with a respectful nod. 

“We will make sure that Project S will change the world forever.” 

Chapter Text

The flames were all around her. An inferno that screamed and consumed all in its path. Wooden houses collapsed into piles of burning remains. Malformed figures of ashen flesh fell to their knees, wailing for a mercy that would never come, their hollow eyes melting away in the heat.  

Lucrecia had fallen, begging for it to stop. For these poor people to run. But they never heard her, it was as if she didn’t exist– and it always ended the same way. The flames. The screams. The suffering.  

And in the middle of it all stood his ethereal presence. Long, silver hair of a gentle stream flowing over the violent flames. A black coat donned upon a powerful, beastly frame. As everyone and everything screeched and burned, he was completely untouched. The inferno did not dare harm him.  

With unnatural grace, he twirled and danced with a blade longer than he was tall, cutting down anyone who tried to run from his fury. Some died instantly, a head severed from their shoulders, or a blade of steel piercing their heart. But most died in agony, bleeding out from the gaping wound of a missing arm, or grasping at their own intestines spilled from torn-open bellies.  

Lucrecia begged him to stop, but he’d not listen. All he knew was rage, and all he did was kill. It was only when there was no one left to eviscerate, when every single person lay crumpled in a pool of their own blood, that he paused. His fingers tapped thoughtfully at the hilt of his blade, and he began to turn.  

The thin hairs at the back of Lucrecia’s neck stood on end as she caught only a glimpse of his pale face, half-obscured by the long strands that dripped from his silver mane. She could only watch and cower, tears burning into her cheeks as she froze.   

His eyes were like nothing she’d ever seen. Filled with a frigid rage that burned brighter than any of the flames billowing around him. Glowing intensely in the night as two pinpricks; a green hue framing slit pupils that seemed more reptilian than they did human. Frighteningly beautiful and beautifully frightening.  

Before her towered a dragon of death, divinity and despair; and she was but a helpless insect scrutinised under his gaze.  

A pain throbbed in her torso. She clutched at her stomach, hitching a sob as she shut her eyes and kept a hand over the child that had been growing within her for the past nine months. However futile it was, she’d do all in her power to protect her son from the beast’s burning rage.  

But, upon opening her eyes... she was no longer greeted by the sight of those haunting orbs. Nor did she feel the heat of flames licking at her fingertips, or the warmth of blood spilled from the innocents around her. Around her were neatly tiled walls, and before her a toilet she was leaning over. The village of Nibelheim had not been tainted by a single flicker, and the mansion housing her was secure.  

Her hand shot up from her stomach and covered her mouth as she gagged, beads of sweat trickling down her reddened forehead.  

You’re safe, Lucrecia thought to herself, the bitter taste of bile rising in her mouth. You’re safe. Sephiroth is safe. The village is fine.  

She coughed, bearing much of her weight on a single moist hand barely managing to grip the toilet seat. Her sides heaved with rapid breaths as she urged her heart towards calm.   

‘Unforeseen side effects’ indeed, she sighed, thinking back to the meeting with Doctor Gast. If only there had been a way to know that those side effects would involve horrifying, violent visions from the moment of her child’s conception. They had been subtle at first, lasting only a few seconds during the first few months– a bit of blood on the wall here, a flicker of a flame there– slightly disturbing, yes, but not something she couldn’t deal with. She did not expect, however, for them to become full-blown hallucinations, so vivid and frightening that they had occasionally caused her to fall unconscious. She hoped this would not impact her child’s development– and, as far as they could tell, his growth had been healthy so far. More than healthy, in fact.  

Child... she pondered, biting her lower lip. Doctor Gast re-entered her mind, specifically his words of warning regarding the potential of her emotional attachment to the specimen. She’d tried, she truly had– in fact, such detachment had been easy for the first few months. But as this life, (((her son))) , had grown within her very flesh, and she began to feel his every movement, every little shift and turn... it only grew more and more difficult. She still forced such emotions out of her mind, for she could not afford to think of him as her son, but as ‘Project S’, ‘Project Sephiroth’, ‘the specimen’ and so on.  

Many had doubted this experiment. Though Doctor Gast did not speak it directly to her, she could see it in his eyes that he had hesitations with her being the mother. Her once good friend and assigned bodyguard, Vincent Valentine, had been one of the few to explicitly tell her that this was wrong . But how could he speak so? He was no scientist; he’d not be able to truly comprehend the good this project would bring to the world. Yes, she was willing to create and experiment upon her own child if it was for the sake of something so much greater– a choice not so difficult when one weighed up the pros and cons.  

(((Even now... you still have doubts))).  

She gritted her teeth and hauled herself up onto her legs. It was still painful, she just noticed– like knife-tipped fingers were gripping at her abdomen. Her breath shuddered. Was this a precursor to another hallucination, or could it be...?  

Could it be that it was time?  

She stumbled from the lavatory, leaning on the walls for support. Her fingers pressed against her stomach; the pain was only growing in intensity. There was no doubt about it now, today would be the day Project S would come into the world.  

The morning was still early. As she called for Professor Hojo and he came running, a small group of doctors escorted them down to the mansion’s basement in organised fashion. They laid her out upon a makeshift bed; it was uncomfortable, but Lucrecia was far more focused on the growing bursts of throbbing pain around her abdomen. Indeed, it would be within Nibelheim’s very mansion that Sephiroth would be born.  

The birthing process took hours. Though Lucrecia was administered a variety of different drugs to aid with it all, her cries never seemed to stop. No matter what the doctors gave her, it seemed to have little– if any– affect with the pain. Day turned to night as the sun began to set and grey clouds gathered over the town, shrouding it under a blanket of darkness. Lucrecia’s cries mixed with the sound of crashing thunder that shook the walls of the room. Professor Hojo noticed as the process was reaching its climax and approached to hold her hand, giving it a squeeze.  

Lucrecia’s vocal cords felt torn and tattered during the final few contractions– but finally, her child was freed. She whimpered with ragged breath, legs trembling as she watched the doctors gather around him and obscure her view of him.  

“Is he... is he...?” she murmured weakly, and Hojo nodded with a sneer.  

“Yes, my dear. You have delivered Project S. Now, wait here. I must see this specimen.”  

Lucrecia’s fingers grasped at air as Hojo’s hand slipped from her own. She looked up to the ceiling, tears brimming in her eyes. She could hear Hojo muttering something to the doctors, the patter of the rain above the mansion, the shudder of her exhales.  

But her baby was silent.  

Her heart felt as if it had stopped. Panic struck her veins as she sat up, fuelled by a surge of fearful adrenaline. “M-my child,” she tried to stand. “My child!”  

One of the doctors ran to her as her legs were about to buckle under her weight, but all her focus was on the ones that remained crowded around her baby. She desperately tried to read the expression on their faces, on Hojo’s, but all she could see was a worried confusion.  

“Careful, Professor,” the one by her side spoke, holding her tightly in his arms. But she reached out towards the group, towards her baby, weeping in horror at the silence that haunted her.  

Is it all right? Aren't infants supposed to cry when they’re born?  

Professor Hojo, I don’t know what’s wrong. Project S may be having respiratory issues  

Fix it, you fool!  

“T-tell me what’s happening!” she demanded with a terrified voice. She couldn’t see her child, was he alive? Why was he not crying? Tears fell from her eyelids and tainted her cheeks, could it be that he was stillborn?  

It looks to be breathing. How is this possible?  

Ah... fascinating, very fascinating. This specimen is already so full of surprises! And look at those eyes.  

Lucrecia’s spine prickled when she saw the change of expression on Hojo’s face. A look of concern and confusion moulded into a sharp-toothed grin. Eyeing his own child not as his child, but as an object.  

The doctor by her side hauled her back onto the bed, holding onto her as she refused to lay down.  

“Professor, you need to rest.”  

“Let me see my baby!”  

Hojo raised his head, light flashing across his spectacles. It was impossible to see his eyes through them, and the only sound that Lucrecia could hear was that of her own panting. The room had gone deathly silent.  

“Do you forget, Lucrecia?” Hojo shifted to look at her; his expression emotionless. Though he was the child’s father, he looked anything but.   

“This is our project. Doctor Gast warned you not to get emotionally attached to the specimen.”  

Lucrecia’s eyes flitted down to Hojo’s arms, where he held a bundle of cloth. Inside, she could see movement, the faintest flash of pale skin as her child shifted.  

“Give him to me.”  

“Why are you so desperate to hold it?” Hojo snapped, glowering down at her with a sneer. “My dear, you knew this would happen.”  

“ Marcus, ” Lucrecia spoke. Her mind felt as though it was fading, every muscle in her body worn, her bones old. Yet her drooping eyes hardened with a look of determination.  

“I just want to see him. Please.”  

“Then look.”  

Hojo ground his teeth and did not move, holding the infant close to his chest. Lucrecia stared at him, weakly reaching out her arm as he remained just out of reach. He was still completely silent, but she could see from the rise and fall of the fabrics that he was indeed breathing. Such abnormalities were perhaps to be expected of this new being she had nurtured in her womb.  

As little Sephiroth stirred again, his eyes peered past the cloth he was wrapped up in. The thunderous storm outside rumbled as they locked with his mother’s own. They were vivid emerald in colour, with the subtle brightness of a gentle glow– and, right at their centre, were the slit pupils she had grown all too familiar with.  

But they were nothing like the ones she saw in her visions. The being’s eyes were full of broken rage, a hungering desire to burn the world into nothingness. But these ones were so innocent, so young and full of life.  

Was he truly destined for the horrors she had seen him do? Was that... being in her visions what he was bound to become?  

“Enough of this,” Hojo hissed, closing his arms around the child to hide him from his mother’s view.  

“Give him to me,” Lucrecia repeated, her voice breaking. “Let me hold him.”  

“I think not, my dear,” the professor smiled bitterly. “You’ve allowed your personal convictions to blind you from what is greater. This is not your child. This is the specimen you helped create for Project S. But now that you have allowed your biases to affect you, I will have to question your place in the continuation of the experiment.”  

Lucrecia’s heart dropped as Hojo turned away, whisking her very child away without second thought.   

“Sephiroth!” she wailed his name, starting forward and instantly falling to the ground. One of the doctors rushed to her aid– but Hojo shot him a cold glare. He considered Lucrecia for a moment, and she could see the disappointment in his eyes. They’d bonded over their shared love of science and passion for knowledge– but she knew he’d see her as weak, as foolish as everyone else, for allowing emotion to get in the way of ‘what must be done’.  

It dawned on her. Sephiroth only existed due to the frivolous wishes of herself and the other scientists. He was not born from two loving parents, nor would his fate allow for warmth or nurturing that most other children knew.  

He was just an experiment. One who only existed for the sake of ambition.  

An experiment made of her flesh and blood– and her one and only son.  

“Do not let her follow,” Hojo hissed to the doctor, and left with the others.   

Lucrecia screamed in maternal agony, but no one listened. The doctor tried to console her, but she pushed him away, watching her baby be taken further and further from her sight. Her eyes burned with tears, they spilled upon the floor below her and carved rivers into her face.   

She was his mother, she had to be there for him, to give him the love he deserved. To hold him and protect him from this cruel, lonely world. His eyes, which once so frightened her, she now only wished to behold. Others might fear him, goad him for being different– she could not allow him to be alone, entrapped in cold labs and made to do test after test, with no one to offer their warmth.  

But her choice had been made, and there was no going back.  

Chapter Text

"You can’t hear anything? No voices, no sounds, nothing?” 

Silver wires were firmly taped to various parts of his body. They were slightly uncomfortable, but the scientists had insisted it necessary– he’d gotten used to them a long time ago. Most would tremble in the cold chill of the lab, especially if their only piece of clothing was a thin medical gown draped upon their pale skin. But Sephiroth knew not what it was, to feel ‘cold’. He could certainly sense the difference in temperatures, the contrast of a lamp’s warmth to a metal’s bite, but the discomfort that came with it was not something he was familiar with. 

“No,” he murmured in a small voice. He tapped his feet on the ground, looking down towards them. He did not look at the doctor kneeling next to him, he’d not look at anyone. All he knew was that whatever it was that he was supposed to hear– he had failed again. 

“How disappointing,” Professor Hojo’s voice hissed from the corner of the room. “My, I fail to understand why Doctor Gast still has faith in you. These tests are proving themselves to be little more than a waste of time.” 

Sephiroth held one of his hands in the other, slender fingers intertwined. He took in a deep breath. He’d not whimper. He’d not weep. He’d not do anything to provoke Professor Hojo’s vexation. The professor was already in a bad mood, as he tended to be with every failure– and he’d grow even more angered by any sign of Sephiroth’s own melancholy. 

“Useless, useless, useless!” Sephiroth could hear the professor mutter under his breath, but even then, he stifled any response he might’ve otherwise given. The professor didn’t like it when he could pick up on the things he 'wasn’t supposed to hear’, yet could not detect the strange voice he’d been told he was ‘supposed’ to hear. Sephiroth didn’t really understand what any of this meant. He was but a child of seven, and he always felt so lost amongst the lab-coats around him. Only Doctor Gast ever cared to sit by his side and spend real time with him. 

But the worst part of the day was yet to come. Professor Hojo and Doctor Gast both said it was ‘necessary for social development’. Sephiroth always dreaded his social sessions more than anything– even more than the futile tests he was made to go through. 

It was the same room every time. The walls were like mirrors, and there were cameras watching them closely from each corner. Various children would fill the room, ranging from six to eight years old. Some were the offspring of Shinra workers, but most were orphans from the slums. Sephiroth was curious to know what it was like outside the Shinra building, but none ever told him what it was like. If they did speak to him, they’d not indulge in any of his questions or curiosities. 

He stood in the corner, trapped amongst them once more. He stared unblinking with his large, green eyes. They’d gathered in a crowd on the other side of the room– away from him. Occasionally, a few would glance at him, and their conversation would turn to ‘ the strange kid that’s just staring at us’ . And Sephiroth would smell fear waft off their pores, their hearts hammering just that little bit faster. 

He was not one of them. He was not like them. He knew he was different; he’d felt so for as long as he could remember... but why did they have to hate him for it? 

Sephiroth took a few steps towards them. As he did, more and more of their beady eyes would shoot up and watch him, the smell of fear only growing stronger. He knew he couldn’t sulk in the corner forever, like he’d tend to do. Doctor Gast had encouraged him to ‘put himself out there’ and play with the children. Perhaps, this time, things could go well. 

“Hello,” he spoke softly, trying not to spook them further– some paid attention to him, others just ignored him. 

“I was just w–” 

“Why do your eyes look like that?” 

Sephiroth froze. The children fell silent as the loudest of them, a slim brunette who had initially ignored him, glared into his face. Now everyone was looking at him, dozens of inspecting little eyes staring into his. 

“Like what?” Sephiroth’s hand flitted up instinctively to his face. Were his eyes irritated or something? 

