PART ONE M. J. Gallagher Volume VIII

Transcription

Volume VIII
PART ONE
M. J. Gallagher
Since its release in 1997, Final Fantasy® VII has sold more than 10 million
copies worldwide, making it one of the bestselling and most criticallyacclaimed titles in video game history. Its success encouraged developers
Square-Enix to continue the saga, telling the tale through various mediums.
The author of this novel (also known by his online alias ‘S and G’) has
reproduced the saga in written form, basing the work closely on the
Compilation of Final Fantasy® VII as a whole.
All material without exception derived from Final Fantasy® VII (1997), Before
Crisis: Final Fantasy® VII (2004), Final Fantasy® VII: Advent Children
(2005), Last Order: Final Fantasy® VII (2005), Dirge of Cerberus: Final
Fantasy® VII (2006), Dirge of Cerberus Lost Episode: Final Fantasy® VII
(2006), Crisis Core: Final Fantasy® VII (2008), On the Way to a Smile: Final
Fantasy® VII (2009), and all official publications is property of Square-Enix
Holdings Co., Ltd.
Based on the story by Kazushige Nojima, Yoshinori Kitase
and Hironobu Sakaguchi.
Original cover art and logo designed by John Rose.
Edited by Tim Smith and Tabitha Potter.
Special thanks to Dennis Petersson, Glenn H. Morrow, Yhaun, Letao, Suzaku,
Hitoshura, XComp, DarkAngel, Pixel, Shinra Employee, GlitterBerri, Souya,
DLPB, Ryushikaze, HcloudXIII, X-SOLDIER, LicoriceAllsorts, Grimoire
Valentine, Cyntalan, Switched, the members of thelifestream.net, and
especially Joshua Hyde, who have all helped to make this possible.
Volume VIII is dedicated to my beautiful daughter, Violet. May she always
appreciate, respect and care for the wonders of our own planet.
This book is intended for private use only and is not for sale.
FINAL FANTASY VII: THE MAN IN THE BLACK CLOAK
Contents
Prologue
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
Epilogue
Nights in Seventh Heaven
Undertaking the Odyssey
Farewell to Midgar
Home on the Ranch
A Shadow in the Marshlands
Into Darkness
The Battle of Mythril Mine
Brothers in Arms
The Watchtower
Crossing the Continent
Beneath the Armoured City
Fragmented Memories
The Inaugural Parade
Ghost Ship
Riddles on the Sunshine Coast
1
9
29
42
53
66
83
103
123
133
150
165
184
201
225
PROLOGUE
Nights in Seventh Heaven
Tifa Lockhart closed the oven door, deciding to let the chicken
roast a few minutes longer. Fatty juices oozed from the sizzling
skin of the bird, marinating the various vegetables around the
tray, releasing a blissful aroma into the pub. Tossing her
protective mitts onto the metallic worktop, she returned from the
kitchen area to the bar to begin her closing preparations. There
came a hiss of static from the radio behind her as a new song
began on Midgar FM. It was The Moogles’ latest release, ‘Ahead
on Our Way’, instantly recognisable by its melodic intro of
acoustic guitar and pan pipes.
Mopping the drooping fringe of her silken black hair from her
face, she scanned the spacious open-plan room, grateful that the
task of shuffling customers out would be minimal that evening.
Other than the building’s handful of residents, only a pair of men
occupied the saloon. Around them, sparkling in the dimmed
lights, the colourful balloons she had tied to the ashen timber
walls swayed in the warm air churned out by the boiler, casting
the lounge into a mesmeric spectacle.
The co-owner of Seventh Heaven, and leader of the anti-Shinra
activist group that lived within the clandestine base of operations
beneath its wooden floor, tonight celebrated his thirty-fifth
birthday. Surrounded on the far side of the room by what few
friends he boasted, Barret Wallace guzzled down another beer,
laughing heartily at some unheard joke as he ruffled the hair of
1
Final Fantasy VII: The Man in the Black Cloak
his small daughter, Marlene. AVALANCHE was Barret’s only
family, just as it was Tifa’s.
“Okay, boys, that’s last orders. Can I get you one of my famous
cocktails for the road?”
Tifa smiled as she glanced over at the duo seated at the table
nearest the bar. One wore a stylish burgundy suit and sunglasses,
his short silver hair complimenting his dark complexion, and
despite his intimidating appearance, had shown her courtesy all
evening. The second was a regular customer of Seventh Heaven,
a young man named Johnny.
Johnny had grown up in the local Sector7 Slum village, and had
rarely set foot beyond the city limits of Midgar. The metropolis
was his home, but the seedy temptations of the Slums were
beginning to slither into his lifestyle. Since taking on the role of
bar manager two years before, Tifa had developed a fondness for
the boy and his often-comically-irrational ways, and it troubled
her to think of what path he may choose. She enjoyed his
company, and cherished having an acquaintance that was neither
part of AVALANCHE nor even remotely aware that she was.
“You know me,” Johnny answered her with a casual wave, his
words slurring a little, “nothing but the saké please, Tifa.”
“You’re so unimaginative.” she teased, reaching for the heated
bottle. “And you, sir?”
“No, thank you.” said the silver-haired man, standing. “I have to
get back to Wall Market.”
“Goodnight, then.” Tifa bade him.
“Same to you.” he replied with a short bow, tilting his glasses
down to reveal a lustful flash in his hazel eyes. She could sense
his gaze examining her shapely figure; the white vest-top she
wore tight across her bust, ripped above the waist to expose her
flat stomach, and accompanied by a short black miniskirt over
her long legs. “And might I add, you’re one fine-looking woman.
If you’re ever looking for a job, Johnny will know where to find
me.”
With that, the man turned on his heels, striding across the
lounge beyond the low, rectangular table at which Barret and the
2
Prologue
others were sat. She watched with suspicion as he pushed
through the swing-doors and stepped out onto the veranda,
disappearing down the stairs and into the night, before filling the
remainder of Johnny’s glass with saké. Her young friend pushed
himself awkwardly from his chair, zipping up his leather jacket to
conceal his skinny bare torso as he made his way to the counter.
In all the time Johnny had been frequenting Seventh Heaven, she
could not recollect a single occasion when he had not been clad in
the coat with the skull stitched on its back.
“Who was that guy?” she asked pensively, passing Johnny the
drink as he slipped onto one of the tall stools.
“His name’s Leslie.” he said hesitantly, scratching his bright red
punk hairdo. “He…uh…he works at the Honey Bee Inn.”
“Then, I’ll have to decline his offer.” Tifa rolled her eyes. “Did
you meet him there?”
“He handed me a flyer one night for a new bar they want to open
in Wall Market. ‘Turtle’s Paradise’ it’s called; they have chains all
around the Planet. I told him he should come here and maybe
learn a thing or two…”
“That’s sweet.”
“So, where’s your childhood friend tonight?” inquired Johnny,
motioning towards the single snowy tulip that rested in a jar on
the shelf beside the television. “Out buying you more flowers?”
“Very funny.” she retorted, sticking her tongue out at him as she
gathered dishes and glasses around her. “I don’t know where
Cloud is. He just said he wasn’t in a party mood.”
“I don’t blame him.” Johnny snorted, sneaking a quick look over
his shoulder. “Your crew are starting to get a bit rowdy.”
“It’s Barret’s birthday.” said Tifa, nodding towards the galley in
corner of the lounge. “I’ve prepared a meal for them. It should be
ready any minute.”
“I’ll take that as my cue to get outta here.”
“Sorry.” she shrugged. “We’re closing early tonight. Barret’s
orders.”
“Well, before I go, there’s something I, um, wanted to tell you…”
began Johnny.
3
“Okay.” Tifa said curiously, dumping a handful of empty beer
jugs into the sink, and folding her arms over her chest as she gave
him her full attention.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Leaving?” she frowned, not comprehending. “Leaving where?”
“Leaving Midgar.” announced Johnny proudly, struggling to
repel the grin that was forming at the corner of his lips. “I’m
gonna go somewhere far away. I’ll do new and exciting things.
And when I come back, I’ll be a better man.”
“Wow…” stammered Tifa, bracing herself on the bar as she
absorbed the information. “That…that’s great!”
“You’ve really inspired me, Tifa.” he beamed, his handsome face
lighting up. “Listening to you talk about your hometown made
me want to go spend time in the mountains. Or sail on the ocean.
Or maybe one day visit Wutai. You made me realise that there’s
more to life than just the Slums.”
“I did?” she blushed, instantly feeling a tweak on her heart.
“So…this is goodbye?”
“Until we meet again.” Johnny toasted, holding up his glass,
then swigging its contents in a single gulp. “How much do I owe
you?”
“It’s on the house.”
“You’re the best. The Angel of the Slums.” he winked, holding
out his arms. Leaning across the polished counter, Tifa met his
tight embrace, burying her face in his shoulder.
“Take care of yourself.” she whispered.
“I will.” he agreed, releasing his grip on her. “I just hope my
parents will be okay. I better go, anyway; I don’t really wanna
stick around to see Barret lose it again. He almost shot me in the
leg last week.”
“Good luck.” said Tifa, giving him a feeble wave.
“I’m gonna miss this place.” Johnny sighed as he retreated from
the bar, his eyes passing from the drinks cabinet to the orange
pinball machine to the lofty ceiling adorned by flags bearing
various images, and back. Pausing briefly in doorway, he turned,
meeting her sentimental gaze. “Thanks for the saké.”
