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Hate was a frightening, powerful thing.
That was how Cloud felt as hate propelled him on in his latest fight with Sephiroth. Swords clashed and wings flew as they dueled on top of the blue plateaus of Hollow Bastion—Radiant Garden, as it was more properly called. But the bleaker name it had been known by for years seemed far more appropriate when Cloud’s fury pushed him to attack with almost inhuman rage until the Masamune flew from Sephiroth’s hand and the buster sword sliced into his chest as he fell backwards to the rock.
Cloud still wasn’t even sure how it had happened. Had he really done that? Had it been an accident? Maybe . . . maybe it wasn’t as bad as it looked. . . . Only when Sephiroth choked and gasped did Cloud really, fully process what he had just done.
“Well,” Sephiroth rasped, “so you’ve made your choice now, Cloud. And I . . . have completely failed.”
Assuming Sephiroth meant losing the duel, Cloud pulled the sword back. “I . . .” He swallowed hard. “You can’t be killed. . . . You’re part of me. . . .”
“Is that truly what you believe?” Sephiroth scoffed. He coughed on the blood rising in his throat. “I said you were the only one who could eliminate me, but there’s more than one reason why I might have said that.”
Cloud still felt numb. This was a trick, wasn’t it? “If I’ve eliminated you, you’ll be gone now,” he said. “I’ll be free.”
“Heh.” Sephiroth just smirked at him. “Will you?” Pain flashed through his eyes, but he pushed it back as he continued, “Is this really what you wanted? It’s too late . . . to take it back now.”
Cloud still just stared at him. “I . . . Sephiroth. . . .”
Sephiroth didn’t answer now. He fell still, one wing giving a final twitch before it went limp. Cloud was left staring at his hated enemy’s lifeless body, his thoughts in turmoil.
“Sephiroth . . . you should disappear, shouldn’t you?” he said. “You should be pulled back into my heart. . . .”
Sephiroth was still silent. And his body definitely wasn’t going anywhere. Cloud finally dropped to his knees in confused, bewildered horror.
“Sephiroth . . .”
Was Sephiroth truly his own person? Had Cloud just committed murder? Would it be seen as such, when duels weren’t illegal here?
He ran a shaking hand down his face and reached to touch Sephiroth’s wrist. If he had ever had a pulse, he didn’t now.
Cloud drew a trembling breath. Sephiroth wouldn’t have had a pulse if he was just part of Cloud, would he? He’d be some kind of phantom or spectre.
Did he really believe that? He knew Sephiroth had been active as a hero when Cloud had been a kid. A hero whom Zack had looked up to and wanted to be like. In Cloud’s imaginative young mind, he had fancied that Sephiroth was part of him, the heroic part he knew was deep inside. But later . . . when he knew what had happened to Zack after years of training under Sephiroth . . . the bitter thought had taken hold of him that Sephiroth was not his light, but his dark. Such things would be ludicrous on some worlds, but in theirs such strange things actually were possible. Sephiroth’s past was shrouded in mystery. No one seemed to know where he had come from before he had emerged as a favored hero. Of course, there were many explanations for that. Cloud’s might very well not be true.
“Dead,” he finally rasped. “You’re dead. . . . I killed you. . . .”
Reeling and dizzy, he stumbled to his feet. He couldn’t just . . . leave Sephiroth here. But . . . there was no way he could carry the bigger man down the mountain. He flew off, soon returning with one of Aerith’s wheelbarrows. It wasn’t a great solution either, but it was all he could think of without asking for help, and he was not going to ask for help.
It was still very difficult pulling the limp body into the wheelbarrow. It took several struggles and two spills tripping over a wing. But at last the gruesome task was done and Cloud straightened, breathing heavily from the effort. After collecting the Masamune, he grasped the handles of the wheelbarrow and slowly started down the mountain.
What would he do when he got back to town? He didn’t know that either. He didn’t want to ask for help, but maybe he could go to someone who could try to make sense out of all of this when he could not.
“What did I do?” he whispered, badly shaken. “Did I really . . . did I want this to happen?”
Sephiroth had shown him more than once that he would not attack to kill out of hate. Had the fatal blow been an accident? Cloud just wasn’t even sure, and that disturbed him even more.
“Why do I feel empty?” he asked. “Is it because I killed, or . . . is it because you’re gone? . . . No, it can’t be that. I’d never miss you.”
And yet it really didn’t feel like it was just because of the actions he had taken.
“Sephiroth, you’re supposed to have all the answers,” he rasped. “Why?! Why do I feel so empty?! Tell me!”