“Like that, ” the young boy replied, not in a particularly helpful manner. Sephiroth took some steps back as the others grew curious, crowding around him and trapping him in a circle of flesh. He tried not to tremble as he felt them all peer at him, small spikes of fear forming as each one realised what the boy was talking about. Their heartbeats were so loud.  

“I see it,” one chirped up. 

“That’s so freaky!” 

“I think it’s pretty cool.” 

“Is it just me, or are they glowing?” 

“I don’t understand,” Sephiroth murmured, his brow furrowing in confusion. 

“You have weird pupils. I’ve never seen ones like that, not even on TV. Except, on like, the dragons and stuff.” 

Sephiroth blinked. In the back of his mind, he had known that the only pupils he’d seen on others had always been round, while his were slit– but he’d never asked why. Part of him had likely assumed that this was simply a rarity, nothing more. Was it so rare that none of the children had seen something like it before? 

“I’ve never seen anyone with hair like that either.” 

A hand reached out to touch the silver hair that hovered above his shoulders. He flinched in alarm, whirling around in the direction of whoever touched him. Some of the children shrieked at the sudden movement and shied away, while the one who’d tried to touch him quickly withdrew their hand with a confused look. 

They reached out again. He remained eerily still as, not only this child, but a couple others began to stretch their hands towards his head. Many of them were shaking, hesitant to interact directly with the strange one they’d cornered. 

His muscles tensed as he resisted the instinct to push them away. He had no wish to harm them, or spook them as he already had, and it wasn’t necessarily that he didn’t like physical contact so much as it was that he didn’t like the way they were going about it. Confined between the scrutinous gazes of countless children, who viewed him not as a potential friend, but an atypical creature from their dreams given flesh. He could hear their little whispers slither by his sensitive ears; he’s so strange, what a freak, I can’t believe they’re touching him.  

But perhaps... this was their attempt at connecting with him. At reaching out to him as they tried to understand him. Maybe if he reached back out, they wouldn’t fear him so much. 

His fingers twitched as he carefully raised up his hand and began to move it towards the slim brunette who’d brought about this whole situation. The children all stopped touching him when they saw this movement, most of them even flinching away in fear. The boy narrowed his eyes and batted away Sephiroth’s hand with the back of his own, glaring at him bitterly. Everyone fell silent, almost shocked that the boy had the bravery to retaliate against the strange one. 

“Don’t,” he warned. 

“I just want to–” 

“No. I don’t want you that close to me.” 

Sephiroth faltered and hoped no one would notice the trembling of his fingers. His heart sank, why were they still so cold to him? He’d not done anything wrong, had he? He’d been good, he’d let them inspect him even though he’d despised it, he just wanted to bond with them as he’d seen them bond with each other. Why wouldn’t they let him in? Why were they so... horrified by him? 

“Please, I–” 

When he stepped forwards, everyone stepped away. 

“I just want to talk. Or p-play. I’ve never really played anything before, maybe you could teach me?” 

The crowd began to exchange confused looks with one another, some of them laughing. For but a moment, Sephiroth wondered if this was an expression of friendliness– but... no, they were laughing at him for some reason. 

“Weirdo.”   

“Freak.”   

“Monster.”  

He couldn’t stop it now. He looked hopelessly at them in the hopes that someone, anyone, would stand up for him. Or show that they’re not so afraid of him. Or just... 

… why are they being so cruel to me?  

His eyes began to burn. He wasn’t supposed to cry. But all around him were blank, uncaring faces, and the unkind murmurings of his unconventional nature. He pressed his eyelids against each other in an attempt to hide the tears. The children only seemed to laugh louder. 

“Stop,” he murmured under his breath, but no one heard him– and if they did, no one seemed to care. His weary gaze scanned each child before him, but no longer did he register their individual features. They were just a crowd to him, a group that rejected him for reasons he could not understand. 

“I don’t want to be alone anymore. Please, j-just talk to me,” he spoke, a bit louder this time. As he took a step forwards, they all backed away. His face was almost expressionless, save for the tears that glinted like little crystals on his pale cheek. He could feel something growing inside him, like ice cracking beneath too much pressure. He couldn’t tell if it was anger, frustration, dejection; only that it pained him. And he wanted the pain to stop. 

“Stop running away,” his lip twitched as his red eyes locked onto the child closest to him. It mattered not who they were. He couldn’t take this anymore. 

“I don’t want to be alone.”  

Sephiroth reached out with what was, for him, a casual movement– but it did not seem so for the child. Their yelp and cry of shock did not register, however, as he grabbed their arm at a speed and precision that was inhuman for someone his age. He could feel them squirming in his grip, desperately trying to pry their limb out of his hand– but he only squeezed tighter, staring blankly into their eyes as his own wouldn’t stop spilling those tainted tears. 

“Let go of me, you freak! It hurts!” they yelled. The stinging shriek of their voice were like daggers to Sephiroth’s sensitive ears, but he only grew more desperate as his fingers dug into the child’s flesh. His eyes were pleading for connection. The child began to hit the strange one with their frail free hand, and the silver haired Sephiroth only wept evermore. Everyone’s heartbeats were racing in an overwhelming cacophony, and the stench of fear was inescapable. 

The crowd began to wail in despair, and the child screamed. The door to the room slammed opened and two medics quickly sprinted inside, rushing towards Sephiroth and his victim. Doctor Gast was behind them, looking at the scene in utter horror. 

When Sephiroth looked down to the child’s arm, he realised he had not heard the sickening crunch of the bones that snapped like toothpicks in his grip. 

_______

Sephiroth was sat upon the chair in Doctor Gast’s office, looking down at his hands. He’d had to wash off small specks of blood on his nails, and now they were cleaned as if nothing had happened. As if he’d not mutilated a child’s arm into a contorted, bloody mess. 

He sensed Doctor Gast approaching the room before he entered it. He’d not look up as the scientist, donning a solemn expression, opened the door and sat at his desk, shuffling paperwork (there was no doubt Shinra would have to cover this up somehow), and releasing a low sigh. 

“You shan’t be in any trouble,” Doctor Gast said. “But we have decided to suspend your social sessions for the time being.” 

Sephiroth did not speak. He hugged his knees to his chest as he sat on the chair. His limbs felt heavy, and his heart was numb. Perhaps the other children had not been wrong when they’d called him a freak. He’d broken that arm as easily as one would breathe, and even Doctor Gast could not mask the rising terror in his heart when he’d witnessed that scene. 

“Sephiroth,” Doctor Gast leaned close. “I can see that you are upset. I understand Professor Hojo encourages you to hide your emotions, but you may express them before me. Here– a little surprise for you.” 

He reached under his desk and handed the boy a small plush velociraptor. Sephiroth hugged it close and wiped at tears that began to form once more. He wasn’t really allowed to have toys, as per Hojo’s rules– so the ones Doctor Gast let him hold while in his office were to be kept secret. 

“I didn’t...” Sephiroth paused as Doctor Gast reached out with a napkin to wipe away his tears. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.” 

“I know, Sephiroth.” 

“They were all laughing at me. Calling me names, touching me, and then running from me,” he hitched a sob. “They said I was a freak, a monster. Why were they so scared of me? ”  

“People tend to fear what they don’t understand.” 

“Well, I don’t understand why.”  

Sephiroth curled up into himself, his grip tightening around the plush. Was it so terrible, to be unlike those around you? The children acted like there was something wrong with that, wrong with him, at a fundamental level. But he just couldn’t get it, he wasn’t bad, yet he was treated as if he was. 

“I don’t know why I’ve had to do these ‘social sessions.’ They never liked me, never even gave me a chance. I just wanted to try to make a friend, but they all kept pushing me away!” 

His fingers accidentally punctured the fabric of his plush. He suddenly went very still, glancing down at his toy and relaxing his hold. It slipped from his hand as he reached up to wipe away some more tears. 

“Well,” Doctor Gast began. “Sephiroth, you are... a very special child.” 

“I’m... special?” 

Doctor Gast’s smile was oddly sad, the boy noticed. 

“Yes. And not everyone can understand that. Much of the time, you will have difficulties others may not face. But I believe that it is ultimately something to take pride in.” 

“Professor Hojo thinks I’m useless.” 

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks. You’ve always been a very special boy, Sephiroth, and you always will be. I truly believe that you are destined for great things.” 

“They were really scared of me, you know,” Sephiroth murmured. “I could sense it.” 

“You could sense–” Doctor Gast’s eyes widened behind his dark glasses. “What do you mean?”  

“Their hearts were racing. And I couldn’t escape the smell of fear,” the child turned to look Gast in the eyes. “You were afraid too; I could feel it.” 

The Doctor fell very quiet as he considered this. 

“Special indeed...” he muttered, smiling to himself. “You know, I’ve not met anyone capable of that. In fact, you’ve proven many interesting things today.” 

He took the youngster’s hands into his own. 

“I have faith in you, Sephiroth. I believe that, once you’re out there, the world will come to realise how wondrous you are.” 

Sephiroth looked down to the doctor’s hands. Maybe he was right. 

“I’m special.”  

Chapter Text

Doctor Gast had seen the results. Jenova was no Cetra. In fact, she was what had brought about the end of their race. A monstrous being that fell from the stars, a genetic horror that twisted and defaced all she touched, mimicking their flesh (which was why the initial test results showed her to be one of the Ancients). He could no longer bear to look at Sephiroth the same way. The boy was not some fated saviour, nor one who could ever hope to commune with the planet.  

He was an abomination who only existed because of his, Hojo’s, and Lucrecia’s arrogance.  

He was a failed experiment.  

There was little else offered by the Shinra company to give him reason to stay. And so, with the one true Cetra he had discovered– an intelligent woman named Ifalna, who had so much to share and was the one who informed him of Jenova’s true nature– he had escaped the company’s clutches to continue his own research in his own way, far away from the remnant of his terrible mistake.  

It had been three months since Doctor Gast had left.  

Sephiroth didn’t understand why. His disappearance hadn’t been too long since the incident with the child, but... surely, it couldn’t be that? Doctor Gast had been his usual self for a week or so after. But on the last day of Sephiroth seeing him, it seemed as if something was bothering him. There was a melancholy in his eyes, borne from a revelation Sephiroth knew not of.  

He’d apologised to him. Sephiroth didn’t understand why, but he’d knelt and murmured the words ‘I’m sorry’ before quickly rushing out the lab. That was the last time he’d seen him. When Professor Hojo had told him, a few days later, that Doctor Gast was gone, and snapped at any question Sephiroth posed of why, the boy could only hold back his tears until he was back in the privacy of his room.  

He couldn’t help but weep every time he was here. He was curled up on his bed once more, looking down at a thick textbook of planetology. He could still remember the day Doctor Gast had gifted him these books, used in his education and one of the few things that decorated his room. It was a cold, empty place, with metal walls and a single drab window.  

He wiped at his eyes. The tests had only grown more common now that the doctor was gone, and Professor Hojo had full reign over all that would happen to him. They were no longer involving any ‘voices’ he was supposed to hear, but rather, they were assessments based upon his physical capabilities.  

There was no more warmth in his life, the Doctor was no longer there to comfort him, to be there for him, to protect him from Hojo’s bitter words and short temper. The fact that he was never told why the Doctor left only made it worse.  

It was only in the privacy of his room, now, that he ever dared to weep.  

The door creaked open.  

“Sephiroth.”  

The boy did not look up. He quickly wiped at his face to smother away his tears, though he knew it would be futile– the redness of his eyes betrayed what he’d been doing. But he cared little for that now.  

“I don’t want to do more tests,” he spoke slowly, controlling his voice so it would not dare waver.  

“Boy,” Professor Hojo hissed, and Sephiroth flinched. His eyes remained on the book, don’t look up, don’t look at him . His heart was still yearning for the doctor to return, to teach him and talk to him and protect him from the ever-irritable Professor Hojo. Why had he just left him like that, abandoning him to remain imprisoned in these uncaring labs? Why hadn’t he taken the boy with him, wherever he’d gone?  

Sephiroth waited for some inevitable repercussion for his incompliance; it mostly materialised through verbal means, but Hojo did not shy away from the occasional physical rebuke. With every passing moment, his muscles grew more tense– but nothing seemed to come of his refusal. When he looked up, Hojo was giving him a shark-toothed grin.  

“I have a little surprise for you.”  

Though his body was still strained, Sephiroth’s head tilted. He was still afraid of the professor, but whenever Doctor Gast had said this to him, it always meant he’d get something nice.  

But this was Professor Hojo.  

“Come, my boy,” Hojo reached out with a hand, beckoning him to come closer. “You’ll like it, I have no doubt.”  

Could it really be that he was being honest? Sephiroth did not have much choice but to obey the professor, taking his hand and being led through long corridors and taking the lift down to the labs. He pondered what this ‘surprise’ was going to be. Hojo did seem different in his demeanour today, carrying a sense of elation Sephiroth did not quite understand.  

“Today is going to be a very special day, my boy,” he cackled. “Very special indeed.”  

He ushered the boy into a grey-walled room. It was of moderate size, with bright lights shining down into the centre. Sephiroth had always hated this room; it was where much of his testing would take place: but it was suspiciously empty, save for some scientists watching from the corners with clipboards and pens in hand, and a small container near a wall, shrouded in darkness.  

“Doctor Gast had believed you to be special, my boy,” Hojo pushed Sephiroth into the centre of the room. “And I believe so too. However, I think he and I had very different ideas on why you’re so unique.”  

The professor’s grin was sickeningly wide, and Sephiroth knew not what to think. He could sense some small being within the container, feeling their faint, fast heartbeat. Hojo reached inside, picked the being up, and walked back to Sephiroth.  

“Hold out your hand,” the scientist ordered, and though Sephiroth felt quite hesitant, he was quick to obey Hojo’s demand.   

He could feel a soft warmth placed upon his palm, light in weight and... moving...?  

In his palm was a round ball of white fur. For a moment, he wondered if this was some strange creature concocted by Hojo’s frivolous activities; he’d heard rumours of the scientist’s habit of creating abominations from both natural creatures and mutant monsters. But the presence of a small twitching nose, two curious eyes, sensitive whiskers and a slim tail betrayed the being’s species– she was a mouse.  

As he watched her sniffing him, he realised there was not a drop of fear that he could sense from her. She’d blink, and her thin tail would wave around as she’d balance herself upon his hand, looking around with a pure curiosity so unlike the cold scientists that only cared for his test results, and cruel children that had provoked him and made fun of his appearance.  

“Is she the surprise?” Sephiroth spoke. He could feel the smallest of smiles tug at the corners of his lips. It would be nice, to have a creature like her as a companion. He chuckled as she carefully nibbled at his skin, trying to groom him.  

“She’s so cute.”  

Sephiroth did not notice the way Doctor Hojo’s expression darkened as he stroked the creature, her fur softer than he’d thought it would be.   

“Do I get to name her?”  

“Oh, dear boy,” Professor Hojo tilted his head a bit too far, like a mannequin with a snapped neck. His lips were pulled back into what looked more like a snarl than a smile. “I believe you’ve severely misunderstood the situation.”  