4
Prologue
Taking a few seconds to compose herself as he vanished from
sight, swiftly brushing away the single teardrop that escaped
down her pale cheek, Tifa slumped back to the kitchenette.
Johnny’s news had dampened her spirits somewhat as, though
she knew that she should be happy for him, she was overcome by
a fleeting moment of loss and grief.
Get a hold of yourself, she scolded internally, you’re just being
selfish. And you have much more to worry about right now…
Yanking open the oven door, she was met by a light cloud of
smoke, and carefully manoeuvred the cooking tray onto the
worktop. Grabbing a selection of plates from the shelf to her left,
she distributed slices of the juicy meat and browned vegetables,
ensuring Barret had the largest portion. She loaded six dishes
onto the old waitressing trolley, putting another aside for Cloud,
and wheeled them over to the dining table.
Wedge panted with delight as she approached, his hungry
teenage eyes swelling with anticipation of the feast, hurriedly
clearing the beer bottles to make space. His yellow t-shirt was
taut over his bulging waistline, already stained by spilled alcohol
from the evening’s festivities. Jessie jumped up from her seat at
the table, placing a grateful hand on Tifa’s arm before assisting
her to pass the plates around the group. Squeezing into a chair
between Jessie and Barret, she joined them for the meal, smiling
weakly as she felt the latter’s hulking arm wrap around her
shoulders.
“Did I ever tell ya you’re an excellent cook?” he mused playfully,
a broad grin spreading across his bristly features. His breath was
laden with the stench of beer, his glazed eyes indicating he was
beyond the realm of sobriety.
“Only every day.”
“Dunno what we’d do without you.” admitted Barret, planting a
sloppy kiss on her forehead before retracting his hand so that he
could unfold a napkin across his enormous dark-skinned chest.
She recalled when she had first met the giant man, and how such
a simple task had proven frustrating for him. Barret had suffered
the loss of his right forearm somewhere in his tragic past and
5
now, attached to his limb in its place, was a six-barrelled gatlinggun; a devastating weapon that he did not hesitate to use.
“I’ll second that.” offered Biggs with a mouth full of chicken.
His mess of hair had fallen across his young face but he seemed
indifferent as he stabbed at his food.
“Don’t you have somethin’ to say to Tifa, Marlene?” Barret asked
his daughter as he handed her a fork.
“Thank you, Tifa.” chirped the child, patting her own napkin
down onto the lap of her pink cotton dress.
“You’re welcome, honey.”
“To Tifa…for throwin’ a great party,” boomed Barret, raising a
glass to her, waiting for the rest to follow his lead, “an’ to
AVALANCHE.”
“To AVALANCHE!” chimed Biggs, Wedge and Jessie in unison.
“I know I don’t tell you lot often enough,” Barret shook his head,
his poignant stare sweeping slowly around the table, lingering on
each of them, “but y’all really do a great job for me. An’ I’m not
just sayin’ that ‘cause I’ve been drinkin’…I mean it. What we
pulled off at Mako Reactor1 will help to save the Planet. An’ y’all
played your part in that. But, listen’ up, once we complete the
next mission, we’re gonna have to lay low for a while. So…you
guys want a vacation?”
“Alright!” exclaimed Biggs, spitting a chunk of potato halfway
across the table.
“I do! I do!” cheered Wedge excitedly, clapping his chubby
hands together.
“I’ll take y’all to the birthplace of the original AVALANCHE.”
declared Barret, greedily tearing the meat from his chicken leg,
smearing grease across his beard. “The holy land for the
Protectors o’ the Planet, Cosmo Canyon.”
“You serious?” gasped Jessie, her expression filled with wonder.
“Yup.”
“Do you think they have hot springs there?” she asked eagerly.
“I’ve always wanted to try them.”
“Maybe.” shrugged Barret.
6
Prologue
“And we could all wear new outfits.” suggested Biggs.
“Y’know…not be dressed in the same old combat gear all the
time. I think I’d like to try on a proper businessman’s suit. Even
just once. Maybe with a fedora.”
“What about the food?” murmured Wedge, licking his lips. “Do
they have good food?”
“You bet they do!” encouraged Barret. “An’ delicious booze. A
sky full o’ stars as far as the eye can see. The cracklin’ of bonfires
in the distance. Listenin’ to the elders talk ‘bout the Study of
Planet Life. All that ‘round you while you munch on the best
grub. How’s that sound? Not bad, huh?”
“You think I could bring my little brother too?” proposed Wedge
shyly.
“Kwedge wouldn’t wanna come, anyway.” laughed Biggs,
slapping his comrade on the back. “There ain’t no sex parlours
where we’re goin’. If you invited him, I’d need to ask my sis as
well. And you know what she’s been like since mum died.”
“I guess…” Wedge conceded, sheepishly lowering his head.
“Nevermind…”
“What about Cloud?” said Jessie, glancing timidly towards Tifa,
who quickly looked away.
“Yeah…he’s comin’ too.” nodded Barret.
“But his payment,” frowned Biggs, “we can’t afford it anymore,
right?”
“Don’t y’all worry ‘bout that.” Barret dismissed. “If we can’t pay
SOLDIER-boy, we’ll grab him by the scruff o’ the neck an’ drag
his spiky ass there…”
As an eruption of giggles broke out around the dining table, Tifa
could feel her mind drift from the conversation. She hated
herself for being so affected by having to say goodbye to Johnny,
but there was something more. The celebrations only seemed to
exist on the surface.
Though none had spoken about their catastrophic bombing of
the Mako Reactor and the subsequent deaths of hundreds of
people, a dark realisation had settled over the group. It was as if
each of them was internally questioning the nobility of their
7
cause, and its value when sacrificing innocent civilians; it was not
enough just to claim the enormity of the explosion was an
accident.
No matter how much they wanted to deny it, the Shinra news
reports and propaganda were right; AVALANCHE were no longer
simply revolutionaries, they were terrorists. The group had
started down a slippery slope from which they were unlikely to
recover.
They were now no better than their militant
predecessors. Worse still, an unpleasant sensation had found its
way to the pit of Tifa’s stomach and, as she watched the others
enjoy the company of their adopted family, she could not shake
the feeling that this would be the last time they would all be
together like this.
8
CHAPTER I
Undertaking the Odyssey
The blood on the crown of his head was still warm as his fingers
caressed thick lumps of matted hair; he could not have been
unconscious for long. His legs had knotted as he fell, numbed
now by the distorted circulation, aching as he dragged himself to
his feet in the quiet library. He inhaled lastingly, hoping the
oxygen would help lessen the pain of his throbbing head, and
gripped the corner of the desk for support as his thoughts steadily
began to return. As his blurred vision settled on the maroon
leather armchair, Cloud’s eyes shot open with a start, and he was
overwhelmed by the sudden horrific comprehension.
Sephiroth…
The following moments seemed to race past without his full
awareness, as if he were watching himself in a dream. He felt
strangely removed from his pounding muscles as he limped down
the passage, into the cavern, and up the tower stairwell, his
thumping head ready to explode. The second floor corridor of
the mansion reached without end into a darkened forever as he
stumbled hurriedly to the main foyer, its haunting walls closing
in around him. Abruptly, he came to the staircase, descended,
scurried across the hallway, and wrapped his hand around the
worn handle of the old oak door, pulling as hard as he could.
Cloud’s heart stopped as the furious blast of crisp warm air
assaulted his skin, a muffled cry escaping his lips as he saw the
inferno of orange flames climbing into the night sky above the
town. He staggered down the garden path of the manor’s
grounds towards the mangled gate of hewed iron that clung
9
despairingly to the redbrick wall, at last breaking onto to the
rocky dirt trail. The hurt of his injuries vanished instantly as the
agony of the sight sent adrenaline streaming through his blood,
driving him forward in the direction of the burning Nibelheim.
Terrible…Sephiroth, this is too terrible…
Past the orchard and cottages of the town’s border he
scrambled, coughing and gasping for air, feeling the searing heat
of the fires inside each home as he fought his way through the
dense smoke that billowed from windows and doorways. His
thoughts were a whirlwind as he witnessed the flames creeping
over the slated rooftops of the houses, charring their sandstone
walls, and melting the hanging wind-chimes. The image of his
mother’s face flashed in his mind, forcing him to run faster,
panicked by the fear of a fate she may already have met.
The trail had already broadened to form the declining paved
street before an eerie realisation seized Cloud. Where the hell are
the villagers? Where are the screams? Where is the help? He
charged on through the blaze, almost losing his balance as he
came to the wide concrete stairs at the edge of the town square.
Through the black clouds, he could make out the smouldering
shops on the precinct’s circumference, and the crumbling and
futile water tower at its centre. The bedroom annex of Gramps’
Inn had completely collapsed around the building’s entrance,
exposing its disintegrated interior. Darting down the steps, he
reeled to a halt, faced by a scene he had hoped not to find.
More than a dozen townspeople lay slaughtered across the
ground, dark blood oozing from the multiple sword wounds.
They had been shown no mercy; their corpses left in the same
sadistic positions as they had fallen. Dread enveloped him again,
and he started towards the eastern road of the town, his legs
heavy and unwilling to carry him to his old home. Swaying
drunkenly as he moved, intoxicated by his inability to compute
what was happening, he weaved through the silent bodies,
yanking the Buster Sword from across his shoulder as a figure
burst from the smog of the street before him.