But of course there was no answer now. Cloud knew there wouldn’t be.
****
Both Aerith and Tifa looked over in surprise when the front door opened and Cloud trudged in, wing hung low and buster sword practically dragging on the floor.
“Cloud?” Tifa asked in concern. “What happened?”
Cloud barely looked up. “I killed him,” he muttered.
That was not the type of statement they expected or wanted to hear.
“Who, Sephiroth?” Tifa frowned.
“Yeah.” Cloud sank down on the couch. “It was a rough fight, but I finally had him. He fell, and I put my sword through his chest. He just stared up at me, coughing on his blood, and asked me ‘Is this what you wanted, Cloud?’ Then he smirked. I killed him and he smirked. He said, ‘It’s too late to take it back now.’ And he died.” He leaned forward, running his hands into his hair. “I thought I’d finally be free if he was gone. But . . . I’m not. I feel like . . . like my wing’s growing stronger. Like I might grow another one . . . or two. . . .” He shuddered.
Aerith frowned too and sat down beside him. “But if he’s really the dark part of your heart, you can’t really kill him,” she said.
Cloud gave a weak shrug. “Was that ever even true at all? I mean, he was being hailed as a hero when I was just a kid. And if he was real . . .” He stared down at his hands. “I’ve just committed murder.”
“Oh Cloud. . . .” Aerith didn’t know what to think now.
Tifa didn’t either. “Where is he?” she finally asked.
Cloud stared towards the door. “He’s out there. I brought him back down from the canyons. I don’t know what to do.”
Tifa quickly went to the door and opened it. A gasp left her lips at the sight of the body lying lifeless in one of Aerith’s wheelbarrows, wings and other limbs splayed in all directions.
Cloud kept sitting there. “I don’t know what to do,” he repeated. “I thought I wanted him dead. Now I just feel numb.”
The girls clearly didn’t know what to do either. They exchanged a worried look.
“He was so annoying . . . and so confusing . . . always acting like he was me and I was him, but telling me it was my fault about the dark things I did.” Cloud stared at the floor. “I always believed he was influencing me into everything, but what if he wasn’t? What if everything he said was true, just not in the way it seemed to mean?”
“. . . He couldn’t have had any good reason for targeting you,” Tifa finally said.
“I just . . . I don’t know anymore,” Cloud said. “Why do I feel so empty? I don’t think it’s just because I killed someone.”
“Then why do you think it is, Cloud?” Aerith asked.
Cloud shook his head. “It doesn’t make any sense, but . . . it seems like it’s more because . . . because he’s gone.”
Only Tifa saw the fatal wound begin to glow. She gasped.
“Does that mean you care about him?” Aerith asked.
“Care about him? That’s crazy,” Cloud scoffed. “But he seemed like he had all the answers and . . . I know I . . . don’t like him being dead.”
“I’m not sure he is,” Tifa said.
“Come on, Tifa. That’s not funny,” Cloud objected.
“Cloud, you should really come and look at this,” Tifa said.
“Look at what?” Cloud grumbled. “Wasn’t looking at him all the way home enough?”
“But Cloud, he . . .” Tifa trailed off as the wound fully mended and Sephiroth stirred with a weak groan.
That definitely got through. Cloud leaped up and ran over, heart pounding in his disbelief. “Sephiroth?!”
Sephiroth opened his eyes. At first he looked shocked to be alive, but soon he was giving Cloud a weak and knowing smirk. “So,” he said, “that wasn’t what you wanted after all.”
Cloud just kept staring at him. “How?!” he demanded. “You were dead. I know you were dead! Blood was everywhere. . . . Blood I caused. . . . I thought getting rid of you would make the darkness go away, but instead it made it worse!”
“Of course it did,” Sephiroth said. “What would you expect? You tried to kill me out of hate. Your darkness may grow stronger now. You have a choice, Cloud—let go of that hate and move on . . . or let yourself be swallowed up by it, no matter who gets hurt.”
Cloud clenched a fist. “I don’t want to hate,” he rasped. “I don’t know how to stop, but I don’t want to do it.”
“It’s not easy,” Sephiroth said. He got out of the wheelbarrow, moving slowly, carefully.
“I still don’t know how you’re alive,” Cloud said.
“Really, Cloud? Even after last time, you still don’t get it?” Sephiroth remarked.