The silver-haired child did not respond. He kept looking at the mouse, scratching around her ears and not paying much attention to Hojo’s presence.  

“You are strong, boy,” the scientist’s voice still managed to slither into his ears. “Strong in ways most unexpected. Shinra has demanded that you be tested and trained in a different manner, so that this strength shall be better utilised.”  

The scientist leaned close to the child’s ear. Sephiroth felt his spine tingle with a sudden sense of dread.  

“Kill it.”  

Sephiroth’s brow furrowed. Had he somehow misheard Hojo?  

“You heard me, my boy,” the scientist spoke, as if he could see the confusion forming on Sephiroth’s face. “Kill it.”  

“B-but–” Sephiroth stammered, his gaze switching from Hojo to the mouse. He blinked in disbelief, his free hand protectively curling around the mouse as if to protect her from the scientist ordering her death.  

“What do you mean?”  

“Exactly what you hear,” Hojo began to move like a hyena watching injured prey from the cover of darkness, circling Sephiroth as other scientists in the room stared on. “Why else do you think I’ve presented you with this creature?”  

“I thought–”  

“Whatever you thought, my boy: it matters not. Kill it.”  

Sephiroth looked down at the mouse in his hand, who was blissfully unaware that her fate was the centre of the conversation going on around her. He looked into those innocent little eyes so full of life, focused on the heart he sensed beating in her body.  

“I... I don’t want to. I can’t,” he said. “Can’t I keep her?”  

“Absolutely not,” Hojo snapped. “You are going to do as Shinra has ordered- kill it, with your bare hands, right now. ”  

“No!”  

“Do not refuse me, boy!” Hojo yelled, and Sephiroth flinched in sudden fear. “Why must you act so foolish!? This is an order, Sephiroth, and you have no right to question orders. Whatever fatuous empathy is driving such rebellious thought must be stamped out.”  

“Stop!” Sephiroth shook his head, shying away from Hojo and keeping a hand over the mouse, as if doing so would protect her. He could sense she was growing stressed by the professor’s shouting, and she was not alone: he could feel tears forming in his eyes.  

Oh no.  

“Oh, there you go, foolish boy. Snivelling like a weakling again. Now, Sephiroth, you must understand there is no place for emotion with what Shinra has planned for you. Your strength will be put to good use, and we cannot have you breaking down like this every time you are given a job to do. Now, my boy– your job is to kill. So, kill.”  

“But I don’t want to be a killer! I won’t hurt anyone!” Sephiroth tried to speak with as firm a voice as possible, even raising it despite his fear of Hojo, despite the tears rolling down his cheeks. “ How is this good use? I just... I just–”  

(((I just want to keep her))).  

“Do. Not. Question,” Hojo snarled. “Just do. Kill it.”  

Sephiroth sobbed, shying away until his back hit the wall of the room. He felt like he was back in that horrible room with the children, unable to escape the gaze of the scientists shooting him blank, unsympathetic stares– unable to escape Hojo. He held the mouse close to himself, looking down at her– she’d curled up in his hand, as if she trusted him.  

All he wanted was for Doctor Gast, by some miracle, to return. Sephiroth imagined how he’d enter the room, direct some sharp words at the cold-hearted scientists, and whisk him away to dry his tears and offer sanctum. Doctor Gast had never called him weak for weeping. Doctor Gast would never try to put him through such a horrible test.  

“How about we make a deal,” Professor Hojo’s mouth widened into a terrible grin, the kind he had when a twisted idea had formed in his mind. “I will tell you about your mother. And, in return, you kill that specimen.”  

“M-my mother?” Sephiroth looked up. This deal did not tempt him, not really– he just didn’t have it in him to take the life of this creature– but his heart skipped a beat when he heard mention of his mother, from Hojo of all people. He’d wondered, for as long as he could remember, of where his parents were, who they were, why they weren’t around for him– so many questions. Professor Hojo would be furious any time he tried to bring up the subject, and even Doctor Gast refused to divulge any details.  

“Yes, my boy– your mother,” Hojo sneered. “You wish to know about her, don’t you?”  

Sephiroth did not want to be part of this ‘deal’. But he did not cover his ears as Hojo went on to speak.  

“My boy... you fight so hard to protect the expendable life of this specimen. But you were born a killer.”  

Sephiroth remained silent, absent-mindedly petting the mouse but not taking his eyes off Hojo. He bit his lip as a nausea formed in the pit of his stomach. Could Hojo even be trusted?  

“Your mother– she was a wonderful woman named–” he paused, frowning for a moment. “Jenova.”  

Jenova, Sephiroth repeated in his mind. My mother was named Jenova.  

“She had such magnificent potential, you know. She had been so intelligent, sharp both in her wits and her observations. And she was so excited to have you, to see you and hold you in her arms.”  

Sephiroth felt more tears stinging his eyes. All this time, had there been someone who so loved him?  

“Of course, my boy, you tore all of that apart.”  

The child gasped softly, and this only prompted Hojo to continue with a wide smile.  

“With the simple event of your birth, you killed her. You killed your dear mother Jenova, may she rest peacefully in the lifestream, with little more than your mere existence. ”  

“Y-you’re lying!” Sephiroth raised his voice in disbelief, shaking his head and not realising his hold was tightening slightly around the mouse– this did not slip past Hojo’s notice.   

“That can’t be true. I d-didn't kill anyone!”  

“Oh, dear boy, but you did. Every word I speak reflects only the truth of what you did. So much potential, so much of it down the drain– because of you. From the very beginning, you’ve been a killer.”  

Sephiroth shook his head vigorously, cheeks wet with his tears.   

“It’s not true!” he shouted, sniffling as he stared at the professor with horrified red eyes. For once, Hojo did not scold him for his tears– if anything, he almost seemed to take pleasure in them. He cackled as he saw the child’s hand tighten again around the mouse, yet the boy was so stressed he did not notice.  

“It is your fate to kill,” Hojo continued. “Do you forget, so soon, of what you did to that child?”  

Sephiroth froze.  

“What do you think would have happened, had there been no intervention? My boy, you were going to kill that child too– just as you had your mother.”  

“N-no!” Sephiroth wept, shaking his head and tensing up even more. “No, shut up! I’m not a killer!”  

“That is exactly what you are!” Professor Hojo shouted at him, closing in, drawing closer and closer. He noticed the mouse’s tail thrashing, and knew it was all going to plan. “You are nothing but a destructive brat, that is what you were born as, and what you shall always be! YOU ARE A KILLER!”  

Sephiroth whimpered and pressed himself against the wall behind him, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. Professor Hojo continued to shout at him, raising his voice to its full capacity as he roared accusations of murder at the silver-haired child. And all the while, the boy tensed up and shrunk away and sobbed.  

“You crushed that child’s arm into a mass of unrecognisable flesh,” Hojo whispered, his gaze now pinned onto Sephiroth’s bloodied fist. “And look– you have done it again.”  

Oh... oh, my boy. Look at what you have done.  

Good boy. You obeyed what I told you to do.   

See? You are a killer and have been from the very beginning.  

You take life and reduce it to little more than a red smear.  

That is your purpose, my boy. That is what you are best at.   

The children were right to fear you.  

Chapter Text

The sun set upon a landscape that ran crimson.  

It was everywhere. Gentle rays of orange light highlighted the scarlet blood that stained dry grass, torn flesh, and the shattered remnants of what had once been houses.  

The Wutaian warriors had been fierce. Some had spent decades in training, perfecting the art of battle. They followed a code of honour, fighting for the sole reason of protecting their homeland from Shinra’s greed and destruction. To give up their home would mean giving Shinra control of the entire world, for they were the only nation that had refused to bend the knee. They could not afford to allow the company to steal their very soil to suck lifestream from the ground, converting it to mako to be used for their selfish desires. They fought for a future in which humanity did not allow their whims to bring harm to their planet, and so, they fought with all their might.  

 But they stood no chance against Shinra’s most deadly weapon.  

A lone child, around eleven or twelve years old, stood amongst the carnage. His entire form was drenched in the blood of lives he had taken. He’d not shown a shred of mercy, acting more machine than man as his rampage turned screams of terror and agony into a deafening silence. His viridescent eyes were locked upon the limp form of an almost unrecognisable corpse. But it was small enough for him to know that it had belonged to a youngster around his age.  

He had barely been conscious as he’d ravaged the world around him. At this point, his actions came reflexively. He spared not a thought as he’d torn through hordes of screaming soldiers, cut down men, women and children with his very blade, stained himself in the blood of enemies and innocents alike. Fingers, limbs, heads were strewn across the battlefield like toys left forgotten, bathed under a crimson sky.  

He had lost count of the number of lives he’d taken a long time ago. His first kill was one he remembered vividly, but all who came after just seemed to blur together. He vaguely understood it to be a process of desensitization, first getting him used to the concept of killing with small lab animals, then graduating him to larger creatures– a Shinra guard dog no longer able to work as well as they once had, or a mutated monster captured from their home near the slums. And, once he’d gotten used to that, he moved on to mutilating prisoners of war. He didn’t just kill them– sometimes, he was made to torture them for information. And sometimes, that torture did not even have reason to it– Shinra simply wanted a perfect, remorseless weapon that would do exactly as instructed.  

Remorse, empathy, mercy– they were all signs of weakness, Hojo would tell him. Weakness he could not afford to have. And though he hated to admit it, deep down, he still had that weakness. But he had grown so numb to taking life, to raking his sword through the flesh of both monsters and men, that he could no longer afford to pay any attention to the conscience Shinra had stamped into the deepest, darkest parts of his mind.  

The corpses around him were just shapes. Once alive and individual, now reduced to mere husks.  

Don’t feel bad, he could remember Hojo hissing such words to him when he killed his first human. This is necessary. You are Shinra’s perfect little soldier. Follow their orders, and you are in the right– there is nil wrong with what you do, because you are special.  

… Special.  

Sephiroth looked down at the blood caked over his fingers. What would Doctor Gast say if he saw where he was now? The man had been dead for years, or so Hojo had told him– could he see Sephiroth from wherever he was now?  

The silence was haunting.  

Chapter Text

Perfect as always.  

Yes, my boy... you are just perfect.  

You’ve come so far, have you not? I can remember your first day on the field like yesterday.  

What a beautiful massacre, my boy. You turn destruction into an art.  

Not that art is– he cackled– an endeavour I take any interest in.  

We have all the samples we need. Now, you may get out of my sight.  

Sephiroth had left the labs trying to block out the foolish cackle of Hojo ringing in his ears. Throughout the many years of his life, and the thousands of people he had come across– soldiers, civilians, scientists and more– there was not even one he could think of that he despised more than Professor Hojo.  

A decade or so had passed since the day of his first battle. And so much had changed in that time. He could not visit a single settlement, whether it was a sprawling city like Midgar, or a hamlet lost in the mountains like Nibelheim, without spotting one of his posters plastered to some wall. They’d always have some proclamation ordering the subject to ‘JOIN SOLDIER’, Shinra’s elite force only for the most endurable of humans. And there would either be some modified photo or a piece of artwork depicting Sephiroth, standing before heaps of troops, his elongated ōdachi– named the Masamune– held tight in his hand.  

Around the world, people looked up to him. Children admired his strength as a so-called hero, men and women alike aspired to be like him and have their name become as notorious as his. And yet, Wutaians trembled in fear and anger at the utterance of his name, while enemies of Shinra would beg for mercy with tears in their eyes as he’d show them none.  

He often questioned his labelling as a ‘hero’.  

And, even with all these admirers– he still was yet to have a single friend. Third and second-class soldiers were too intimidated to have any real conversation with him that went beyond ‘you’re an inspiration’ or ‘you’re my childhood hero!’. While the few first-class soldiers in existence, that matched his rank but still fell far from his level of strength and skill, would seldom remain once the novelty of speaking to him, the Sephiroth, wore off. They had all placed him on a pedestal, upon which he was untouchable. Too pure, too powerful, too special to walk amongst the mere mortals that surrounded him. He’d almost gotten used to it.  

He was feared. He was liked. But he was far from loved.  

The halls were empty, save for someone he could hear walking not too far behind him. He’d already done much of his work for the day, scribbling through a myriad of reports and finally getting his latest lab check-up over with. Now he could go back to his little room atop the Shinra building, pick out one of his textbooks, and have some relaxing time to–  

“Oh, hey! Hey, excuse me? Excuse me?”  

… himself.  

Sephiroth turned. Was this another recruit here to express how much they admired his violent, blood-splattered heroism? How they’d had posters of him pinned all over their bedroom walls as a child, and now, here he is, standing right before them.  

He’d heard this many times and had concluded that most of it was superficial. Again, they’d like the idea of him, but never the actual him.  

“What is it?” he turned around and was faced with a raven-haired man with spikey hair that draped down past his muscular shoulders. His face was young, perhaps a few years younger than Sephiroth himself, and his eyes were a deep blue colour– with that trademark glow associated with soldiers, which they’d get after being enhanced with mako. Most notable was the fact that he donned a dark-coloured uniform betraying the fact that he was not just any type of soldier– he was in first class.  

“Well, I happen to have gotten promoted to first class recently– you could probably tell, I guess you’ve never really seen me around here before, heh.”  

Sephiroth’s expression did not change, but some small part of him grew intrigued. He’d never really been addressed so... informally. It was either cold and professional, as most scientists were with him, fearful and formal, as most soldiers were, or admiring him from a safe distance the way civilians did. But this man was strangely... at ease. There was not a hint of fear, or even simple anxiety from him.  

“But, ah– I thought to introduce myself to my future colleagues,” he grinned, gave a genuine smile in his eyes, and held out his hand. “Name’s Zack Fair! I already know yours, but I’m gonna ask it anyway. Who might you be?”  

Sephiroth raised a brow.  

“Are you not going to stand at attention?” he asked, not with unkind intent– though, he wasn’t always aware of the rather intense weight his voice always carried, whether he wanted it to or not.  

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Zack’s eyes widened with a small tinge of shock. And there it was, the smallest hint of fear. As he straightened his back and was about to stand at attention with the small hint of a blush on his cheeks, Sephiroth shook his head– he’d not intended for this, he’d just been slightly confused by how... friendly this man was.  

“At ease. Why ask my name if you already know it?”  

“W-well, uh–” Zack chuckled. “I just thought it would be polite, you know? You’ve probably grown up all these years with everyone knowing who you are, so I thought it might be a bit refreshing to be asked. It was probably a dumb idea, I’m sorry.”  

There was a short silence as Sephiroth regarded Zack with genuine curiosity. Granted, he could tell that his own face was difficult to read– Zack had squinted his eyes, tilting his head in slight anticipation as he was trying to figure out if he’d offended Sephiroth, or was going to be reprimanded, or if perhaps his attempt at reaching out had worked after all.  

“Sephiroth. First class soldier. Pleased to meet you,” he held out his own hand, almost hesitantly– he really was not used to this, but he’d be lying to himself if he said it wasn’t nice. Or, as Zack had actually put it rather accurately– refreshing.  