10
I
“Cloud!” whimpered the young soldier, his quivering voice
filling with sorrow as he saw his friend. “I tried to save her…I
tried…but she…”
“Who?” Cloud asked desolately, but closed his eyes, for he
already knew the answer.
“Your mother…”
The words hit him like a train wreck. The intensity of the
flames; the anger of betrayal; all of it; everything was gone in that
moment. A void of hopelessness opened beneath him. He was
on his knees. Tears plunged down his cheeks. There was no
sound; nothing. His stomach churned, his mouth was dry; her
radiant beauty was all that he could see. Guilt swallowed him.
He had abandoned her. It was Cloud’s fault she had died. His
and his alone.
No…it is another’s. There will be a time to grieve. There will be
a time to mourn my mother’s passing. But, it is not now. Now is
the time to seek revenge for these atrocities. Get up! Get up,
Cloud! Sephiroth must pay for what he has done…
“Hey!”
The booming voice cut through the thick air like a fog horn. It
awoke Cloud from his misery, returning him to the awfulness of
the present. He sprang to his feet, his heart roaring, grabbing the
Buster Sword from aside him. Across the square, Zangan was
bent over the young photographer outside the Nibel Accessories
store, trying hastily to exert pressure on Rick’s bleeding chest.
Motivated only by seething hatred as his eyes fell upon the dying
boy, Cloud dashed towards them, the soldier at his heels.
“You’re still sane, right?” Zangan called vindictively as they
approached, brushing loose strands of bushy grey hair from his
sweaty face as he frantically struggled to save Rick’s life. His red
cape was torn, and his beard was singed; evidence of a battle for
his own survival amidst the chaos.
“How can anyone stay sane in a situation like this?” replied
Cloud bitterly, summoning all his mental strength to block out
images of his mother.
11
“Everyone called him a hero!” snarled Zangan, “Tonight,
Sephiroth has proven himself nothing more than a murderer. He
used Firaga magic more powerful than any I’ve ever seen. All of
Nibelheim was engulfed in seconds. The villagers didn’t stand a
chance.”
“Why did…he do this…?” strained Rick, his features frail as he
lay propped against the wall of the shop.
“Hey, hang in there, lad.” comforted Zangan. “We’ll get you
some help…”
“Are there any more survivors?” asked Cloud.
“A few.” he answered, dabbing the young man’s forehead as he
emitted a faint moan. “I checked most of the houses that were
still standing, but there is little hope. Your Turk friend has
already set off up the mountain in search of Sephiroth…as has
Tifa…”
“Tifa went after Sephiroth?” stammered Cloud, his chest
heaving in alarm.
“Her father is at the Reactor.” sighed Zangan, shaking his head.
“I tried to stop her. She thinks she can protect him…but she is no
match for Sephiroth. Only a SOLDIER like you can challenge
him.”
“Then, we have to go!” Cloud ordered, nodding once at his
comrade. “Now! Before anyone else is hurt.”
“Take care of Tifa.” pleaded Zangan, his strong gaze burning
into Cloud’s. “You’re the only one who can…”
The final words were dulled out as there came an explosion of
glass from behind them. Cloud spun quickly, his sword aloft,
only to witness the shards of the old lampposts’ light blast in the
soaring temperatures across the street leading from the square’s
steps. Oil spurted from the lamps, dousing the raised pathway in
a flaming hellfire. At the centre of the blaze lingered an
unflinching Sephiroth, his Masamune drawn, his maddened eyes
watching Cloud through drooping strands of silver hair. Tongues
of fire licked his black coat, slithering over his body like scorching
tentacles. With no sign of remorse for the massacre he had
12
I
committed, Sephiroth turned, and began through the flames
towards the Mount Nibel Mako Reactor.
*
*
*
Cloud sat up in a cold sweat, his hands trembling as they
clutched the pink bed sheets tightly. Panting erratically, he felt
his racing pulse gradually slow, allowing his head to fall back
against the soft pillow as he caught his breath. His recount the
previous evening of the tragic events at his hometown meant that
they were fresh in his mind as he fell into a deep sleep, and his
nightmares were subsequently laden with the leering face of
Sephiroth, the one who was responsible for it all. Despite this, he
sensed something had changed inside him. Sharing with the
others the details of the Nibelheim incident five years earlier
seemed to have slightly deflated the great weight that had borne
down darkly on him in the few weeks since he had regained
consciousness in the Slums of Midgar, but his anger and hatred
remained as potent as it had been.
Sephiroth, he mused, a momentary surge of rage screaming
wildly through his blood at the very mention of the name, I will
find you...
Hazy beads of golden sunlight trickled in through the open
window to his left, wavering over the flat duvet where Aerith and
Tifa had slept as the gentle morning breeze blew the curtain
hither and thither. The large guestroom of the Cromwell Inn was
empty but for himself and the pleasant tweeting of singing birds,
its sound sharp and sweet to the ear as it drifted in from
somewhere nearby. He propped himself up, and for a time rested
against the headboard, gazing absently at the floral patterns on
the high ceiling as his thoughts strayed. The cold winter air
fluttered about his bare torso, caressing his skin with its smooth
fingertips.
When at last he chose to rouse from his wandering daydreams,
Cloud swung his tired legs over the edge of the bed, his body
13
groaning with what felt like an enormous effort, and thrust his
feet into his unzipped military boots. Snatching his dark blue
sleeveless poloneck from the floor, he pulled it down over his
untidy head of spiked blonde hair, spluttering as the dust it had
gathered from the party’s recent trek across the Wastelands filled
his mouth. He strapped down his brown leather braces and
armoured shoulder pauldron and, collecting the Buster Sword
from its upright position against the bedside cabinet, trudged
sleepily over the creaking timber floorboards and out of the
room.
The pinewood hallway outside was long and narrow, lined by
broad windows that exposed a fantastic view of the indigo-tiled
rooftops of Kalm. Scavenging seagulls sailed in circles above the
peaceful and archaic fortified town, migrating from the coast to
inspect the delicious scent of the freshly-caught fish on display at
the market stalls along the streets. The clock tower stood
elevated inside the northeast corner of the citadel’s scaling
concrete perimeter walls, the antiquated hands on its quartet of
faces revealing that it was approaching midday. It was like a lone
sentinel watching over the labyrinth of sloping roofs, whose
jagged appearance was broken only by the winding pathways that
snaked below. Beyond the tower, far to the east of the inn, rose
the lofty spire that belonged to the gothic façade of Kalm
Cathedral, a landmark at the border of the settlement, which even
from a distance was noticeably topped by the ancient religious
symbol of the elements.
Descending the staircase, Cloud came to the spacious lobby of
the tavern, the daylight reminding him of how tacky the
entrance’s tangerine carpet appeared, just as the lamps had done
the previous evening. Aerith and Tifa waited in the armchairs by
the reception desk, giggling light-heartedly between themselves
as they spotted Cloud slump down the bottom step. They both
got to their feet as he loomed, barely able to contain their
laughter.
14
I
“Good morning.” chirped Aerith, skipping over to meet him, the
unbuttoned tails of her pink dress dancing at her ankles. Her
brown bangs framed her attractive features, the rest of her hair
tied in a ponytail with the same silk ribbon she always wore.
“How did you sleep?”
“Fine.” Cloud mumbled groggily, reluctant to divulge the
specifics of his nightmare. He scanned the vacant foyer as he
spoke. “Where’s Red and Barret?”
“They’ve already gone to the market.” answered Tifa, gesturing
towards the boulevard beyond the inn’s doorway.
“For what?”
“Barret wanted to pick up a few provisions before we set off after
Sephiroth.” she said, shrugging indifferently. “Just some stuff
we’ll need for the journey…”
“…so he and Red have been out all morning.” chimed Aerith.
A fleeting hint of annoyance crossed Tifa’s brow with the
interruption, but it disappeared in an instant, and she returned to
her usual warm smile. Ever since their youth, that same resolute
positivity was something that could always be depended upon.
The last few days had seen horrific loss and devastation with the
Shinra Corporation obliterating Midgar’s Sector7 to eradicate
AVALANCHE for good.
Thousands had been murdered,
including three of Tifa’s close friends, and her livelihood at the
bar no longer existed, not to mention that she, just like the
others, was now a fugitive. Even in the face of such despair, her
strength seemed not to wane.
“Those two together must be drawing a few stares.” Cloud
pondered, his expression growing more serious.
“Nothing Barret’s not used to.” dismissed Tifa. “That gun-arm of
his gets him all sorts of unwanted attention.”
“Exactly.” said Cloud. “None of us should be out in the open too
long. The Shinra will have eyes everywhere.”
“You’re starting to sound just like him.” chuckled Tifa, reaching
behind her back and plucking a thin electronic device from her
silver utility belt. “I’m surprised he even bought these.”
15
“A cellphone?” Cloud frowned, holding his gloved hand out as
Tifa passed it to him.
“This one’s for you.” she beamed enthusiastically. “Barret never
really let us have them in Midgar. He was paranoid Shinra could
track AVALANCHE through them.”
“And mine was confiscated by Tseng at Shinra Headquarters.”
added Aerith.
“This model’s a bit different to the portable terminals they used
to issue in the Army.” he recalled, flicking open the cover to
reveal a small number pad and colourful data screen.