Cloud frowned. Last time had been when they’d had a very supercharged, vicious fight and blood had been everywhere . . . or so it had seemed. Cloud had very nearly struck Sephiroth down out of deliberate hate, but had stopped himself. Then Sephiroth had revealed the wounds and the blood were all an illusion and the entire set-up had been a test to push Cloud to his limits and see if he would still choose the darkness or rise above it.
“. . . You did it again, didn’t you?!” he snapped. “You put me in some kind of messed-up illusion!”
Tifa looked to Sephiroth in outrage. “You made Cloud think he killed you?! Why would you do something like that?!”
“I didn’t create this illusion,” Sephiroth said. “Cloud did, out of his own conflicted feelings. He wondered what would happen if he killed me. His mind allowed him to experience the results. When he finally realized he didn’t actually want me dead, the illusion ended.”
“You’re messing with my head!” Cloud yelled. “I don’t have any powers like that!”
“You created your wing out of your own darkness,” Sephiroth pointed out. “Now you created this illusion likewise. There is power in darkness, Cloud. You wanted that. For a short time in the past, you acknowledged that it was your own fault and not mine. Then you started blaming me because you didn’t want to accept that you made those decisions of your own free will. Someone you had decided was ‘your darkness’ was the perfect scapegoat.”
“Shut up!” Cloud gripped the buster sword. “Get out of here before you make me regret that it was all fake!”
Sephiroth just gave him a dark smirk. “It would be your decision to regret it. I wouldn’t be able to ‘make’ you. You really never do learn.” He stepped outside and pulled the door shut.
Cloud slumped back into the couch. “Ugh. I just . . . I thought he couldn’t get any lower. Now to claim I made that illusion up myself. . . .”
Tifa hesitated. “You’re sure he’s lying, Cloud?”
“Of course I’m sure!” Cloud exclaimed. “That’s all he ever does—lie! I had to be crazy to feel bad he was gone!”
But at least one of their number wasn’t so sure. Aerith slipped outside, looking around for the strange man. Had he already teleported out? “Sephiroth?” she called.
A dark blue feather floated down from the roof of the house. She caught it, looking up to see him sitting wearily on the edge, his wings spread out around him.
“So it’s you,” he remarked. “I thought it would be too much to expect that Cloud would be the one to come out.”
“You were waiting for him?” she asked.
A shrug. “For someone.”
She hesitated, turning the feather around in her hand. “When Cloud thought you were dead, what was really happening to you?” she wondered. “Did you try to snap him out of it?”
“I couldn’t,” Sephiroth replied. “I was caught in the illusion myself. I believed myself to be dead.”
“That sounds terrible,” Aerith said. “But . . . I guess that means that in some strange way, Cloud saved your life when he broke the illusion.”
“If you want to think of it that way.” He smirked. “If you tell him that, he’ll have a fit.”
“Well, maybe I will, then,” Aerith giggled. Sobering, she said, “You’re not what Cloud thinks you are, are you?”
“How do you mean?”
“His darkness.”
Sephiroth stood and jumped down from the roof, spreading his wings to float silently to the ground. “I’m just a man. When Cloud first came up with that insane idea, I mocked it.”
“But then you started encouraging it,” Aerith said. “Why?”
“I thought maybe I could use the idea to teach him a lesson,” Sephiroth said. “I have since decided that was a mistake. Unfortunately, the damage has been done. Cloud is far too impressionable.”
“He is that,” Aerith agreed. “But . . . if you’re really trying to help him, please don’t give up on him yet. I think you are getting through, slowly but surely.”
“Hm. Perhaps.” Sephiroth spread his wings as though to fly away, but paused. “You don’t believe I’m seeking Cloud’s emotional and mental and moral destruction?”
“I wasn’t sure,” Aerith said. “But you all but admitted the truth now!” She winked.
Sephiroth grunted. “I’ll have to be more careful what I say around you.”
Aerith sobered again. “Sephiroth . . . Zack loved you so much. And I don’t believe he could care so deeply about someone unless they loved him too. No matter what happened out there that horrible night, I’m sure you never meant for anything to happen to him. And . . . I think you’re still a good person. I hope someday Cloud will come to see that too.”
Sephiroth was silent for a long moment. “Cloud will never forgive me for what happened to Zack,” he said at last. “And I would say he shouldn’t, only his inability to forgive is a large part of what’s dragging him into his darkness. I know, because . . . I can never forgive myself either.” With that parting statement, he took off into the night sky.
Aerith stared after him, still holding the feather. “. . . Wherever Zack is, I believe with all my heart that he’s forgiven you,” she said softly.
She turned and went back inside.