“Likewise! Are you busy this coming hour? I’m gonna be taking some friends out for lunch in a couple hours, wanna join us? I promise we’re good company.”  

Sephiroth blinked. What a spontaneous offer. He was certainly in very unfamiliar waters with this Zack Fair. Despite his stoic expression suggesting otherwise, he did not find the raven-haired soldier to be annoying. Though he couldn’t yet say that he outright liked him, he already had a better impression of the young man than he did of any of his other colleagues.  

“I have other plans,” he replied.  

“Ooh, good ones?”  

“Reading.”  

“That’s a good plan!” Zack chuckled.  

Sephiroth began to head towards the lift to go to the floor in which his room was located, separate from the common areas of the rest. And the entire way, Zack followed and kept talking to him. Though Sephiroth’s responses were brief and reserved, he listened carefully to the friendly stranger as he babbled about books he’d read himself– mostly fictional ones, and he was shocked to learn that Sephiroth had never read a fictional work (Shinra had prohibited him from doing so as a child).  

The conversation turned to Zack’s friends. Or rather, friend– he’d apparently only wanted to invite a young infantryman he was very close with, when two relatively unknown ones had invited themselves along after a m. Sephiroth didn’t understand why Zack wasn’t blunt with them, instead letting them come along rather than correcting them on their assumption. The young man insisted doing so was ‘mean’.  

“So, uh– I thought you said you were going to read?” Zack said as they stopped before the door to Sephiroth’s destination.  

“I am,” he replied. “This is my room.”  

“Oh,” Zack went slightly red. “I thought– I thought we were going to the library or something! I didn’t realise you wanted to be left alone.”  

Sephiroth remained silent for a few moments as his hand hovered over the door handle. He was very used to being cooped up in his room during his spare time. But it had grown monotonous a very long time ago. He’d never actually come across someone so outgoing, so unfettered with him and his status, so... genuine . He couldn’t think of anyone who’d behaved so, not since Doctor Gast.  

He sighed as he thought of the doctor, ignoring whatever melancholy he still held over him. The point was... never had he been treated so casually. In the eyes of everyone, he was either an untouchable war hero, or some special project, or the merciless end to one’s fragile life. But, it seemed, Zack was not everyone. And Sephiroth appreciated that.  

“I’ll see you around, Sephiroth!” the newly promoted soldier offered a small wave as he turned and left, still cheery despite what he’d interpreted as rejection.  

“Wait,” Sephiroth turned from his door. Zack paused and grinned back at him, realising the man had warmed up to him more than he’d initially judged.  

“If you wish to accompany me, we may go to the library.”  

Sephiroth went on to spend much more time with Zack than he had initially intended. Though he still wished not to accompany him with those infantrymen friends of his– he felt uncertain about spending precious time with people he did not know at all– Zack Fair himself was a pleasant presence. With how much he enjoyed speaking and expressing himself, how open he was, how little he let Sephiroth’s fierce reputation lull his energy. He hoped he’d see him again soon, spend more time with him, and perhaps eventually, find friendship with someone worthy.  

And, as it turned out, Zack was more than worthy.  

Chapter Text

There were many people who stood opposed to Shinra. The Wutaians, long ravaged and defeated by Sephiroth’s ruthless efficiency in killing them, were no longer much of a threat to the great company. Any individual that posed a threat was usually taken out, swiftly, by the Turks– Shinra’s frighteningly effective spies. But there had been a new group growing dangerously quickly, known as Avalanche– who vehemently despised Shinra’s careless use of lifestream and mako and disregard for the planet. They had made it their mission to put a stop to the company’s frivolous endeavours for the sake of corporate greed, for they viewed the planet’s cost to be too great.  

Their intentions were noble. Their goals were understandable. But it was not Sephiroth’s place to question his orders. Although he occasionally had that little voice going off in his mind, that perhaps obeying Shinra was not the right thing to do– he seldom listened. Shinra was all he had ever known. ‘Right’ and ‘wrong’ were concepts that hadn’t really been explained to him, and whatever intuition he’d once had with morality had been stamped out a very long time ago.  

Avalanche, regardless of their goals, was no more than another enemy for him to annihilate.  

One of their headquarters had been uncovered by Shinra. And he’d been given the mission to run it to the ground. Usually, this was saved for one of the Turks– but Shinra had to make sure that their perfect weapon was still ever loyal to them, did they not?  

Sephiroth loomed over the fallen, bloodied corpses, an ethereal demise given form. Not even one could be recognised, he’d torn through them like they’d been made of thin paper, and strewn their limbs, heads, and flesh across the walls like an elaborate art piece. He contemplated the death all around him. He’d come so far from the days when he was a child weeping over the prospect of taking life.  

There was no silence. His head perked up as he noticed the sound of someone whimpering, and a faintly beating heart. Their breaths were ragged– they were not untouched.  

But someone here was still alive.  

He turned to be greeted by the sight of a woman slightly older than he, her pallid skin tainted by dripping crimson rivers. Pale, wide eyes bore into his own for but a moment before she shuddered and looked away; he was too frightening even for her mere gaze. Her hand gripped at a stump on her shoulder, a raw stump where her arm should’ve been.   

Sephiroth’s hand tightened around his Masamune. He’d grown very used to such things, in fact, this was far from the most wretched sight he’d seen.   

“Dale,” she murmured, looking at one of the mutilated corpses. “Dale, wake up. Dale, please!”  

He drew closer.  

“You killed them all,” she sobbed under her breath, stumbling away from him as blood dribbled down a gaping wound on her thigh. “Y-you... you’ve torn them apart, like they were nothing. Why...?”  

Sephiroth did not speak. He only kept moving forward, ready to finish the job. Was the answer not obvious?  

“If we don’t fight... who will? Shinra’s destroying the planet with its greed. So, what choice have we, but to take a stand for every living being? What we do, it’s– it’s to protect, to preserve! But you,” she spat out the last word as if it was poison. “You destroy. You obey Shinra mindlessly! Why? Why do you misuse your power like this?”  

Sephiroth stopped moving, and looked into her desperate eyes as she uttered something he seldom dared to ponder. He’d left such thoughts behind where they belonged, in the mind of a weeping child who’d tried so hard to resist being moulded into the perfect soldier.  

What choice had he had?  

“I can see it in your eyes,” she raised her voice, desperate to somehow survive this encounter. “You’re not like us, you don’t do what you do because it’s what you believe in. But you don’t do it for power or status either, I can see it! ”  

“No,” he finally spoke, voice low and unmoved. “I do not.”  

Her mouth dropped open slightly, as if she was shocked that he’d responded to her words.  

“So then... why?”  

His brow began to raise.  

“Why do you fight?”  

For a moment, his eyes softened.  

(((The silver-haired child cowered as he dropped his blade. He’d not known what had come over him, but the monsters he’d been put up against were all limp on the ground, fear frozen in their lifeless eyes. Hojo entered to examine the scene, grinning and praising him. But he’d never wanted this.)))  

(((The Wutaian spy whimpered, his nails meticulously sliced off his fingers, his skin peeled open as the teenage soldier targeted nerves with a scalpel to cause the most pain possible. Hojo grinned as he watched through a window, giving the boy a nod of encouragement. But he’d never wanted this.)))  

(((The soldier stood amongst crowds of fans, all hailing him as a ‘hero’, their cheers piercing his ears. All eyes were on him as they praised his violent acts, his hands so stained with the blood of men, women, children, and creatures of every kind. But he’d never wanted this.)))  

“What choice have I?”  

“What do you mean? You’re the most... powerful person in the world. What’s stopping you from leaving? Why do you obey them in the first place? They’re treating you like a pawn, but what control do they really have over you?”  

He shut his eyes. It was clear she was trying to get to him– and it was working. A pawn. No one had ever referred to him so. And, of course, it enraged him– because he knew it was the truth. He knew he was helpless to resist Shinra’s strings as they curled around his limbs and made him dance to their will.  

Sephiroth aimed his sword, almost robotically.  

“N-no, please– I don’t want to die!”  

He struck the Masamune’s tip through her skull. She opened her mouth, as if to speak– but it was already too late.  

(((“You... monster...”)))  

***  

Sephiroth sat on his bed, arms crossed as he idly stared through the window. A book on planetology was leaning on his lap, but he’d not delved into its contents at all. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to be affected by the meaningless cries of his desperate victims, not anymore. Professor Hojo’s training had done well to stamp out any second thoughts, any empathy that once plagued him, by this point he’d taken the lives of thousands, hundreds of thousands– maybe more. It certainly felt so.  

So why did this woman’s words stick to his mind so ? He’d been doing what he's done for so long, why now were his doubts being provoked? He’d occasionally have days like this, once every year or two, where the weight of his actions felt stressfully palpable. But what choice had he had? This was all he’d known since he was a child, what could he possibly do to break free of it? It was hopeless, he knew it in his heart. The woman had uttered what everyone, deep down, had known: he was no more than Shinra’s puppet.  

(((Why do you fight?)))  

He gritted his teeth. There was no reason, not really. She’d had a goal, a noble one with the rest of her comrades. And he was just aimlessly obeying this corporation’s whims, because it was all he’d ever known.  

He was torn from his thoughts as he heard someone knocking at the door.  

“Hello?” Zack spoke from behind it. “Anybody in here?”  

Sephiroth glanced over, his mood quickly lightening. This was exactly what he needed– someone close he could trust. Ever since meeting him, he’d spent a lot of time with Zack, both doing missions together and outside of their professional interactions. The man had a strange way of making him feel at ease, that in this strange and lonely world, there was at least one person he could trust.  

Walking over, the moment he unlocked the door, Zack barrelled inside.  

“Sephiroth!” he exclaimed, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to give him a hug, but not knowing how he’d react to it. “Everyone said you’d come back, but then no one knew where you were, and I was looking everywhere , and it had been hours, and... I was just worried, man!”  

It seemed the raven soldier couldn’t resist waiting any longer. He lunged forwards and grabbed Sephiroth in a hug, wrapping his warm arms around him. Sephiroth only froze up for a moment before returning it, very lightly– he never really knew how much pressure to apply with a hug, especially considering his strength. But Zack never seemed to have this caution, so he could only wonder how the average human could survive such a lung-crushing bear hug from this soldier.  

Either way, this was the exact warmth he needed in this moment.  

“I’m all right,” he said, parting away to sit back on his bed.  

“Oh, uh–” Zack looked around the room. He’d never actually been inside it before– he must’ve been very worried to have burst in like this. But Sephiroth didn’t mind, for he was his only friend in the world– knowing someone cared for him so was... nice.  

“I never thought your room would be so small. I mean, uh–” Zack chuckled. “I was just expecting a bit bigger with way more stuff, y’know! You’re THE soldier and all, so I thought your room would be all huge and overwhelming! But it actually doesn’t look so different from the dorms we’ve got. Except for that little bookshelf over there, we don’t have one of those.”  

“It’s all right, Zack,” Sephiroth spoke. “Please, take a seat. And do not fret over expressing your opinion.”  

Zack grinned, grabbing a chair by the desk at the window and plopping down. “It’s nice and home-y of course, I don’t mean to say it’s bad. And this thing over there– ”  

He gestured to some dried flowers encased in glass, something Shinra had allowed Sephiroth to have when he’d requested it as a teen.  

“It’s cute.”  

Sephiroth’s smile was very subtle– most would not even have noticed its presence. Much of the time, only Zack could provoke its appearance.  

“Which is to say, uh– how’ve you been, man? You just– I don’t wanna push you or anything– but you just look a little bit shaken.”  

Sephiroth gazed into Zack’s earnest, kind eyes. They were deeply blue, like a vivid ocean, with just a hint of that mako glow. He found it easy to get lost in them.  

He sighed, breaking their eye contact as he looked down at the book he still held in his hands. He was supposed to be pure, a beacon of strength without a single crack of vulnerability tainting him. But Zack... he knew he could trust Zack.  

“I had a rather troubling mission. I’d rather not indulge the details, but...”  

His voice trailed off. Zack put his arm around him.  

“It’s okay. I’m here for you.”  

Sephiroth nodded, not knowing whether to lean into the touch or remain as he was.  

“Why do we fight, Zack?”  

Zack paused for a moment; lips pressed together in thought. It was clear he’d not been expecting such a question.  

“Well, for me– I wanted to be a hero. I know a lot of people look up to you as one– I’m no exception. Doing real good for the world, spreading the technology and power of Shinra, putting down the bad guys– that’s what it means for me.”  

“Real good... bad guys?” Sephiroth echoed with a soft murmur. This had not been the answer he was looking for. But it was clear to him it was not Zack’s foolishness that had produced such an answer– he was occasionally absent-minded, but he was no fool. This was all just Shinra, he’d heard these phrases from many a soldier before. Anyone who stood the company was bad and wrong and had to be put down by noble heroes. Shinra knew better, it knew what was good, so it was the job of the noble heroes to spread it with their bloody weapons and tainted hands.  

“Well, yeah,” Zack offered a reassuring smile.  

“And you’ve never... had moments of doubt?” Sephiroth suggested. “Never questioned what Shinra has framed as heroic, or good, or evil?”  

The raven-haired man fell silent for a few moments.  

“What happened?”  

“It’s all right,” Sephiroth lied. “I was only wondering.”  

“I know something’s wrong, ” Zack said, putting both hands on Sephiroth’s shoulders and pulling him over to face him. “Look, I know you can’t get super emotional in public and whatnot, but– you’re with me! You can tell me anything, if you want to, of course. I just... can’t sit here and watch you pretending everything’s fine, when there’s clearly something bothering you. Remember– your emotions are not weakness.”  

Sephiroth sighed.  

“I killed many people on my mission today. And one of my victims tried to ‘open my eyes’. Yes, they were Avalanche, but they were not manipulating me. They reminded me of things I’d known for a long time. I wish not to go into it.”  

Zack’s gaze softened, and he wrapped an arm around him again. A wordless affirmation that he was there for him, no matter what. These days, Zack was the only one who ever was.  

“I always wondered...” Sephiroth mumbled. “You know my childhood was not like most’s.”  

“Yeah,” Zack nodded solemnly.  

“So much of it was just... fighting. I knew the fields of war and stench of death when most would be playing innocent games with their friends. People look up to me for it, but... I never had a choice in the matter. I’ve always felt different, Zack. Even before then, with the few children I did know– I’d always known I was unique, in some way. I have made my peace with that, but I do not see why it necessitated such an isolated, violent life for me.”  

“Of course. Just because you’re different doesn’t mean you should be mistreated. You know, for the record– I’ve always liked your eyes,” Zack grinned, trying to cheer him up. And it seemed to work, Sephiroth chuckled– though, it sounded slightly sad– and his cheeks grew ever so slightly red.  

“You know that’s not the only thing I meant,” he smiled.  

“I know, but– you know!”  