“It’s a personal handheld system,” Tifa nodded, “or PHS for
short. It’s pretty much the same thing; we can still call or email
each other and wirelessly access the Worldwide Network, but
most of the other capabilities are an inferior grade. It’ll be easier
to keep a low profile that way. We’ve all got one…well, except
Red, of course. It was my idea. Most of our equipment was in
Seventh Heaven, so we’re really down to the bare essentials right
now. Anyway, this way we can keep in contact no matter where
we are.”
“Good thinking.” he grunted, slipping the PHS into the pouch on
his braces. “So, what now?”
“Barret wanted to leave as soon as possible, but we said we
should wait until you woke up.” sniggered Aerith, exchanging a
cheeky grin with Tifa. “We thought you would be less grumpy
that way.”
“He’s right.” agreed Cloud, ignoring the remark as he started
towards the exit, attaching his greatsword to the magnetic holder
on his back. “We have to get as far away from Midgar as we can,
and as quickly as possible. President Rufus has probably put an
arrest warrant on our heads by now, and what’s to say he hasn’t
already sent the Turks or SOLDIER after us? We really don’t
want them on our trail. Do you know where we’ll find those
two?”
“We’ve to meet them at Memorial Square.” replied Tifa as she
and Aerith scurried after him.
16
I
“Good.” Cloud acknowledged, pushing through the creaking
wooden door and stepping out onto the cobbled main street.
“Then, we have no reason to stay in Kalm any longer than
necessary.”
He was met by a chilled wind as it hustled between the buildings
bordering the pedestrian pathway, still bearing the salty aroma of
the ocean. Although remaining serene in its own way, the road
was much livelier than it had been the night before. Children
played and adults gossiped all around them, strolling along
without a care in the world. The trio turned left and began
northbound, Aerith’s fascination with the pale limestone homes
and taverns unfaltering as she walked, wholly reminded of her
escape from the desolation and impoverishment of the Slums.
The architecture of Kalm was unique to the region. Almost
without exception, the detached structures of the district bore the
same pallid white front, adorned by dark pinewood and panelled
glass windows. They were each three storeys tall, with the uppermost level styled as an attic bedroom, enclosed by an acutelyinclined roof. Brick chimneys emerged occasionally from their
crests, some accompanied by heavy piping that would have once
supplied gas to the residence.
The merry ambience of the town floated in the air with charm,
welcoming the cheerful chatter of housewives as they leaned from
windows to hang their clothes out to dry on the lines above the
alleys, and the hearty hollers of the kids that chased a soccer ball
around. As the three neared central Kalm, the thoroughfare grew
noticeably more crowded, leaving them to dodge the hurried
denizens that came and went about their daily business without
so much as a second glance at Cloud or the weapon he carried.
After a time, the path widened to form a busy marketplace, the
various canopied stalls occupying the entirety of the small plaza
around a sprinkling marble fountain. There were booths selling
fruit and vegetables, others trading electrical goods, while some
displayed anything from fluffy toy moogles to candy dumbapples,
17
potions and breathtakingly-coloured flowers of all shapes and
sizes.
Aerith stared at the yellow lilies with a mixed sense of wonder
and sadness, the passing glint of lament in her eyes
unmistakeable as she reflected on those she had left behind at the
Sector5 church. For Aerith, that sacred place was her sanctuary;
her refuge from those at Shinra, Inc. who would seek to harm
her, but she had sacrificed it all for the safety of a little girl; a
stranger; Barret’s daughter.
Maybe one day she’ll go back, Cloud thought to himself as he
watched her gently lift a withered lily, offering a silent prayer as
she used the gifts of her Cetran ancestors to breathe new life into
it. Maybe one day this will all be over…
*
*
*
Barret whistled in admiration as he gazed upon the basilica, a
Temple to the Gods, allowing the backpacks he carried to drop to
the ground beside the base of the broad steps that led to the
church. Kalm Cathedral was as magnificent as he remembered; a
special addition and centrepiece of Minerva Square, rare in the
modern era, its gothic exterior distinctive amid the shops and
cafés that enclosed the forum. Above its doorway of fine elm was
a beautiful arched frame of stained glass depicting the Goddess
Minerva – to whom the church and its vicinity were dedicated with her long blonde hair, clad in a gown of purest white
garnished by decorative golden armour, and brandishing an
ornate sceptre and shield. Atop that was a glimmering rose
window, on either side of which were two stone statuettes,
situated within four small recesses.
At the pinnacle of the grand steeple that roofed the bell tower
was the ancient religious icon, one which he had known and
worshipped in his younger days. It was basic in design; a vertical
line crossed by a saltire, with a halo at its head. The points of the
saltire and the crown represented the five main elements in
18
I
history, respectively symbolising Earth, Air, Fire, Water and
Holy.
Squinting hard, he could make out the detailed carvings of the
stone sculptures, and at once realised they too reflected this.
Among the selection of deities was Ifrit, the Hellfire Demon, with
his blazing mane and terrifying brute force; Shiva, the Ice Queen,
her angelic figure wrapped in a shawl of untainted frost; Ramuh,
the Lord of Thunder, his bushy grey beard falling over his robes
as he prepared to strike lightning; and Titan, the Terra Golem,
quaking the land angrily beneath him with his monstrous
strength.
“Ain’t that somethin’?” Barret puffed rhetorically, expecting no
response from the large feline beast at his side.
Red XIII grunted in agreement, unwilling to speak in the
presence of a passing woman. Around them, townspeople were
relaxing on the wooden benches that dotted the expansive piazza
or simply meandering across the intricate spiral mosaic paving,
weaving between the artistic iron-cast streetlamps. A handful of
children had gathered to ogle the duo, clearly fascinated in
particular by the tattooed creature with the fiery red fur, whose
tail swayed back and forth behind him, its tip dancing with a
brilliant flame of light. The movement caught Barret’s attention,
snapping his thoughts from the Gods.
“Can’t you keep that damn thing still, old timer?” he muttered
with furrowed brows.
“I am not doing this because I want to.” sighed Red XIII, his
thin, wolf-like snout twitching, meeting his friend’s glance with
an acquiescent look in his one remaining eye. “You see, this
appendage of mine moves quite independently of my will.”
Barret snorted in brief amusement, shifting his gaze towards the
youths. His mind turned to his daughter, Marlene, recalling their
goodbye before undertaking the rescue of Aerith from the Shinra
Building. Tears had welled in the six-year-old’s eyes, trickling
down her delicate features as he embraced her tightly. Though
his heart yearned to be with her, he could console himself that
19
she would be safe under the guardianship of Aerith’s foster
mother. Elmyra Gainsborough had promised him they would
soon leave the dangers of Midgar behind, and settle for a while
with her sister somewhere in Kalm. He was glad that Marlene
would have the opportunity to live in such a wonderful and
tranquil environment, a far cry from her turbulent past and the
horrors she had been exposed to in recent weeks by her
connection with AVALANCHE.
Despite having considered himself an anti-Shinra activist for a
long time, Barret’s approach to radical thinking had only altered
over the last six months. Along with his small crew of Tifa, Biggs,
Wedge and Jessie, they had followed the principals of the nonmilitant branch of the original AVALANCHE in its bid to raise
awareness regarding the deterioration of the Planet, but its
influence had severely declined. Since that fateful day almost
seven years earlier when a plot to assassinate President Shinra
narrowly failed, Shinra, Inc. had been at war with AVALANCHE’s
extremist wing. Acts of global terrorism were periodically
reported in the Midgar newspapers, manipulating public opinion
to justify military spending or the taxation on Mako production.
The audacity of the Company disgusted him, especially after
everything they had robbed him of, and his revulsion had reached
a critical level when, in early October that same year, certain
rumours began to occupy the headlines of the press; President
Shinra had declared that the radical leaders of AVALANCHE had
been killed by the Army. Fearing that no challenge would
thereafter arise to the Corporation’s greedy and monopolistic
stranglehold on intercontinental politics and the worldwide
economy, Barret discussed with his friends the possibility of
taking more revolutionary measures themselves. He was stunned
to learn that each of them passionately supported his proposals,
and thus was born the new AVALANCHE, named in honour of
their predecessors.
A breakthrough had occurred when Jessie discovered and
decrypted files that had belonged to Fuhito, the crazed
20
I
mastermind behind the old AVALANCHE. Their plan was to
detonate a bomb large enough to cause a Mako Reactor to
malfunction, gradually sparing the lifeblood of the Planet from
Shinra. However, something had gone terribly wrong, setting in
motion a chain of events that would lead to the Company’s
unprecedented and heinous atrocities. Shinra had destroyed the
Support Pillar which held aloft the Sector7 Plate, causing an
entire district of Midgar’s upper-city to plummet to the earth,
crushing the Slums and its inhabitants below. Along with
countless others, Biggs, Wedge and Jessie had perished. They
were too young to die. Barret would never forgive Shinra for
what they had done, just as he would never forgive himself for the
role he had played.
Now, amidst the chaos, a new threat had emerged in the Crisis
of the Planet. Sephiroth, a hero of the Wutai War and former
Captain of SOLDIER, had returned to wreak vengeance on the
Company that had created him through their immoral
experiments. The President had been murdered, and power had
transferred to his son and heir, Rufus. Sephiroth was in search of
the Promised Land, a legendary place said to be abundant in
Mako, and Cloud saw this as foreboding; that the mission to save
the Planet was now intertwined with his old colleague’s goal.