“Indeed, I do,” Sephiroth chuckled again. “But, well... I cannot help but wonder. What is it like, to grow up with others? To have friendships and bonds with others? To have... parents that love you?”  

“Parents? Oh, do not get me started on them,” Zack playfully punched Sephiroth’s arm. “Man, mine would never get off my back. ‘Zack, don’t go too far from the village’! ‘Zack, don’t go jumping in the mud puddles’! ‘Zack, don’t play in the trees during thunderstorms!”  

“Well, you shouldn’t be in high areas during a storm. That’s dangerous.”  

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I mean, it was annoying, but... they were just looking out for me, I guess. Not that it stopped me, I loved to do crazy things as a kid, and they’d always get so furious once I was back home. Led to a bit of a, uh, shaky relationship, especially as I got older. They hated the idea of me joining Soldier.”  

“Is that why you do not write to them much?”  

Zack laughed quietly and looked away, nodding slowly.  

“My apologies. I did not mean to–”  

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s part of it, at least.”  

“I’m just... slightly lost,” Sephiroth spoke. “You have difficulties in your relationship, and yet, it continues. No matter what happens, it seems both of you have this...”  

“It’s because they love me,” Zack said, leaning his back against the wall and looking up to the ceiling with a wistful expression. “Despite my flaws, the mistakes I’ve made, how little I really talk to them about anything... they still love me. Unconditionally.”  

“And... you love them back?”  

“Of course!”  

Unconditional love. Sephiroth was uncertain if he’d ever known it. Doctor Gast, perhaps, was one of two people who entered his mind upon the utterance of this word. But, even then, when Gast had left, he’d not spoken any word of warning to Sephiroth. He’d not even attempted to contact him. The boy had spent many a night weeping in his room, wondering if the doctor had forgotten of him while he still dreamt his face every day. And, of course, he’d never understand why this all happened, for Doctor Gast died mere months after taking his leave. Whether he’d had some legitimate reason or not to never reach out to Sephiroth, it had left a hole in his heart. Would someone who’d loved him unconditionally have left (((abandoned))) him so easily?  

And the second person...  

Sephiroth almost considered asking Zack if he loved him unconditionally. But perhaps there was no need. The unrelenting warmth the man would bring him, all the care and attention and genuine friendship– it was almost overwhelming. On their days off, Zack would always take Sephiroth along to enjoy things he’d never had before, even something so simple as a walk taken together. He liked to think that maybe, just maybe, he’d finally found someone who loved him unconditionally– and who he loved back, too.  

“Such bonds, they seem to be so rare,” Sephiroth said. “Most of my caregivers would only offer rudimentary necessities. And the only one I thought offered more, ended up being the one to leave. But Zack, you...”  

(((In all my years, I think you’re the only one to have ever truly loved me at all))).  

But he spoke not a word.  

“Hey,” Zack smiled at him patiently. “I’ll always be here for you, Sephiroth– that’s my promise to you.”  

Chapter Text

The insides of the truck rattled as it drove along the winding path, through green woods and sloping hills. The mountain village of Nibelheim was its destination, transporting a couple of first-class soldiers and infantrymen to investigate and deal with reports of monsters growing more populous and aggressive in the area.  

“Are you all right?” Sephiroth whispered to one of the infantrymen, a close friend of Zack’s. “You seem rather pale.”  

“Y-yeah,” the young one stuttered, panting and appearing rather sickly. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m just–” he quickly covered his mouth with a fist, as if he was about to throw up.  

“I’ve not packed anything for motion sickness,” Sephiroth murmured with a hint of regret. “Look out the window. Into the distance. You might feel better then.”  

The silver-haired soldier stood slightly hunched over. It was uncomfortable; the ceiling was too low for his stature, but there was little he could do but endure. He looked over to Zack, who was carefully studying a crystalline ball of pure power, held in his gloved hands.  

“Hey, uh, Sephiroth? I got a question.”  

Sephiroth shifted over to Zack, looking at him expectantly. The man gestured at the green ball he was holding.  

“Where did Shinra get all this materia?”  

Sephiroth regarded the sphere– the materia– with cold eyes.   

“Some of it was crafted by the planet itself, around places plentiful with lifestream– it’s essentially crystallised mako. But most of it, now, is created artificially by Shinra.”  

“Huh. Our company’s pretty amazing, right?” Zack grinned innocently at him. “All the stuff it’s made, especially managing to make artificial materia. I don’t think I can call it anything but amazing.”  

“Our company, you say...” Sephiroth looked out the window. The forest outside was withered and dreary, the trees bare of foliage as their twisting branches reached for salvation that would never come.  

“Have you not ever considered leaving soldier?” his eyes narrowed. “No... leaving Shinra?”  

When he looked over to Zack, his friend’s expression was one of melancholic concern.  

“Why?”  

***  

(((“How does it feel, to be home after all this time? I have no hometown, so I wouldn’t know.”)))  

(((“My mother’s name was Jenova– she died shortly after I was born. My father... ha ha ha. Why am I talking about this? Come now– we have work to attend to.”)))  

(((“Hojo... a walking mass of complexes.”)))  

(((“The mako reactor is our destination. Something must have malfunctioned for these monsters to be thriving so.”)))  

(((“This is a top-secret facility- only authorised personel are permitted. Keep the young lady safe. Zack and I will go in to assess what’s happened.”)))  

***  

The reactor was smothered in dust. The two soldiers marched through the door and entered a room with walls of rusted metal. Countless pods were neatly lined up, looming next to stairs that led up to a foreboding sealed door, situated right below thick letters that spelled out– ‘JENOVA’.  

"Zack. This section is broken,” Sephiroth said, almost absent-mindedly. “Go seal the valve.”  

As his friend, in tense silence, went off to twist it shut, Sephiroth could not stop staring into the pod. Though neither had spoken a word of it, they’d both noticed what was displayed above the sealed door. Sephiroth had rarely, if ever, been taken off guard by something– and this was one of those moments. His heart had dropped when he processed the supposed name of his mother being that which was above the door. It had to be a coincidence and nothing more.  

And yet, there was something very strange about this place. About this village, in fact. From the moment he’d set foot in it, there’d been an odd... familiarity to it. As if he was experiencing some kind of déjà vu. It was even worse when he’d set eyes upon the dark mansion that overlooked the village.  

He felt like he was sinking. Gazing through a small window into the pod, a blank face gazed right back at him. Eyes frozen in time, displaying an emotion that he felt only he could understand. His own reflection in those pale pools were beginning to horrify him.  

Sephiroth glanced back up to those words, Jenova , then back at the face in the pod. The creature was not human– humanoid , but with twisted crowns of calcified flesh, exposed fangs jutting from lipless jaws, and skin that looked almost as thick as a dragon’s.  

He stumbled back, wandering over to another pod. It housed the same kind of creature, kept in stasis within its cramped confines. He gritted his teeth, there was no doubt that this was the work of Hojo. He was painfully familiar with the scientist’s cruel endeavours.  

“To play God is not what makes a great scientist, Hojo,” Sephiroth muttered to himself, brow sharply furrowed. “You’ll never be half the man Doctor Gast was, no matter how many abominations you craft.”  

“Sephiroth...?” Zack trotted over.  

Sephiroth stepped aside and watched as Zack peered through the glass– and his face melted into one of shock.  

“What?” he whispered in horror, appearing almost entranced by the sight that greeted him. His mouth hung open in fear. He could not understand what he was looking at, and the look in the paralysed creature’s eyes was not one he could comprehend.  

“What is that!?”  

Sephiroth scanned Zack’s body language carefully. His hackles were raised, and limbs were stiff. A bead of sweat trickled down from his black hair.  

“The average member of soldier is put through procedures to enhance them at a biological level,” Sephiroth said, trying to ignore the feelings of pain that began to form in his chest as he focused on his words. “Specifically with controlled levels of mako. However, they are still human. But this is what happens when one is given too much– more than the body can take. With such exponentially high mako levels, the form twists and mutates into what we know as monsters. Over-exposure to mako is a risk to all forms of life.”  

He stumbled back. Zack took a step forwards, reaching out– yet he hesitated. Never had Sephiroth felt this before. It was like his world was crashing down upon him, and he could do nothing to endure it. Jenova, the monsters, Hojo’s unstoppable ambitions...  

(((“Sephiroth... you are a very special child.”)))  

It cannot be.  

It fits together too perfectly. It cannot be.  

His hands instinctively snaked up towards his eyes.  

Has my entire life been a lie?  

He remembered how easily he’d snapped that child’s arm between his fingers. Before he’d even had a lick of training, he was powerful enough to do that without even realising.  

The way they’d looked at him.  

The way Zack looked at the monster.  

The look in the eyes of the countless beasts he’d killed, carrying a pained agony that he, from deep within his soul, could understand– but other humans never did.  

“Sephiroth, you’ve... never been average,” Zack shuddered.  

It clicked.  

His eyes were burning. Reaching for his blade, he snarled in anger, starting forwards and blindly attacking one of the pods. Zack jumped back, exclaiming in wordless terror as the silver-haired soldier thrust his sword, over and over, against the metal capsule.  

“Was I created the same way!?” his voice was raised into an enraged growl. Zack trembled and froze up, he’d never heard Sephiroth raise his voice , let alone lose control over himself and his emotions.  

“Is this what I am!? Am I the same as these monsters!?”  

“Sephiroth!” Zack rushed forwards, grabbing his shoulder. Sephiroth planted a hand on his chest and pushed him away. He was not trying to do so roughly, but this revelation was too overwhelming for him to realise he’d not monitored the level of strength he’d used. Zack was thrown off and groaned as his back hit a nearby wall, hard enough to leave a small dent. Were he not enhanced; this would have almost certainly killed him.  

 “Am I an abomination too!?”  

With one final blow of his sword, he cleanly sliced through the top section of the pod. The metal fell away, the liquid inside seeping through the scars he’d already inflicted– and the head of the monster tumbled down to his feet, looking up at him with those melancholic eyes.  

He exhaled audibly, hand over his chest as he tried to keep his breathing under control. When he blinked down at the decapitated head, he quickly averted his gaze.  

“Sephiroth,” Zack wheezed, stumbling away from the wall towards his friend. Under any other circumstance, with a clearer mind, Sephiroth would’ve checked on his friend, or apologised, or at the very least experience some pang of guilt. But there was none of it now. He was choking on the smoke of the truth.  

“Ever since I was a child, I’d known I was different,” Sephiroth slowly began to turn to face Zack. “I was not like the others. I was supposed to be special. But this...? No... not like this.”  

Zack gasped. Sephiroth’s cheeks were glistening with tears.  

“Am I... a human being?”  

(((I am the perfect monster))).  

***  

When Sephiroth returned to the village, he’d rushed far ahead of Zack, the infantrymen, and the young girl who’d guided them to the reactor. He’d not gone into the hotel they stayed in, no– he’d rushed into the Nibelheim mansion. Something told him he’d find his answers there. It was an old place used by Shinra scientists many years ago, surely there had to be something?  

And he was right. In its basement was a secret lab, and a huge library full of countless books. He grabbed them one by one and read the truth that had been hidden from him all his life.  

Jenova, unidentified life form uncovered from a 2,000-year-old stratum. Believed to be an Ancient. More testing must be done to confirm. They are believed to have been wiped out by a calamity that fell from the skies, thousands of years ago, around the time Jenova would have lived.  

“Dr Gast...?”  

I am strongly confident that Jenova is an Ancient. Shinra has commissioned an experiment to remake this race using a human child. This will be known as Project S, under Project Jenova.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?”  

Project S is a failure. Jenova is not an Ancient, but the very calamity from the skies that almost annihilated all life. And from her flesh, we have crafted an abomination. I don’t want to know what Shinra intends to use him for, but I have made a grave mistake with my complicity in his creation. God help us all.  

“Why did you die?”  

Sephiroth looked down at the words etched onto the page, his hands almost shaking, and his eyes blurred with tears he refused to shed. Zack entered the room, approaching and uttering words Sephiroth did not hear. He was insecure. Afraid. He could sense his fear.  

Did Zack, the only human that he was close to, see him as an abomination too? And, if he did... would he hate him for it? Refuse to accept him, out of fear of what was different? Doctor Gast certainly did. Why else would he have left when he realised Sephiroth’s true nature, as if everything that came before had meant nothing to him?  

He sent him away with the request to leave him be, refusing to look him in the eyes. He feared to know what expression they’d hold. Part of him almost wanted Zack to refuse, but the man left and did not return. Abandoning him to his own rising madness. Perhaps now that Zack knew just how unlike others Sephiroth was, he’d succumb to that oh-so human hatred of that which was different. How ironic it was, that he’d once thought Zack to be the one person to harbour unconditional love for him.  

For days on end, he would read and read and read the murky story of what he truly was. A failed experiment. An abomination. A tool. And nothing more than that.  

He’d not eat. He'd not drink. He’d not even sleep.  

He could hear Her voice too. An otherworldly, alien voice ringing softly in his mind, claiming to be this ‘Jenova’– his mother. Claiming to be of the Ancients that once roamed the planet, until they sacrificed themselves and died as humans just watched on, not lifting a finger to help. She denied that She was this so-called ‘Calamity’. She denied that he was a freak of nature. She tied thin, inviting tendrils around his mind. No, he was not some artificially created weapon that only existed to be used. No, he was an Ancient after all– or, in Her words, a Cetra.  

For seven days, the lights in that mansion never went out. It was only him holed up in the library, occasionally caressed by Jenova’s soft voice. She called him her one and only son. And he began to refer to her as Mother. After the first day, Zack never checked on him again. And why should he be surprised? The humans had created him only to use him. Why would Zack regard him any differently? Truly, Sephiroth was alone in this world.  

No... Jenova was there for him. He was no abomination, everyone else was wrong; he had a place in this world just as every other being did. He was no amalgamation of earthly and cosmic flesh, he was a Cetra. Doctor Gast was still right, he was special, not an abomination, of all the things in this world, not an abomination.  

Either way, Shinra had used him. The humans had used him; not even Zack was different from the rest. To them, all he’d been was a tool and a weapon to be used.  

For that, they all deserved to burn.  

Chapter Text

He had no remorse for the actions he took that day. That terrible, beautiful day. Zack had visited him on the seventh day he’d spent holed up in the library, but nothing he said could’ve changed what Sephiroth was going to do.   

“Out of my way. I am going to see my mother,” the silver abomination had told him, voice slick with venom as he pushed him aside and left to do what he should’ve done a long time ago.  

He was alone in this world. The last Cetra (((the only experiment of his kind)) ). With mother, he’d take revenge against the humans for their cowardice and arrogance ((( for creating him, using him, and abandoning him ))). Walking out into the village in the dead of night, under a black void of darkness, he allowed flames to form and wisp around his fingers. What started as a single spark, he nurtured into an inferno.  

Standing in the heart of the screaming blaze, he burned the village with draconic rage. Whatever pain twisted and writhed in his chest; he ignored as he focused on destroying any figure that stood in his path of devastation. What was he to do with his pain, but to lash out and destroy as he'd been taught to do?  

Shinra would no longer control him. No one would ever use him again. Every human had looked upon him with fear or superficial admiration, and the few he believed worthy had all betrayed him. They all deserved to burn indeed.  

Blood flecked against his pale, white skin as he tore through crowds of men, women and children. Their screams fell upon deaf ears. Not even Mother's voice was getting through to him as She tried to compel him to come to her. His eyes were weary and blank as he just killed, and killed, and killed. With every life taken, his heart would swell with indescribable joy. All these years, controlled and used, lied to and manipulated... now he was free. And no one could stop him, for they’d so perfectly trained him into a killing machine.  

He cornered a frail woman as she pleaded with him, but not to spare her. No, she was begging for the life of her precious son. “Not him,” she whimpered, trembling hands clasped together as she prayed for a God who would not listen to her pleas.   

“You have to leave...” she wheezed, barely audible as she reached out her hand. “You have to live.”  

Tears streamed from her eyes as she looked on ahead, past Sephiroth. He glared with narrowed eyes glowing with ecstasy before thrusting the Masamune straight into her heart. The screams of despair danced around him, and he revelled in it all.  

He looked up, locking eyes with the person she’d urged to escape. It was one of the infantrymen that had accompanied him, fallen to the ground. He was still as the rest, not a sound coming from his limp body.  

The silver soldier paid him no mind. He looked upon the dead and dying with cold, remorseless eyes. They all deserved this. They were traitors.  

And it was time to fulfil his destiny, and go to his own Mother.  

He turned away, and marched past the flames like a phantom. They licked at his skin and brushed against his fingers, but he remained unburned. The only sounds were the screams of those crawling closer into the frigid hands of death. He loathed to leave such a satisfying landscape behind, but there were more important things to attend to.  

He left the village covered in blood and cleansed by flame.  

***  

Mother had thought she could control him too. Perhaps, to an extent, she had. She fed those lies about him being a Cetra, that she was one of them and that he was a chosen one who’s purpose was to destroy humanity in the name of the Cetra they’d abandoned those thousands of years ago.  

But he knew better now. Mother– or, better yet, Jenova– was a calamity that fell from the skies. He was no Cetra, no chosen one. He had no purpose, save for that which humans had forced him into. Having fallen into the lifestream, he had come to accept the truth. He was nothing more than a product of human arrogance. One they only sought to use, not respect. Professor Gast abandoned him because he’d not be able to fulfil the purpose that scientist had wanted him to fulfil. And, oh, how foolish he’d been to think Zack would be any different. To think he’d once harboured such gentle feelings of such... affectionate nature towards one who’d been so quick to abandon and turn against him... he’d never make such a mistake again.  

He had to rise again. Rise above his circumstances. Prove to the humans, to the planet, to himself, that he was more than a mere experiment. He was more than anything this universe had ever seen.  

Most who fell into the lifestream would disperse into its viridian waves, their soul to be recycled into another body in a circular cycle of rebirth. But Sephiroth was not ready to die. No, he couldn’t afford to die. He would be reborn in a different way, rising from the ashes of the truth. No more would he be used and exploited as Shinra’s precious puppet.  

He was going to become a God.  

Humanity was not the only one in danger. All life– even the planet itself– would become one with him. He would cause such damage to the planet that it would have no choice but to try heal itself with lifestream, and as it would gather around the festering would, he’d be there to consume it all. In the end, there would be no life left but his own. And he would be eternal, ascending above his original purpose as a mere experiment, to become the One and Only.  

He’d made mistakes before. He’d not made sure everyone in the village was dead. In the reactor, there had been others trying to stop him– some foolish young girl who’d thought she could use his very sword, which only he could wield, to get revenge for him killing her father. And Zack, so determined to stop him, and with such rage in his eyes, rage he’d never seen in him before. It was almost amusing, how quick he’d been to forget the bond they’d once shared. (((How little he cared to consider the pain Sephiroth was in))).  

Sephiroth had no body to express his annoyance, but if he did, he would’ve snorted in frustration. It had been that infantryman from before who’d, somehow, managed to defeat him. How shameful. He’d let his guard down and the boy had managed to throw him off the reactor’s platform. Sephiroth fell into the lifestream with Jenova’s decapitated head clutched against his chest. It filled his heart with rage, that one as great and indomitable as he had fallen to the blind determination of a mere human– and not even one that had been enhanced.  

Funnily enough, it was that very act, of him getting thrown into the lifestream, that gave him the power he had now. It had been five years since that day. In those five years, he’d travelled the lifestream, crystallising what remained of his body, in the crater that had formed upon Jenova’s arrival. He travelled the planet to uncover the truth about the Cetra, Jenova, and himself. Whatever influence she’d had on him back then, he had stamped out now. He was no longer to be anyone’s puppet– now, she was to be his own.   

With all this knowledge, an acceptance of what he was, and what he strived to become– Sephiroth had now been reborn.  

He would not die merely a monster, feared and hated once the humans ran out of ways to use him. He would rise again as the God of a new, beautiful world.  

He thought carefully of those who deserved to suffer. All the humans had to suffer for what they’d done to him, but there were some who needed to experience agony much more than others. If only Doctor Gast was alive, for it had been his idea to craft a being as wondrous and terrible as Sephiroth. The root of his own suffering was borne from his mere existence, so who better to target than his very creators?   

Something had tried to reach out to him on his journey. A warmth, subconscious and weak, yet almost inviting. A type of which he’d yearned for so long, yet had never known. But it was too late now, far too late– he ignored the strange presence, rejecting the warmth, and moving along his way.  

He knew, once the time of confrontation would come, he’d not be ready yet to face his mother first– his true mother, not the extraterrestrial that formed his flesh and had so foolishly believed that he could be controlled.   

It was Professor Hojo he had to deal with first. The man who deserved no less than to die by the hands of his own monster.  

Chapter Text

Hojo cackled as he typed away at the computer. Chaos had fallen upon the world. Sephiroth was back, after all these years. Oh, he knew the boy wouldn’t be so easy to kill! He was back, and he was going to bring such beautiful destruction to this wretched world. Having gotten access to the powerful black materia, the consequences of such magic now loomed above the sky, haunting the people below with the inevitability of their end. A blazing red ball of death, every day, crept closer and closer. Nothing Shinra had tried could stop it. There was a certain group out there, made up of escaped experiments, maddened eco-terrorists, self-pitying fools and washed-up employees desperate for a purpose, trying to stand in the way of both the company, and of Sephiroth.  

But they were hopeless. Perhaps Shinra could be stopped, but not Sephiroth. He’d known the boy from birth, and they had no idea of just how powerful he truly was. He was a failed experiment as a replication of the Cetra, but the perfect conclusion in the creation of a killing machine. In fact, he was better– for he had arisen high above his circumstances, into something beyond.  

“Oh, son,” Hojo laughed so hard his lungs felt as though they were about to burst. “These fools think they can stop you! But we both know how such arrogance will end!”  

His fingers continued to tap at the keyboard. Shinra was attacking the Northern Crater, where Sephiroth’s body was located– and they’d managed to remove the protective barrier around it, though his son was unharmed. Hojo was on limited time; it wouldn’t be long before Shinra would attempt to shoot again, and he feared of what would happen if someone tried to stop him. He had to send energy, much energy, to the location of his son. He had to know, to see with his own eyes, the potential full power of his beautiful experiment.  

He grinned. What a wonderful scientist he turned out to be.  

“You always looked down on me, Sephiroth. But look who’s helping you now, my boy” he spoke, glancing out the window towards the crater. The land ahead was barren and eerie in its silence. In fact, he noted for a moment that things were too silent. A chill crept up his spine, as if something were about to lash out and hurt him– a feeling he’d not felt since he was a child.  

“Hojo.”  

The scientist’s demeanour changed instantly. He whirled around like a startled creature, white fingers quickly reaching for the revolver he kept in his pocket. Was he hearing things? He aimed his weapon in the direction of the voice, hands growing slick with sweat. His mind sometimes played tricks on him, which was unsurprising considering how much exposure he’d had to Jenova. This would not be the first time he’d heard the voice of his son, when there was nothing there. (((At least, this time, it had not been Lucrecia))).  

“You know full well the powers granted by Jenova. Your gun is useless here.”  

The voice felt far more real than usual. Hojo sighed, and put his gun away. If the voice was a hallucination, then he should simply carry on with his work. If the voice was real, then there was no reason to do so.  

“I do not have the time for this,” he muttered to himself, turning his attention back to the computer. “Science waits for no one.”  

“Nor does death,” the voice hissed. “Do you believe me to be a mere illusion?”  

Hojo froze as cold fingers curled around his shoulder, stifling a gasp. The touch was deceptively light, for he knew its owner could crush his bones in an instant, if he decided it appropriate. Indeed, this was no vision– Sephiroth’s mastery of Jenova had reached a frightening– and fascinating– level.  

“My dear boy,” Hojo drawled, grinning with refusal to show how terrified he truly was. “Can you not see that I am trying to help you?”  

“I need not your help.”  

Hojo wanted to flinch. Those serpentine eyes, so inhuman, yet so like that of the one person he’d ever loved. He despised to think of it, love made no sense to him– it was illogical, it tainted the waters of his goals and risked steering him off his path of objectivity and discovery. Yet, even he had been weak to its clutches. To her.  

And now, her remnant stood before him. With a gaze of ice that somehow burned more than the most infernal hell, and a stature that made him feel like he was cowering before a great dragon who carried the jaws of death.  

“It’s been five years since I saw you last,” Hojo spoke, backing away but making no moves to leave the room– he knew there was nothing he could do to escape, unless Sephiroth allowed him to. “Yet you have still managed to give me the opportunity to make such wondrous discoveries. All these new theories on the nature, biology, abilities of Jenova... even beyond the grave, you’ve managed to be a miracle of science.”  

Hojo grinned crookedly, trying to speak without a single stutter. Sephiroth’s own expression was almost like a mirror, his lips quirked into a sly smirk that hid whatever bitterness he was feeling. Hojo knew the boy well enough to read him well, while others were unable to see past his stoic– now smug– mask, he could tell the boy had so many emotions writhing inside him. Hatred, anger, melancholy, pain, agony. The world would only see a vengeful heartless soldier, but all monsters, deep down, were just frightened, lost children. Hojo knew this better than anyone.  

“Even beyond the grave, you find ways to use me,” Sephiroth narrowed his eyes.  

“Use you?” Hojo raised a brow. “Is that how you see things, my boy? Do you hate me so much that it blinds you to the truth?”  

“And what truth is that?”  

“I did not create you to use you. Perhaps that fool, Doctor Gast, had such a motive. But not me. This was all for something much bigger, not merely my selfish individual pursuits. This was all in the name of discovery, truth, science. It is above you and I, after all. You are an intelligent boy, Sephiroth, I thought you’d be able to see that. Through this experiment came the creation of a being above everything else on this planet.”  

“You weren’t the only one involved in Project S.”  

“Ah, you speak of Jenova– your mother?”  

Hojo flinched as a rod of steel formed right next to him, slicing the fibres of his lab coat and reaching behind to impale the computer. It was as if Sephiroth had willed his Masamune into existence. The scientist could not stop the whimper from escaping his lips, the first sign of his fear, when he saw the blank rage in Sephiroth’s eyes.  

“Tell me the truth, Hojo. You are going to die today, but whether your end comes with merciful swiftness that you do not deserve, or slow agony that will make you wish you were dead– that will all be dependent upon you. Pick your next words very carefully– I know more than you think.”  

“You’re angry... and why is that, my boy? Do you not believe it worthy to exist for the sake of science?”  

Sephiroth shifted his Masamune, so its tip pressed against Hojo’s neck uncomfortably.  

“Do. Not. Test me.”  

“I’m not,” Hojo replied, grimacing as he put up his hands in a submissive gesture. “I simply fail to understand your emotions, boy. Why the anger?”  

“This world will be mine,” Sephiroth whispered ominously, a hungry glow in his eyes. “Everything will gather and merge to become part of me. I will rise above whatever fate you and Shinra had attempted to enforce upon me. Only then will I become something greater. But now, in this moment, I wish only to see you suffer. I’ve not forgotten how you treated me.”  

A burst of pain throbbed at one of Hojo’s knuckles. The scientist groaned, warm flecks flicking across his face. When he looked over to the source of his discomfort, his eyes widened with realisation– he was missing a finger. It fell next to him, like a pale worm.  

“You know I am knowledgeable in human anatomy. I can make this very long. I will. ”  

Hojo fell to the ground, his back crashing against the metal desk behind him. He could no longer hide his fear so easily; his hand was shaking as blood dribbled down a crimson stump where his finger should have been. His face whitened to a shade even more pale than it usually was.  

He laughed. Sephiroth stuck his blade into Hojo’s arm, just below the wrist, and twisted it. It scrapped and sliced along bone, muscle, sinew and flesh. Blood vessels popped and tore and bled, painting the old scientist’s skin red. And yet, there were no cries of pain.  

He could only laugh.  

It hurt, of course it did. But Hojo’s cackle was not always one of joy. It was involuntary, a way to hide and mask whatever he truly felt– and now, it was fear. Fear and terror of a most primal kind. He did not wish to die. He was (((afraid to die))) .   

But emotions would only cloud his mind. He had to ignore them, to be the perfect scientist unbiased by subjectivity, no remorse or empathy for the specimens he mutilated and tortured, not even allowing himself to feel so for his son.  

Sephiroth had always terrified him. When he looked into the boy’s eyes, he saw Lucrecia– his one and only weakness.  

“You’ve always been a fool,” the silver demise mused. “Your laughter does nothing to deceive me. I know you are afraid, Hojo. I know you’ve always been afraid of me.”  

Hojo's eyes were watery and wide, mouth gaping like a suffocating fish who’d scream if they could. But the only sound he produced was this senseless laughter. He could see, in Sephiroth’s orbs, that the boy looked upon him as if he was the most pathetic sight that he’d ever seen.  

“P-project S,” Hojo sputtered between short bouts of snickers. “Led and organised by Doctor Gast Faremis, Professor Marcus Hojo, and Professor Lucrecia Crescent. The goal was t-to create a human with the traits of a Cetra. This was done by injecting the genetic material of Jenova, believed to be a Cetra at the time, into the newly formed foetus of a human being. Professor Lucrecia put herself forward and allowed her foetus to become the specimen in question.”  

Sephiroth stayed his hand, watching Hojo with those blank, yet simultaneously furious eyes.  

“The specimen was formally dubbed to be the aforementioned ‘Project S’, but was colloquially referred to as ‘Sephiroth’,” Hojo grit his teeth. “Professor Lucrecia was incapable of remaining unattached and objective during the p-performance of the experiment. She was removed. As Project S was tested, he showed no signs of the abilities of the Cetra. Upon realising Project S was a failure, and Jenova had been misidentified, Doctor Gast left. I remained.  