An ex-SOLDIER himself, Cloud Strife had been hired by
AVALANCHE as a mercenary under the request of Tifa, and had
assisted them in their attacks at the Mako Reactors. However,
like Barret, Cloud’s past was laden with tragedy, and his tale of
the events at Nibelheim suggested that the impending crisis was
far more complex than they had anticipated. Barret wondered if
the journey they were about to embark upon to stop Sephiroth
was a personal vendetta, or if its true nature would reveal itself to
be much greater than them all.
“You humans certainly make a big deal of your faith and your
Gods.” Red XIII concluded absently, observing the grandeur of
the cathedral.
21
“Huh?” responded Barret, the genteel voice returning him to the
present.
“I have never really been one for polytheism.” he explained. “My
race has traditionally strived simply to be at peace with the
Planet.”
“Really? I’d have bet on Bugenhagen bein’ interested in this
kinda stuff.”
“Oh, he is.” Red XIII corrected him. “Grandpa is not of my
species, but he encourages his students to have faith. To him, the
act of believing in a higher power shows humility in an
individual, irrespective of the focus of that belief. I guess you
could say that he is an advocate of faith, but not necessarily
religion.”
“Yeah?” murmuered Barret under his breath. “Well, I got a bone
to pick with faith.”
“Haven’t we all?” the beast concurred solemnly. A reflective
silence fell between the two, broken only by the resonating chime
of the cathedral’s bells to signal that noon had arrived.
“We better make tracks an’ go find the others.” said Barret,
leaning over to grab the backpacks at his feet.
The contents of the bags rattled noisily inside, the din caused by
the cooking utensils and hiking tools he had purchased that
morning. Browsing the stalls, he had collected as many useful
items and supplies as he could think of; tents, PHSs, waterproof
apparel, preserved food, basic medicine, and had even treated
himself to a new bandolier of thirty-five millimetre bullets from
the weapon store.
Turning their backs on the basilica, the pair crossed the mosaic
plaza, aiming for the boulevard that would lead them westward
towards the heart of the municipality. Minerva Square itself was
located in the eastern-most district of Kalm, flanked by a stretch
of loggia ramparts, its entrance gate situated between two
hulking granite watchtowers. On either side of the mall were
raised terraces, home to minor shopping precincts, each with a
range of pubs, eateries and other various outlets.
22
I
Passing through the majestic oriental-style gateway, Barret and
Red XIII turned left, following the bastion walls a short distance
until the pathway veered west once more. Down the lane they
proceeded, navigating their way around the randomly-placed
beer kegs, where they came to a small quadrangle, lined at one
end with a tiny garden patch which boasted the stalks of fledgling
elm trees.
The gazes of curious residents continued to flick between the
menacing gatling-gun on the arm of the dark-skinned giant, and
the glowing tail of the unusual creature, his paws padding heavily
on the cobbles as he walked. Beyond the courtyard was a set of
stairs that ventured down towards Kalm’s core, soon joining with
one of its main thoroughfares. Though their architectural design
was similar to most of the township’s buildings, the structures of
this bustling street were noticeably contemporary or, more
precisely, less aged. The colours on their façades had yet to fade
or chip, and did not share the common weathered appearance.
The road led the duo directly to another large gateway, and into a
vast octagonal plaza.
The hub and inner-citadel of the settlement, Memorial Square
was bound on all sides by a fortified wall of enormous granite
slabs, accessible only via one of eight posterns. In olden times,
the citizens of Kalm would meet here as a community to enjoy
festivals and market days, but the constant restoration works
over the last decade had seen the area’s image and purpose alter
dramatically, and its allure had significantly diminished. The
scaffolding and construction site had now gone, but all that was
left in its place was a bland concourse with a handful of
businesses, and an unimaginative Shinra, Inc. municipal building
on the northwest corner that was closed for the day.
At the centre of the space was a thin, rusting Mako funnel
lodged within a barricaded frame to protect the controls and
pressure gauges that monitored the energy levels being sent from
the Reactors in Midgar. It was set upon a wide circular brickwork
platform, accompanied by various containers and piping
23
terminals, and what appeared to be some form of display which
granted the public the opportunity to learn about its functions.
Adjacent to the tower was a grey marble cenotaph topped by a
bronze angel.
As they wandered across the forum, its spiral paving mirroring
that of Minerva Square, Barret saw a smartly-dressed elderly
man kneel beside the podium on which the empty tomb stood,
carefully placing a wreath of violets at its base. Gesturing for Red
XIII to join him, they approached the monument, taking up a
position behind the man. The cenotaph was trapezoid in shape,
narrowing as it grew approximately ten feet in height, and bore
an engraved plaque with a few lines beneath the Shinra Diamond,
the Company’s insignia:
In memory of those who lost their lives in the disaster of
April 18th, [µ]-εγλ 1997
Gone to a better place
Yet mourned by those whom were left behind
May their souls forever rest in peace
Commissioned by
Shinra Electric Power Company, Department of General Affairs
Unveiled
April 18th, [ν]-εγλ 0002
“A lot has changed since the accident…” the man sighed,
speaking over his shoulder, his words seeming as frail as he was.
“Even after ten years, I still think of my wife each day.”
“A gas explosion, right?” asked Barret. “I heard ‘bout it when I
was here a few years ago.”
“That was the official line.” replied the man as he stood, turning
to face them. His wispy white hair was combed to one side, and
shadows had formed under his sad eyes. He seemed indifferent
24
I
to the odd visual combination of the battle-scarred pair to whom
he had spoken.
“You don’t sound convinced.” remarked Barret.
“I’ve gone over the events of that afternoon a thousand times in
my head.” he shrugged. “I was at a bar when it happened. The
whole room shook; the windows shattered into a million pieces.
When we got outside, we found black smoke billowing from this
spot. Then, the Shinra emergency teams got here. Nobody was
allowed into the blast zone. We didn’t know if our families and
friends were safe. It was awful.
“They told us there had been a serious gas leak. But, I ask
you…how could a gas explosion level a whole district? How could
there have been no survivors? Why couldn’t the rescue crews
find some of the bodies? They never gave us any answers. All
they did was tell us we were wrong to have trusted in gas and
coal; that the future of energy was Mako. And we believed them.
The mines down south started to decline, and all the work slowly
dried up. It got even worse when the monsters began to appear,
and there was nothing the men could do to stop their businesses
going to pot. Some of them had lost so much that they turned to
alcohol. You can still usually find the old miners drinking in the
bars and pubs around town.
“After that, Shinra tried to help us.
They funded the
reconstruction of central Kalm, giving a lot of people their homes
back. For five years work continued and, when they were
finished, they erected this memorial. They sent one of the
Executive members to give a speech on the anniversary of the
incident. This was Director Veld’s hometown; the poor fellow
had lost his family in the accident. His words were very moving
but, in the end, his job had been to rally support for the
Company.
“Thanks to the Mako supply Shinra developed for the town, life’s
pretty damn convenient now. Maybe a little too convenient. And
for what? Mako won’t bring back my wife. Those Reactors of
Shinra are sucking up all the natural resources of this land. It
25
seems a lot of plants and animals have been disappearing rapidly,
and there’s far more monsters around now. If it was up to me, I’d
get rid of Mako energy. The old life was better, don’t you think?”
“Damn straight.” nodded Barret.
“But now, the people have forgotten how to get by without it.”
“There’s still plenty o’ other energy sources.” Barret shook his
head. “Reopen the coal mines or drill the oil fields, I say. That’s
what’d happen if the Shinra ever toppled.”
“Well, either way, lad,” the man said philosophically, placing a
hand on Barret’s muscular arm, “as long as we’re using their
Mako Reactors, we can’t stand up to them.”
“Someone has to!” argued Barret, feeling his blood boil. “What
‘bout that AVALANCHE group?”
“Shinra will just eliminate anyone who gets in their way.” he
conceded. “That’s what the last President did, and it’s what the
new one will do. Whether we like it or not, we have to live with
the fact that Shinra has taken over. The world’s at peace…all is
well. There’s nothing folks like us can do but sit back and watch
them lead everyone around by the nose.”
With that, the elderly man gave Barret a gentle pat on the
shoulder, and hobbled away from the cenotaph. Barret’s focus
was set on the words of the column, his fist clenched. The man’s
somewhat submissive attitude reflected that of the population’s
vast majority; electing to lead an easier life at the cost of the
Planet’s, unwilling to defy Shinra.
An’ why should they? Look what happened to Sector7.
Biggs…Wedge…Jessie…
With a growl, he tore his stare from the monument, and stalked
back in the direction of a small wagon near the rusting Mako
structure. Rolling a barrel aside, he sat down on the squat
wooden cart to wait for the others to arrive at the meeting point,
Red XIII lying at his feet. A cluster of wanted flyers were pinned
to the adjoining railings, offering a substantial reward for the
capture of a mysterious treasure hunter who had stolen a
26
I
precious artefact from a local traveller’s antique collection; a
priceless Earth Harp.
It would only be a few minutes before Cloud emerged from the
southern gateway to the vacant town square, cautiously assessing
his surroundings before waving for Tifa and Aerith to follow.
Despite his often-arrogant personality and indifferent views on
the health of the Planet, Barret grudgingly admired and respected
the young mercenary as a skilled warrior, particularly for his
incredible efforts against the SOLDIERs that had pursued them
at high speed from Shinra Headquarters. Though it had been
little more than forty-eight hours, it felt like an eternity had
passed since escaping Midgar.