“D-do you not see? The others were incompetent. They did not truly care for your potential. They did not see the experiment through to the end like I did. Lucrecia was blinded by subjective emotion; she grew delusional. Doctor Gast abandoned you when he understood your true nature. I was the only one who remained by your side, my son.”  

Sephiroth’s expression was unreadable, but Hojo could tell he was processing everything. It did not seem as though this was information he was hearing for the first time; the shock of Doctor Gast’s abandonment and the fact that his mother had not died in childbirth, as Hojo had told him, seemed to be things Sephiroth had grown aware of. But there was something that seemed to react when Hojo uttered the words ‘my son’.  

There. That was the one thing he’d not known. Or, perhaps he had– but he’d no wish to accept it.  

“Your son?” Sephiroth spat, the last word with particular venom.  

“Yes,” Hojo forced a grin. “I am your father.”  

“You were no father to me,” Sephiroth pulled the Masamune from Hojo’s arm, and thrust it through Hojo’s shoulder. The scientist yelled in pain, and Sephiroth watched with pitiless expression.  

“You are nothing but a blight. A broken, pathetic worm who masquerades as a scientist and hides behind the accomplishments of other equally broken, pathetic worms.”  

Hojo panted, a trickle of red spilling from his mouth. Some of it had stained his glasses, and he instinctively reached up and brushed his fingers along the glass, trying to clean it. Even such a simple movement was agonisingly draining, and his arm fell by his side after smearing the blood.  

For a moment, his mind wondered to the visage of an old, bearded man. The man of his own childhood, who was supposed to take care of him, but only ever neglected him. Why was Sephiroth so angry over Hojo being who he was? The boy should be thankful, for Hojo did what his own father never bothered to do– he was a part of his son’s life. The boy would never understand, but all he did was for a greater good beyond them both.  

His son was the most perfect specimen he had ever seen. Perfect in every way. But such perfection could not be reached through coddling and infantilisation, like what Doctor Gast and Lucrecia had wanted to do.  

Now look at what he is.  

Hojo stopped himself from grinning, for fear of further provoking his son– but he certainly felt the urge to do so. Sephiroth seeked godhood, but in Hojo’s mind, he had already reached it. A being far above any other in existence, pure, independent, and unclouded by delusions of morality.  

“Lucrecia would be horrified to see what you have become,” Hojo sneered, locking eyes with Sephiroth. “Good.”  

Love was always conditional. He knew that very well. The foolish cries of that grieving woman would be stifled quickly if she knew the truth about her son, if she saw where he stood today. He could only hope that, wherever she was– whether dead or alive– she could see what a perfect, horrifying, beautiful product of scientific creation her son had grown to be.  

Sephiroth stepped closer. Behind him, flames formed and arose into a dance of death, framing the angel of destruction in divine crimson light. Hojo chuckled, eyeing the sadistic smirk his son harboured. He was his most wonderful creation. Joy and horror twisted in his chest as he regarded his son with pride. He was terrified to die, but at the very least, his legacy would remain.  

“Just a moment, dear boy,” he drawled, coughing up blood as he spoke. “Surely, Sephiroth, you are not blind to this truth.”  

Sephiroth stepped so close that there was no more space between them. He looked down at the crumpled, old scientist, refusing to kneel to his level. The crackle of flames was the only sound to be heard, overwhelming heat contrasting so strikingly against Sephiroth’s cold, frigid gaze.  

“Were it not for P-Project Jenova– for Project S. For Lucrecia, Gast, Shinra and I... you would not exist. Were your foetus left untampered, what makes you you simply would not be. Your power, your strength, your intelligence, your appearance, even your name. Your extraordinary nature, all your greatness– it is because of me. The only way you can exist is as a scientific experiment. Never forget that, my boy.”  

Sephiroth did not move. He was still as a statue, remaining outwardly calm in the face of Hojo’s words. The moment seemed to last an eternity, the sound of crackling fire mixing with the scientist’s feeble, wheezing chuckles. The room felt colder than the most isolated regions of the northern continent. And the angel of destruction bore a frightening expression, one of darkness and impending doom.  

“Better a monster than to be one of you.”  

***  

Marcus Hojo remembered, almost as though it had happened yesterday, how lonely he had felt as a child.  

The walls of his room were damp, and smelled subtly of rot. His bedsheets were tattered and torn, and the only toys in his room were the rocks and sticks he’d collect from the outside. He was a small boy, thin and underfed, with a mop of greasy black hair and squinted eyes that tried to make out the blurry world around them.  

He’d sit by his bed, hugging his knees as the faint sounds of strife came from outside. He wasn’t sure why, but his parents almost always argued. His mother was withdrawn for most of the day, injecting herself with blue-green substances and getting lost in some trance. His father would take him to school on most mornings, which seemed to be the only time that he was at ease. At home, his mother would always pick fights with him, throw things at him– and sometimes Marcus, if he was in the way– and his father would no longer have time for him. So, he’d in his room, alone, tears in his eyes as he’d listen to the shouts and screams of his parents outside.  

He did not fear death. Some nights, just as he was falling asleep, he’d wish that he’d not wake up the next day. He’d come to the conclusion that none would miss him, for his parents sometimes acted as if he didn’t exist, and everyone in school seemed to hate him. Other nights, he’d think of what life was like outside the slums. How much more comfortable and luckier the people of Midgar were when they found themselves living on the upper plate.  

The thing that kept him going was a book. One he’d taken from school, and vowed never to return. It was a book of science, thick and flowing with information about the world around him. Whenever things were too much, he’d retreat into its pages and find comfort in the knowledge. Sometimes, it felt like he couldn’t hear his parent’s fights through the door anymore.  

***  

School was tough. Most of the others despised him. They thought him strange, different, not one of them. Many ignored him. A few attacked him, beating him and kicking him until he’d weep. Hojo grew to hate himself. For if it seemed the entire world hated him, what worth did he have?  

The book was what saved him. All those nights when thoughts of death and worthlessness were plaguing his mind, he’d take it from under his bed– he always kept it there, right within reach– and block out the world as he absorbed more and more information about it. All his feelings were just chemicals. Nothing more.  

He’d wipe away his tears, and read. Feelings were useless. They only brought him down. But now, he knew he had a purpose. Science was his calling, the one thing that made him feel like he wasn’t worthless.   

(((The one thing that brought him joy)))  

***  

He’d gotten comfortable. Too comfortable. He’d excelled in his studies, and relocated above the slums. He’d told his parents, to their faces, that he’d never wanted to see them again. After that encounter, he never knew what came of them– not that he needed to, nor wished it.  

He joined Shinra and rose the ranks as one of its best scientists. But he wished not to be one of the best, he wanted to be the best. Still carrying the book from his childhood, the one thing he took with him from the slums, and keeping it by his desk, he did all he could to stand out from the rest. Yes, some may dub his actions ‘unethical’, but the experiments he did on the various creatures always had such fascinating results. And President Shinra seemed to have taken a liking to Hojo’s morally questionable approach, because Hojo rose those ranks quickly.  

His world shattered, however, when he met Lucrecia.  

She could keep up with him. She wasn’t like most of the researchers, who got all worried about the morality and ethics of their work. No, she prioritised discovery and knowledge the way he did– at all costs. When he noticed his more tender feelings cropping up in her presence, he’d chastise himself for it. He feared them, for he’d not known love before.  

He convinced himself he just appreciated her capabilities and potential as a scientist. But she was the first thing he’d had in his life, since discovering his fascination with science, that he could say– deep in his mind, but not aloud– that he cherished.  

***  

But things changed. Is that not the nature of life? Of existence? Change was inevitable.  

Lucrecia, and his love of her, was no exception. She’d never stop nagging about that specimen’s fate. That he was ‘her son’ and she ‘had to be with him’. In the beginning of the experiment, Hojo had believed that the two had an understanding. That she had enough respect for their work not to allow flimsy, foolish feelings to ruin everything.  

Perhaps she allowed herself to be controlled by her emotions, but not Hojo.  

When she disappeared, he could only think good riddance. No more would she risk holding back or interfering with Project S’s progress. No more would he have to deal with those annoying pangs of affection he once held for her.  

But he could see her in Project S– in Sephiroth. Though his eyes were inhuman, reflective of his strange genetics, there was something in them that reminded Hojo so much of the woman he once... no. He could afford to think of her so anymore.  

Hojo never showed it before Project S, but he was terrified of him. Terrified by the look in his eyes, so afraid of the fact that, in a way, he was a remnant of a part of Hojo’s life he wanted to forget. So, he’d not show Project S any tenderness, even if he began to see him as a son when his test results became favourable.  

Yet, in spite of this, Hojo always knew Sephiroth was going to be a special specimen. Better than anything he had sculpted before. The perfect specimen, the perfect killing machine– the perfect monster. Hojo was harsh, but he was preparing his son, his perfect specimen, for greatness that neither could comprehend at the time. Sephiroth was the beginning and the end, the unflawed finale to all scientific progress.  

The boy had always admired Doctor Gast, and despised his own father. But Hojo cared not, for in the end, Doctor Gast did nil to aid Sephiroth in achieving true greatness. He was only flesh and blood, now rotting away in some unmarked grave– Hojo remained. Doctor Gast and Professor Lucrecia were incompetent fools, in the end, it was Hojo’s ambition that solidified his legacy in such a wondrous, perfect bringer of demise.  

Science had been his saviour. The one thing that stayed his hand from taking his own life, when he had nothing to live for. He lived and breathed it as if it was his own oxygen. He let it rule his life, devoting himself like a scholar to God’s word.  

Sephiroth loomed over him, expertly utilising his blade to give the scientist the most agonising end possible. He was correct– Hojo screamed at the top of his lungs as his flesh ran red with blood and white with exposed bone. His body was breaking with each passing moment, contorting and cracking and distorting into unrecognisable crimson entrails. His glasses fell to the side, one of the lenses splintered.  

His son was right. He craved the mercy of death.  

And yet, between his agonised cries, he still cackled as ribs snapped and pricked his lungs. Was it not ironic?  

Science had been his saviour– and now, it brought him his end.  

Chapter Text

(A big thank you for Sotypicallytori (twitter/tumblr) for providing this beautiful art! It was also done for the Sephiroth Mini Bang event)

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Sephiroth’s mind delved back into the lifestream. He did not feel as satisfied as he thought he would upon torturing Hojo until his very final moments, but it was enough for him to feel pleasantly cleansed. Perhaps it would be hubris to wish for anything more than that. 

He had all he wanted, exactly where he needed. Every day, the meteor crept closer and closer. Whatever remained of Hojo was rotting away, where none would remember him. The fools who were out to stop him were fighting a battle of futility. He had very few things left to do before he’d go to wait, in the centre of the planet, for the meteor to impact and give him everything. 

In fact, there was only one. 

He now knew where to find Lucrecia. He’d been a fool not to recognise it before, but... that strange warmth from before, when he’d been travelling the lifestream. The one he’d rejected. 

It had been her. 

Neither of them had realised it, but mother had attempted to reach out to son– and the son had cast her aside. He had no use, nor need, for this maternal love. He’d seek her out as a vengeful creation would against their arrogant creator. He was the consequences of her foolish decisions. 

If only Doctor Gast was alive to face such a fate. 

It did not take long for Sephiroth to uncover the truth of his mother in the lifestream’s threads of distant memories. She’d sealed herself away in a desolate cavern where none would find her. Unable to take her own life after what she’d done, she instead chose eternal slumber encased in delicate crystals that sprouted from the rocks. She was in stasis, but she was alive. She’d had but one visitor, a man clad in red who’d softly spoken to inform her that her son was dead, believing it too cruel to confirm the visions of flame and death that had plagued her. For all those years, she’d clung to the idea of her son being alive despite what happened five years ago, but those thin strings of hope had been snapped by the man clad in red. When Sephiroth would find her, she’d wish his words had been true. 

He crept out of the shadows as if he was formed by their very hands. Standing tall at the mouth of the cave, his eyes flickering with green light. How many years he’d spent, yearning for a real family– a real mother. How many years he’d spent, mulling over the word Jenova, and the fact that he was the reason that she’d– supposedly– died. 

So much of his life had been a lie. But all of that was over. Shinra no longer had ties to their puppet. Sephiroth was free, and he knew he was going to do great things. 

No more wasting time.  

Sephiroth stepped into the cavern. As he made his way down the chamber, he glanced at the crystals sprouting along the path, like splinters of colour guiding him to she who considered herself his mother. The deeper he went, the more of them would appear, growing larger and larger. Some crunched beneath his boots like shards of glass, and he wondered if she would be able to hear his impending approach. 

His pupils expanded slightly as they picked up on a glow at the end of the cave. Right in the centre, stretching tall above the others, was a huge crystal shimmering in blue light. He could see a feminine figure trapped within; her expression melancholic. The scene was almost serene, but Sephiroth would not let it remain so. 

He glared at the face of the woman, heart filling with inconsolable hatred. Doctor Gast and Professor Hojo were a big part of why he existed– but why it had been him specifically , was because of her. Memories of the library and its torment filled his mind, the agony of why he existed at all drove him as he stretched out his hand and curled his fingers around the long blade he summoned. 

“I am here now, mother.”  

Her eyes snapped open. 

Behind the hardened glass, her mouth seemed to drop. Sephiroth could not tell if the look in her wide, soft brown eyes were frightful, shocked, heartbroken, or somewhere in between. Her heartbeat, initially faint and slow, was beginning to speed up. There was no smell of fear, but Sephiroth assumed it to be suppressed by the crystal encasing her. 

Before another beat could pass, he struck the sword into the rock with superhuman precision. All it took was a single tap, and spiderwebs of white crackled across the shimmering surface. The crystal fell apart like fragile glass, and among the pieces, Lucrecia collapsed to the ground. She fell on all fours, coughing and hacking violently. Red pinpricks appeared across her hands as small splinters pierced her skin. 

“Sephiroth?” she looked up. “Is this a dream? Is my mind tormenting me once more?” 

He stared at her coldly, not an emotion on his face. But hers crumpled into one of despair. She hid her face in her hands, sobbing wretchedly. As she wailed and wept, Sephiroth was but a detached observer. He wondered if he was supposed to feel something, if perhaps he did but had grown so distant that he could no longer identify his own emotions. Either way, he reminded himself, emotional vulnerability was a sign of weakness– something better left suppressed than addressed. 

“My child,” she whimpered, propping up one of her legs. She arose to stand, stumbling as if she’d never used them before. “My son.”  

Opening up her arms, she staggered towards him. But Sephiroth quickly aimed the Masamune’s tip at her side, his eyes narrowing with warning. Lucrecia watched in disbelief, her watery eyes drooping as she slowed to a stop. 

“ He told me you were dead,” she whispered. “I’d always clung to the hope that you were alive, regardless of who you’d become. And now, here you are, my dear child, standing before me and breaking that terrible lie with your mere presence.” 