“‘Bout time you three showed up.” Barret called in mock
frustration as they drew near. “What kept ya?”
“Are we ready to leave?” Cloud responded without amusement.
“As ready as we’re gonna be.” he snorted, hopping to the
ground. The wagon rocked heavily as the weight shifted, stirring
Red XIII from his position. Leaping up, the beast glared
accusingly at Barret, muttering something incoherent under his
breath as he trotted to join Aerith and Tifa. “You got a
destination?”
“We need to get away from the Midgar region,” exhaled Cloud,
looking west towards the distant metropolis. “South is best.”
“Well, there ain’t nothin’ worth seein’ north of here but
coastline,” agreed Barret, “an’ from what you told us ‘bout
Sephiroth, he don’t seem like a beach kinda guy. We should head
for the Healen Valley. That’s far enough from Midgar that folks
there will notice a stranger like him.”
“Yeah....” Cloud accepted, a flicker of unease showing on his
sullen face.
Barret knew the torturous conflict that would be ensuing within
the boy at that moment; his unrelenting desire to avenge his
mother; his fear of an opponent stronger than any other he had
ever known; and the disheartening reality that the direction and
outcome of his quest was hidden from him. Like Tifa and Aerith,
27
he was still just a kid in comparison to Barret, a point of
contention regarding his nomination as group leader.
“Awright, then!” Barret declared, tossing a backpack to his
blonde comrade, deciding that putting his resentment to one side
and helping Cloud take the first step of the crusade would be
worth more than the former SOLDIER may ever realise. “We’re
outta here…”
28
CHAPTER II
Farewell to Midgar
The skies had grown overcast with materialising clouds of silver
by the time the five eventually marched beneath the vast vaulted
entrance of the fortress settlement of Kalm, bringing with them
the threat of light precipitation.
The aging battlements
whispered to the party as the breeze swept over its stony face and
through the thick rings of the drawbridge’s iron chains, following
them across the broad gangway and out towards the verdant
meadows beyond the town. A number of chocobo-drawn carts
and lumbering automobiles passed them on the road, the drivers
still determined to offer their wares at the markets.
The group began southeast across the fields of purest green and
gold, slipping through the estate grounds of Kylegate Manor, the
apparently-vacant home of a wealthy dynasty. Deliberately
avoiding the trafficked paths for fear of exposure, they were
equally careful not to disturb the herds of diceratopses that
grazed on the farmlands.
Travellers often spoke of the
gargantuan but magnificent docile beasts of burden that
inhabited the region, telling of their red armoured skin and
curling horns of thickest bone, from which it had gained the
nickname ‘dual horn’. However, it was strongly advised never to
trespass on the animals’ territory, as pride and protection fuelled
a diceratops’ existence. What few of the creatures the company
saw paid little attention to them, choosing instead to feast upon
the rich maize in the fields.
As the afternoon wore on, the heavens darkened over Midgar on
the western horizon, but whether it was rainclouds or rising
29
pollution they could not guess. Although less than a day had
elapsed since the party had tread its arid terrain, the barren
Wastelands that surrounded the city seemed no more than an old
chapter of a book, and they were glad to be free of the risk from
its aggressive monsters. Their quest would take them far from
the unwelcoming boundaries of the great Mako metropolis,
perhaps never to return. A moment was spared for each to say a
silent farewell to Midgar, and once they had turned from its
emotionless glare, none looked back.
Dusk had crept over the land from atop the jagged crests of the
Midgar Mountains as the five met the snaking banks of the River
Mandragora, the sun arcing down towards the western shores
hundreds of miles away. The rushing waters of the Mandragora
had flowed parallel to the northern coastline from almost as far
as Kalm, but only at the place they had arrived did it finally begin
its journey south. The deep blue current frothed as it surged past
them, resolute in its bid to find its way to the mouth of the ocean,
spitting up onto the wild reeds that bordered it. It brought them
by nightfall to a lush forested plateau, and a safe place to camp
for the evening.
Erecting the tents behind a shroud of evergreen trees, the group
set a small campfire with the twigs and dry leaves Aerith and Tifa
had collected from their hike through the woods. They had dined
under the stars to a supper of grilled salmon and crusty bread
that Barret had purchased at the stalls in Kalm, greedily
consuming the fish with appetites that had been unquenched for
the duration of the day’s trek. Aerith repeatedly commented on
her love of its aroma and the childhood reminiscing it invoked of
when Aunt Jersey would send special fillets to her home in the
Sector5 Slums.
Odd shadows danced across the treeline, partially obscured by
the drifting smoke that wound towards the speckled sky. Their
breath hung in the cold winter atmosphere like ethereal spectres,
huddling close to each individual for warmth. Gazing wearily
into the flickering fire at the centre of the clearing while the
30
II
others finished their meal, Cloud’s mind had again become
fraught with images of the atrocity at Nibelheim five years before.
The intensity of the flames…the anger of betrayal…
“How bad was I?”
“Huh?” he had stammered, spinning on the log to see Tifa
seated by his side, her large brown eyes watching his. He had
been so entranced by the campfire that he had failed to notice her
join him, and his brain had struggled to comprehend the
question.
“When Sephiroth cut me.” she repeated quietly, tracing her
finger down between her breasts, and along her stomach. The
motion had reminded him of his own distinguished scar; the
unexplained oval gash above his gut. “How bad was I?”
“I…” Cloud had answered hesitantly, glancing uneasily at his
boots, helpless to subdue the memory as it took hold.
*
*
*
He stopped, the soft sobbing reaching his ears for the first time.
Tifa knelt by the body of her father, cradling his head in her
hands. Even from the walkway, Cloud could see the pool of dark
blood forming on the man’s back; the wound had been fatal. The
Masamune lay by his side, the long blade stained in red. How
many had it slain that night? Tifa began stroking her father’s
face, running her fingers through his hair with great tenderness.
“Papa?” she whispered, her trembling voice floating over the air
like a ghost. “It was Sephiroth. Sephiroth did this to you, didn’t
he?”
“Tifa…?”
She turned to Cloud, peering up at him from saddened eyes. A
single tear rolled down her cheek, marking a path through the
grime on her jaw. She wiped it away, her expression filling with
wrath. Cloud stared at her, unable to speak; to comfort her in
some way. Silence fell between them, the presence of death too
much for words. Tifa embraced her father dearly, eventually
31
lowering his head gently to the floor. Standing, she snatched up
the Masamune, her eyes fixed on the arched entrance of the
control room.
“You came to this village just to investigate the disappearances,
didn’t you?” she wept. “All I wanted was to help. How did it turn
out like this?”
“Tifa…”
“Sephiroth...SOLDIER...Mako Reactors...Shinra...everything...”
she said through clenched teeth, darting through the doorway. “I
hate you all…”
“Tifa, no!” yelled Cloud, sprinting after her, knowing he was
almost out of time. No more…please, no more…
Sephiroth’s unnatural voice resounded down the short passage
as he ran, his vision rapidly growing accustomed to the deep red.
The room seemed much less alive than it had the week before,
but no less eerie; the pods apparently emptied of the makonoids
by the Company’s scientists and relocated. Sephiroth stood at the
height of the staircase, his arms outstretched as if in prayer, his
echoing words directed at the plaque above the doorway to
Jenova’s chamber.
“…Mother, I’ve come.” he beamed, lost in his own inspired
delusion. “I’m here to see you.”
“Sephiroth!” screamed Tifa, the Masamune drawn behind her,
racing purposefully up the steps. “How could you do that to
papa?”
Though only a few feet behind her at the base of the stairs,
Cloud stalled as she reached Sephiroth, realising in that instant
that he had lost. It’s over…I’m too late. His entire world slowed
almost to a standstill, leaving him powerless to stop the unfolding
events. As Tifa brought the enormous blade thundering down on
Sephiroth, the SOLDIER twisted swiftly on the spot. Without
effort, he caught the handle in his palm, lifting it and the
horrified girl into the air.
Their gazes locked; Tifa’s one of loathing, Sephiroth’s of pure
amusement. His maniacal expression fleetingly ridiculed her for
32
II
her vain attempt to attack him, but suddenly fell into contempt,
breaking her grip from the sword. Tifa landed on the grilled
walkway, barely able to regain her poise before Sephiroth struck.
Cloud could do little but cry out in anguish as the Masamune
sliced across Tifa’s chest, the brutality of the blow launching her
backwards.
Her limp body crashed against the rigid steps, bouncing once,
and tumbled awkwardly down the remaining few. Cloud
scrambled to catch her, to save her from more pain, but felt her
fragile figure unmoving in his shaking arms. The gash on her ribs
was grave, her shirt soaked with seeping blood. The sparkle had
left her eyes; draining with it the vitality and exuberance he had
always known in her. Anger welled inside him, more resolute
than any he had ever experienced. Glancing up, there came a
bleep from the electronic lock, and the doorway to Jenova’s
chamber momentarily parted, shrouding the eager Sephiroth
with a cloud of icy gas as he entered.
*
*
*
“I don’t know.” Cloud had admitted at last. “All I remember was
how scared I was when I saw what he had done to you. I thought
you wouldn’t make it…”
“You were worried for me?” she had asked softly, touching his
arm, gratitude filling her slim face.
“It doesn’t matter…” he had muttered dismissively. “You’re fine
now.”
“But…”
Tifa had said nothing more, instead retreating to the tent she
and Aerith would share. Cloud sat alone late into the night,
absorbed by the smouldering campfire and the mesmerising
electric blue fireflies that buzzed around the embers. Although
they had agreed on rotating lookout shifts, he had been reluctant
to rouse his comrades from their slumber as the hours came and
went, considering it futile if his own restless state forbade him
33
from falling asleep. He absently caressed the gilded carvings at
the butt of his greatsword, and around the twin Materia slots,
admiring its four-and-a-half feet of deadly steel alloy.
There was little to disturb the plateau, the rapids of the
Mandragora all that penetrated the silence as it cascaded from
the summit of the Magnade Fells. Only on a single occasion had
Cloud been alerted to another presence in the woods, cautious
that custom sweeper scout robots from Shinra’s Department of
Weapons Development may be patrolling the area, but it had
ultimately proven to be a stray chimera bug rustling in the
underbrush.
The group had set off at dawn the following morning along a
course Barret had suggested. As the day progressed, the incline
of the hilly topography began to grow steep and difficult to tread,
forcing them farther inland and away from the winding river.
The pale brown cliffs of the fells ascended in the north like high
barricades, their crests glinting as the sun skulked above the
fertile ranges at their height, shaping the drop in the land
towards the mouth of the Healen Valley.
By the third evening since leaving Kalm, the Mandragora having
long since thinned and abandoned the party’s side to find its way
back to its origins, they had come to a location at the base of the
bluffs that overlooked much of the rolling countryside beyond.
Taking up camp once again, the group rested, mapping out their
path through the great trough where the roots of the fells melted
into the plains. A vale of unspoiled prairies stretched the vast
width from their position to the scaling opaque peaks of the
Midgar Mountains far to the south, forming the continental duct
that would bring them southeast and around the looming dark
giants.
According to Barret, it had been seen as impractical in modern
times for those making the trip to the coastal city of Junon or any
other township west of the range to do so via the Healen Valley
as, until recently, it was possible to access them through the old
coal railway system. Throughout much of modern history, the
34
II
spine of the Continent had boasted several functioning
coalmines, and local businesses had flourished, seeing many
small pioneer settlements quickly form around the mountains as
prospectors competed to make their fortune. Railway tunnels
were cut through the rock so as to transport the fuel efficiently
between the mines and Old Midgar or the hamlets that lay
further east.
For more than a century, these pits supplied the majority of the
Continent with energy, also utilising the natural gas that could be
found beneath the surface. Of these, Mythril Mine in the south
was by far the largest and best known, employing thousands of
men in its sprawling labyrinthine subterranean network.
Northeast of Junon, immense refineries had been established,
their sole purpose to remove impurities and redistribute the coal
brought from the quarries.
However, in [µ]-εγλ 1959, while studying the influences of
Materia when combined with physical weapons, Shinra
Manufacturing Works discovered a way to develop the effects of
Mako as an energy source, something that had been hypothesised
for generations. Shinra were quick to monopolise Mako, and its
innovation saw them become the dominant provider of cheap and
seemingly-unlimited energy, thus Shinra Electric Power
Company was formed. The age of coal and gas drew gradually to
a close, but a number of regions around the Planet held onto their
heritage, instead choosing their traditional lifestyles over this
untried evolution.
As the lucrativeness of the coalmines dwindled, entrepreneurs
shifted their focus onto Mako production, investing in the
exponentially-expanding multi-billion gil Shinra Corporation and
their monstrous Reactors. Their privatisation of the Armed
Forces meant that the democratic parliament came to rely on
them and, over time, shrank into the shadows as a puppet
government without influence. Shinra came to dominate global
politics, economics and military affairs, and only a handful of
35
incidents from resistance organisations had significantly
challenged this.
Through the company’s stimulus, Midgar had grown to be the
largest city on the Planet. Their crown jewel was the eventual
construction of the Plate, an upper-city which symbolised
supremacy and triumph over nature, built upon a magnificent
circular base, designed to satisfy the demands of the elite, and to
become the location for Shinra, Inc.’s Headquarters. The Plate
was now one of the Planet’s main cultural and industrial hubs,
surrounded and powered by eight Mako Reactors.
During this period, the populations of the pioneer towns
plummeted, many of which were all but abandoned. Shinra, Inc.
purchased much of the real estate on these lands, converting it
into stylish retreats and holiday lodges for the higher echelons of
its staff members, though these would prove less desirable than
seaside destinations such as Costa del Sol. Others were
renovated into specialised hospitals and medical facilities similar
to the famous Cliff Resort sanatorium which had been built at the
dawn of the corporation, best known as the place where President
Shinra spent his rehabilitation after he was shot by operatives of
the old AVALANCHE during their initial attack on Junon.
Around that time, the freight tunnels beneath the Midgar
Mountains had also fallen under Shinra control, and the transit
of coal from the refineries fell drastically as, one by one, the
towns of the Eastern Continent succumbed to the temptation of
Mako. The last to convert was Kalm approximately a decade
before, though this was the result of more tragic circumstances.
The railway passages ceased regular operations soon after and,
while never developing as a means of public transport, retained
some worth for the occasional shipping of cargo. They were also
put to use as unofficial highways between the east and west of the
Continent, as trekking across the sharp, impassable ridges of the
mountains was often fatal. These lengthy tunnels, however,
posed their own dangers, as they came to be crawling with
monsters that had mutated or migrated due to the excess Mako
36
II
that Midgar’s Reactors were drawing from the underground
rivers. In addition, following the conclusion of the Wutai War,
militant Wusheng resurgence groups commanded by the feared
Crescent Unit began to inhabit the caverns within the foothills as
their secret bases. Barret had even shared with them his own
experience of traversing the channels as one of several
representatives from his hometown.
“Was ‘bout six years ago I was first in these parts,” he recalled,
sweeping his gun-arm across the landscape to the southwest of
their campsite. “The mayor sent me an’ some of Corel’s miners to
Midgar to learn ‘bout how the Reactors worked. None o’ us had
even seen one before that trip. The Shinra didn’t wanna fly us
from Junon, but they sent some soldiers to escort us through the
mountains. Not much good they were; we got stranded in Kalm
for two godsdamn days. They had to call in SOLDIER to deal
with some roboguards that’d gone haywire in the Wastelands,
targetin’ civilians instead o’ monsters. After that, we got stuck
under the protection of some enthusiastic young First Class who
never seemed to shut the hell up.”
As Barret continued, he explained how many of the old
coalmines had been systematically sealed to counteract the
movements of the Wusheng, until only one highway remained.
However, two months previous, an explosion had caused the
north entrance of the tunnel to collapse, effectively segregating
the provinces on either side of the range. Official reports had
claimed it was an act of terrorism, inevitably blaming the old
AVALANCHE, but rumours in the Slums had emerged that
Shinra, Inc. had dispatched the Turks and half of their Army to
the site in a hunt for two high-priority fugitives, and had set the
bombs themselves. Regardless, if not travelling by air or sea, this
left but a single option for those seeking a route to the west;
Mythril Mine.
Sticking to the low ground for cover, they had eluded the old
roads destined for the quaint hillside villages and resorts on the
south bank of the vale. Cloud had read a few of the aged
37
signposts in the hope that one of the names may trigger a
memory amid the black void of his recent past, but locations such
as Mimett, Curiel, and Krakka did nothing for him. Not even the
miserable weather deterred them from their path through the
wilderness of woodland and moors; the threat of pursuit from the
Shinra Army, or the Turks, or SOLDIER too great to chance being
identified, even in the most rural of settings.
For four more days, the party ventured deeper into the valley,
their trek marred by a drizzle that seeped from the lingering rain
clouds overhead. The wetness of the country and their limited
preparation for the conditions had dampened their spirits for
large parts of the journey; often taking its toll on the alreadybleak relationship between the reluctantly-appointed leader and
the resultantly-resentful Barret. Tifa had also become distant
with Cloud, as if she had been insulted or even confused by their
interactions, electing instead to form a strong bond with Aerith as
they trudged on. Aerith, in fact, had not seemed to mind the
climate at all; revelling in her first real experience of the
elements.
By the eighth day since leaving Kalm, the cliffs in the north had
faded to nothing more than tall bluffs that served the sole
purpose of concealing the harsh coastline of the Continent on the
horizon, but the ominous spine of the Midgar Mountains refused
to wane, choosing simply to veer from their parallel trail of the
Magnade Fells and change to a heading of due south. As if to lift
the heavy mood of the weary company, the sun appeared for the
first time in almost a week. Its illuminating rays drew back the
curtain of grey to reveal a glorious setting; the endless and
affluent grasslands of the Vargid Plains. The sun’s warmth was
greatly appreciated by the five as the afternoon wore on,
gradually drying the clothes that had become sodden and
uncomfortable in the chilling winter winds.
Over the passing evenings, Cloud had regularly detected a
lurking presence around their makeshift camps; on the raised
plateau, or beyond the opening of the hidden grotto, or in the
38
II
trees across the brook; never approaching, but always watchful;
waiting for an opportunity to strike. It left him restless, his
advanced senses keeping him alert.