She smiled sadly at him, reaching out (though not daring to move from her spot). Sephiroth’s expression did not change, though he noticed the smallest pang in his heart at how she referred to him. He could see, in her eyes, that her affection for him was genuine. But humans were all terrible, disgusting creatures that had made his entire life a lie. He could not allow himself to be clouded by foolish, impulsive wants. 

“Please, Sephiroth, I need to know that you are real. That my mind’s not tricking me. Please, my son– let me embrace you.” 

How pathetically desperate, Sephiroth thought, trying to drown the more vulnerable ruminations that tainted him. His lips parted as he released a low, ominous laugh. Would she be able to see it? The hesitation in his eyes? He covered his face, cackling into his hands as strands of silver fell past his shoulders. 

“You shall not touch me,” he growled through his fingers, a single green eye peering past them to look through his ‘mother’. “You’ve no right.” 

Lucrecia froze. Yet not a sliver of fear seemed to waft from her form. And the way she looked upon him; there was no hatred, no horror, not even a hint of disgust at the violent, terrible actions that he’d wrought upon the human race. In her eyes was a warmth that was completely alien to him. 

“You look just as you did,” she smiled. “In the visions I used to have of you, decades ago. They’d fill me with such dread– especially your eyes, and the rage they burned with. But no more do they unsettle me– no more do I fear you, my dear child.” 

“You will learn to fear me again, once more,” Sephiroth lowered his hands, a soft growl in his tone. 

But Lucrecia shook her head. 

“No matter what you do, I shall not be afraid. Not of you. Whatever you choose to do to me, I shall hold no blame against you. What I have done– it is unforgiveable.” 

“Indeed,” Sephiroth forced himself to smirk. “Your actions– as well as the ones of those fools – have doomed the entire planet. You should have never created me.” 

“It doesn’t matter to me what happens. You are my son, Sephiroth. Your rage, your anger, your hatred against all– I accept it. I know I deserve it, and I do not blame you for directing it against all in your path.” 

She sobbed. 

“This is all my fault.”  

Sephiroth only watched. He kept his mask of a leering grin. It was more complex than it being merely her fault. It was the fault of humanity, their arrogance and greed and delusional belief that they could control and use that which was extraordinary. He was the twisted finale of their hubris, the one destined to end their folly with finality. 

“I know it means nothing, but from the bottom of my heart– Sephiroth. I am sorry.” 

She brought herself to look him in the eye. He remained responseless. 

“You’re sorry,” he echoed, chuckling lightly. “I was lied to my entire life. Used, like I was nil more than a machine. Forced to become a tool of violence and death when I had been but a mere child. You could have– no, you should have– come to set me free, if you’d cared at all. But no– you chose to rot here, away from your sins, in the comfort of your own isolation, and you abandoned me to be at the mercy of Hojo . You can imagine he did not have much of that.” 

“I was helpless–” Lucrecia started, but Sephiroth raised his sword to her throat to silence her. 

“You have no excuse. You do not know me. You do not know the things I have seen, the things I have learned, the things I have done . Whatever deceptive delusion you have in your mind of me, of how I’d come running into your arms after this pathetic excuse for an apology– you have been dangerously wrong, Lucrecia. But is that not to be expected of you?” 

Her breath hitched; this seemed to have hit a soft spot. Sephiroth smiled, this time with a genuine twinkle in his eyes. 

“I have not come here to reunite with you. You are not my mother, Lucrecia– you are simply another of my creators. Nothing more than that.” 

"You have come to kill me?” 

Sephiroth nodded. Even with that confirmation, he was still unable to pick up on any hints of fear from the woman. 

“You are the last of my creators who shall die.” 

“Hojo, he–” the woman pressed her lips together. It was clear that, whatever she felt towards that pathetic man, there was still some part of her that clung to their pasts. It only served to anger Sephiroth even more. She opened her mouth as if she wished to comment on this, but wisely took a moment to pause and think. 

“I wish for nothing more than atonement,” Lucrecia kneeled before Sephiroth. “For all the failures I have committed as a mother. I have no right to the mercy of death, my son. Let me live, and I shall do all in my power to make things right.” 

“A world in which you make things right is a world in which I do not exist.” 

“Not if I do so as a mother!” 

“You’re only trying to extend your miserable life.” 

Sephiroth purposefully flicked up his blade, a stark reminder of its presence and its hunger. Lucrecia carefully eyed it from the side like it was a snarling canine yearning for her flesh, then returned her woeful gaze back to him. 

“Is that the only way you may find satisfaction?” she spoke gently. “The only way for you to be at peace, my son?” 

Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed into slits almost as thin as his pupils. He wanted nothing more than to hear her scream, expulsing her so-called ‘unconditional love’ in favour of what she, undoubtedly, truly felt for him- fear, and hatred. He did not want to believe that, all this time, as he was rotting away in those labs and tainting his hands with blood he’d initially not wished to spill, there had been someone out there who truly loved him– and he’d not even known of their existence. As he’d wept over his first kill, stood amongst lifeless corpses in the aftermath of battle, flinched from Hojo’s terrifying tantrums, bonded with who he’d believed to be his one true friend, broke down then put the pieces back together at the Nibelheim mansion and burned down a village in uncontrollable, remorseless rage... all that time. Every single moment. There had been someone out there who’d loved him. 

(((But not enough to help him.))) 

“All will become one with me,” Sephiroth muttered, his smirk becoming a glare. “I’ve no need for your love.”  

He spat out that last word as if it was made of poison. 

“I am greater. I am more. I will cast the wretched circumstances of my birth into the abyss, and ascend into something beyond anything you could ever hope to comprehend. No more shall I be a mere weapon, or experiment borne from your arrogance– I shall be a God.”  

“I see your anger,” Lucrecia spoke. Her hands twitched as if she was still desperate to reach out to him, as if doing so would offer him consolation. 

“I see your hatred. And I only have myself to blame for it. But, regardless of what you’ve done, or what you choose to do in the future– I shall never regret you , Sephiroth. My one regret that I do have is not being there for you. My son, you must remember– my love is undying. No matter what.” 

“Enough of this,” Sephiroth muttered, aiming his Masamune. His eyes had twitched as she spoke; no more could he bear to hear her words. He would not let her fill his head with such silly little lies. He’d been lied to more than enough times. 

He’d put his trust in people before. Believing that people like Doctor Gast and Zack had been true to him.  

Never again. 

Lucrecia only had a moment to process what was happening. Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped, but whether she was going to beg for mercy or scream in shock, it mattered not. Sephiroth drove the Masamune right through her heart, leaning close to allow the full length of the massive blade to rend through her soft flesh. 

Her gasp was barely audible, like a whisper of defeat. Shimmering tears filled her eyes, trickling down to join the shards of broken crystals that surrounded them. Sephiroth’s vision was untainted by such weakness, yet his eyes felt like they were burning. And his heart, it was as if– no. No, it did not matter at all. He had to focus on ending this, and on the destiny that awaited him– a destiny that he had crafted with his own hands.  

No more love, hatred, joy or pain. There would only be him. 

A warmth to his cheek prompted him to return to reality. He watched, expressionless, as Lucrecia leaned forward with a pained groan– the Masamune’s blade further tearing into organs and flesh– with her trembling, bloodied hand pressing against Sephiroth’s cheek. Some part of him, a small, useless instinct almost compelled him to lean into the touch, one so warm and inviting that only a mother could offer. But he steeled himself, hardening his eyes and not letting even the smallest sign of his inner conflict show on his face. She sobbed, yet her hand remained yet by the side of his face, smearing it with her own blood. 

Lucrecia’s eyes were tender with maternal love and sorrow, even as the light of her life faded from them. Her hand fell limp to her side, body slumping forth with the weight of death. Sephiroth tore the Masamune from her chest, idly watching the spurt of blood that followed. Her corpse fell to his feet, cold and lifeless. 

He stepped back. The silver abomination released a sigh he’d not even realised he’d been holding in. It was over now; he’d not have to fret over this any longer. He averted his gaze from the sight of his ‘mother’s’ corpse, and turned to look at the cave’s exit, threads of light filtering in. 

There are more important things to attend to, he thought to himself. His grip tightened around his sword’s hilt as he pushed away any thoughts of hesitation over what he’d done. She was one of his creators, so she had to die by his hand. Whatever her feelings were, whatever she could have given him– why did it matter at all? All those things were fleeting.  

He would be eternal. 

Chapter Text

The core of the planet was nurturing a God.  

The silver abomination was a blight on Gaia, festering at its centre with little hope of its defeat. It was the fault of this cruel world for allowing him to exist, and now, he’d make sure it would deal with the consequences. Soon, his suffering would end, and he would become what he deserved to be.  

Those racing to stop him would surely fail.  

Threads of green twirled around him, feeding into his skin and giving him power. The meteor was coming to inflict the planet with a wound so great, that her only choice would be to heal herself with the lifestream. What of it that currently surrounded him was but a drop of water in the ocean’s worth that would inevitably come, trying to heal Gaia– but only serving to nourish the blight, bringing forth his ascension.  

Sephiroth looked down to his hands, fingertips glowing with the lifestream’s essence. It was strange, how empty he still felt even after killing Hojo and Lucrecia. Perhaps his imminent Godhood would be the thing to make him feel better. Of course– he’d no longer be prone to such petty emotions. He’d be far above such things.  

Only a few more hours to wait.  

He pondered what a different life he would’ve lived, had Lucrecia been there to help him escape the labs. Even if he was an experiment, he at least would’ve been given freedom, no longer a pawn for Shinra.  

Shinra... Zack. They’d only met because he was a pawn, a puppet, the face plastered on every poster in every city to advertise the joys of the Soldier programme to impressionable children. He’d been but a child himself, when he’d gone to war. And yet, even adults looked up to him for his strength and so-called ‘heroism’. Not for a moment questioning why a company was so obsessively hell-bent on commodifying a mere child, sending them onto bloody battlefields for some illusion of glory. He was admired from afar, and feared from up-close.  

Was there any creature more foolish than man itself?  

He curled his hand into a fist. As close as Zack had gotten to him, even he was blind to Shinra’s cruelty, as well as his own. Sephiroth knew, deep down, he’d never know despair as unbearable as what he’d felt in that terrible  library, reading his own history.  

But Zack, he’d been ignorant. Doctor Gast, the one man he’d trusted before Zack– he’d known everything . And still he left him to rot, for the simple fact that he was not a perfect little copy of the Cetra. What was there to say of Hojo and Lucrecia? One had tormented him his whole life, twisting him into their personal perfect specimen, and the other did nil to aid him once he’d been birthed. Apathy, cruelty, ignorance; what perfect traits for a trio of scientists to have.  

Sephiroth was the perfect monster. Powerful, strange, and otherworldly. But, in his opinion, was man not the true monster?  

He’d not chosen to be born a monster– what monster had? But so many humans were eager to become one, one far worse than he could ever be.  

A warmth. He paused for a moment, ruminating on the sensation. It was familiar, very familiar. It was...  

… Lucrecia.  

He growled under his breath, a rumble of anger behind his growing smirk.  

“Why are you here?”  

He’d no need to ask how. The dissipation of the soul into the lifestream was rarely an instant one. It was unlikely she had the determination to remain the way he had, but it was still enough for her to force herself to avoid oblivion for the sake of... well, he did not know.  

In many ways, he did not want to know.  

“My son,” her voice echoed around his ears, faint as a lost soul. “I’ve come for only one reason.”  

“Leave,” Sephiroth hissed. “You’d be wise to, Lucrecia. The end is nigh for all– but that does not mean I cannot make things far worse for you.”  

“All this anger,” Lucrecia said. “It is my fault. You grew up having a cold, lonesome life in which you never knew love.”  

“And you believe that matters to me?” he sneered. “My suffering only made me stronger. To love is to be weak. Now– leave.”  

His hand opened, dark energy twirling around his fingers. This conversation could be ended whenever he pleased, for he knew he had the means to destroy and absorb whatever remnants of Lucrecia’s soul had come to torment him.   

I should end this now.  

And yet– for whatever reason, his arm remained frozen to his side.  

“I’ve come to give you the unconditional love that you never knew. Love I withheld from you out of cowardice. I have no excuse.”  

Strings of green twisted together to form a pair of limbs attached to a humanoid body; a crude phantom of Lucrecia’s form. They reached towards him, but froze at the sight of his twitching arm. A warning.  

“Do not touch me.”  

“Monster. Human. Somewhere in between, somewhere beyond,” Lucrecia whispered. “It matters not to me what you are Sephiroth, for you are still my son.”  

“I will destroy all that you are.”  

“Even if you hate me. Even if you destroy me, harm so many, set out to tear the world apart to satisfy your suffering– you are still my son.”  

Those strange arms reached out again– and, this time, Sephiroth made no move to resist as they wrapped around him.  

Sephiroth was embraced, arms clinging tight to his form as a mother would hold her son. His emotions became a blur and he could barely keep up. Was it anger that was making his arms shake so? Rage that formed the burning sensation in his weary eyes? Why could he feel stinging tears threatening to leak?  

He was completely frozen.  

This is not me. I am stronger than this.  

I must end her.  

“Lucrecia,” he growled threateningly, blinking quickly. His tears were meaningless, he needed to smite them, he needed to smite her. Within his hand formed the comforting feel of Masamune’s presence as he summoned it. Dark energy flickered around the ever-obedient blade. It would take but one strike to tear this incessant soul apart.  

“If you wish to destroy me,” she whispered, voice cracking as if she was on the verge of weeping. “I will not resist. But, please...”  

Her hold tightened, and the warmth grew ever warmer like gentle embers of a flame.  

“Let us remain like this for a little while longer.”  

Sephiroth pressed his fingers against the Masamune’s handle, feeling for its presence. The blade shone silver, black flames dancing around its form. It was right there, in his hand, ready to end this the moment he decided so.   

But his arm felt heavy as if it was made of stone; his hold not as sure as it usually was. His eyes were an inferno, vision blurring the longer he remained in Lucrecia’s embrace. And his heart was pained like it was going to tear itself apart. Unconditional love, the one thing that all yearned for, the one thing he’d been denied all his life– was it meant to be this strange? Was it meant to provoke one’s most inner weakness, bringing forth for the whole world to see just how (((vulnerable))) he truly was, deep down?  

Was it meant to be this painful?  

He pressed his nails against the Masamune, through the thin fabrics of his glove. It was still there. Ready for whatever was to come.  

A cold stream stained his cheek. His face blank, though his heart burned aflame. His fingers strained as they gripped his trusted blade. This was what he truly was, deep down, past the layers of draconian fury, cold apathy and blind hatred. Frightened, lost, and running from his truth.  

In that moment, he hated Lucrecia more than anything in the world for forcing him to confront this fact. Yet even still, that tiny part of him continued to crave her, to be in her arms away from the pains he’d endured. But this brought him pain too. Was there nowhere to run from it, save for his impending existence as an uncaring God?  

This was the first time he’d ever felt his mother’s love. And as he glanced past her form, down to his blade– he wondered if it would also be his last.