With the landscape
smoothing, he began to feel less wary, safe in the knowledge that
any predator would be unable to disguise themselves from the
travellers. There were moments as the crimson twilight settled
over the Continent that he was certain he had caught a fleeting
sight of Kalm fangs – a small but ferocious breed of wolf which
stalked their prey in packs – many acres behind them, but by
nightfall, all trace of them had vanished.
The soft earth of the lush pastures had proven a treat to the
aching feet of the group after that. Many species of large birdlike creatures inhabited the meadows of the Healen Valley,
grazing in herds of thousands. Flocks of flightless levrikons and
epiornii mingled together in harmony across the fields, the only
separable feature of their dusky-feathered bodies being the shade
of their long, thin necks and clawed paws; the levrikons with
rubbery magenta skin, while an epiornis’ displayed a pallid blue
tint. Most were unconcerned by the intrusion of the five, only
retreating into defensive clusters when Red XIII drew too near.
As they continued farther inland, however, they had been gifted
the spectacular sight of wild chocobos and their young chicobos
roaming the savannah. The majestic golden animals strode tall
and proud in their coordinated formations, the alpha male
towering over the others at a height of almost eight feet. Their
sleek feathers gleamed in the fading afternoon hue, with those on
their tails and skulls standing erect, and their enormous beady
black eyes twinkling with the colours of the countryside. Many
pranced gracefully around one other as if performing an ancient
ritual, flapping their short wings with gleeful warks, only pausing
to ogle the group with caution.
It was while traipsing around one such herd that Red XIII had
halted in his tracks, his body rigid, the plume of eagle feathers
pinned to his collar wavering as he crooked his neck and strained
his ears. He notified them of a sound unusual this far off-road; a
39
vehicle was approaching. It would be almost another minute
before Cloud could hear it too, hurriedly motioning for them to
huddle behind him. There was nowhere to run; nowhere to hide;
they were hopelessly exposed. Cloud had drawn the Buster
Sword, and they had waited with baited breath.
Now, seated in the back of the hulking yellow pA-66 pickup
truck alongside Barret and Red XIII, while the girls accompanied
the burly man in the driver’s cab, the entire reaction seemed
slightly premature. The rusting cargo bed rattled furiously as the
six-wheeled sedan skipped speedily over the moorlands, churning
up the mud below. Bill, a cheerful chocobo farmer en route to his
ranch, had stopped to offer the grateful party a ride as far as his
destination. Learning that the farm was almost three hundred
miles in the direction they were headed, Cloud had deemed it
foolish to dismiss the gesture.
“So, what brings you folks out this way?” called Bill through the
shuddering acrylic glass.
He turned back towards Cloud as if directing the question solely
at him, completely taking his focus from the dirt road ahead.
Farmer Greane was an older man, with a pointed grey beard and
a mess of wild hair to match, some of which was trapped beneath
a worn skullcap. His spectacles were much too large for his
weathered face, his eyes appearing to bulge each time he moved
his head.
“We’re on an adventure to settle our pasts.” declared Aerith
heartily, showing no notice of Cloud’s hesitation.
“One of them spiritual journeys, eh?” Bill nodded in
acknowledgement, swerving to the right as the trail passed
between two steep knolls.
“Something like that…” mumbled Cloud.
“Always wanted to do one myself.” he grinned. “Y’know…go visit
the Permafrost Glaciers on the Northern Continent. Heard
there’s an old sage up there who knows a thing or two ‘bout
special chocobos. Seems all the young ‘uns are doin’ it now. This
region’s become a hotspot for outsiders.”
40
II
“What do you mean?” probed Aerith.
“A lotta strange folks been seen in these parts lately.” Bill
responded with a frown. “Ever since the old train tunnels caved
in.”
“This week, too?” said Cloud.
“Funny you should mention it…”
“How so?” pressed Barret.
“Was deliverin’ my produce in Mimett yesterday for their New
Year celebrations,” began Bill, scratching his hair nonchalantly as
they veered heavily again, “an’ customers there were tellin’ me
‘bout a suspicious-lookin’ fella that passed through the town not
two days ago.”
“Suspicious looking?” repeated Tifa.
“Well, us country folks ain’t used to some types, dear.” shrugged
the farmer. “All I know is he was dressed in a black cloak, tall
with silvery hair. He didn’t say or do nothin’, but he got a lot of
people on edge...”
“You hear what way he was going?” Cloud asked weakly as his
voice caught in his throat, the overwhelming comprehension
matched by Barret’s worried glance.
“South.” came the immediate answer. “Seems he’s headed for
the Mythril Mine…”
Bill was oblivious to the tense atmosphere that descended
suddenly among his guests as the pickup continued to bounce
over the grasslands. The very idea of Sephiroth being nearby sent
a shiver soaring down Cloud’s spine, freezing his blood, tingling
his muscles. The rolling landscape beyond came a blur, the
orange line on the horizon announcing the forthcoming dusk. He
closed his eyes for a second, catching his breath, once more
seeing the sneering smile in his mind.
I promised myself that I would do what it takes. We are on the
right track. The anger…the betrayal…Sephiroth, you will soon
pay for what you have done…
41
CHAPTER III
Home on the Ranch
Despite his amnesia regarding the past five years of his life,
Cloud was almost certain he had never greeted the New Year in
the farmhouse of a chocobo ranch. The group had arrived aboard
Bill’s pickup truck late the previous evening, agreeing to his
hospitality and offer of placing a roof over their heads for the
night. Though he chose not to participate, the others had
celebrated the transition into [ν]-εγλ 0008 with high spirits, gaily
consuming the makeshift spread of snacks and alcohol lain
hastily by Farmer Greane’s two grandchildren. He did not
begrudge
his
companions
their
carefree
festivities,
acknowledging that even a temporary reprieve from their
daunting road ahead would help ease the dark burden that bore
upon the company.
Instead, Cloud had retired to the spacious guestroom extension
on the far side of the single-storey homestead, soon after joined
by Red XIII. The rest had drank and chatted and sang traditional
songs into the early hours of the morning, only two of which he
recognised from his childhood; ‘Holding My Thoughts in My
Heart’ and ‘Tango of Tears’. While each made resolutions and
pondered what the coming months held in store for them, Cloud
had simply struggled to grasp the truth that more than seven
years had elapsed since the conclusion of the Wutai War and
President Shinra’s declaration that the Planet would henceforth
commence a new era. The affair had rendered Barret in
particular worse for wear by the time he had staggered and
collapsed on top of his allocated rainbow-patterned duvet.
42
III
“Sleep well?” asked Bill, the question rousing Cloud from his
daydream and returning him to the present.
“I guess.” he replied groggily.
It was not the best-preserved bed that he had ever encountered,
but the worn mattress was a luxury in comparison to the cold
earth of the countryside on which he had slept every night since
their stay at Kalm’s Cromwell Inn, not to mention the hot shower
that followed. The hosts had also been kind enough to wash and
dry his clothes, relieving the outfit of the muddy stains and
sodden musk it had acquired over the course of the week.
“Breakfast?”
Bill turned from the low stone stove, his glasses lopsided and his
mane of grey hair as dishevelled as ever, an inquisitive expression
on his bearded face. Behind him was a redbrick wall that
spanned the length of the kitchen and dining area, adorned by
hanging steel utensils of varying shapes and sizes, and a chimney
vent which swallowed the steam and smoke rising from the
cracking coal fireplace below. The wooden worktops of the
adjacent kitchenette were cluttered with saucepans and empty
cider jars, indicating the aftermath of the New Year merriments.
Cloud sat at the large rectangular table at the centre of the room,
absently gazing at the white and blue chequered cloth upon
which Bill had placed a porcelain teapot and tray of rosy pepio
apples, accompanied by a selection of wine bottles that held unlit
candles. Light flooded the dining area through the broad window
on the north side of the bungalow, the warm rays of sunlight
creeping over his arms. The rolling hills and sporadic leafless
elm trees of the verdant pastures lay beyond, glimmering beneath
a clear sky veiled only by a wispy haze of frosty air.
“Sure.” Cloud grunted.
“Chocobo egg okay for ya?” asked the robust farmer, nodding
towards the large cast-iron cauldron that rested upon a tripod at
the heart of the masonry fireplace. The pot had been simmering
since Cloud had entered the room.
“Chocobo egg?” he frowned.
43
“They’re a bit of a delicacy in these parts.” answered Bill,
grinning to himself as he read the uncertainty on his guest’s face.
“A lotta our revenue comes from sellin’ ‘em to wealthy folks from
the Shinra villages up in Healen Valley. One o’ these can feed ten
adults, but it takes an hour to boil the damn thing. Figured it
would be a nice treat for y’all before you set off.”
“Uh…thanks…”
“So, you folks have come from Midgar, huh?” Bill posed
casually, tossing a thick slice of bacon onto the frying pan.
“That’s right.”
“News reports say the city’s in the middle of a war between the
Shinra an’ some terrorist group.” he mused. “Pretty desperate
stuff. Thousands of people killed ‘cause AVALANCHE tore down
part o’ the Plate an’ blew up a Mako Reactor. It doesn’t even
seem real. Us country types get a bit detached.
“Yeah…it’s been a few years now since I was last in the big city.
Tried to take my produce to the markets in the Slums. Got half of
it eaten or ruined by those stupid hedgehog pies. Never again.
Maybe one day I’ll go back just to see Shinra Headquarters now
that it’s completed. They say it’s quite somethin’.”
“Sure…”
“Dunno ‘bout this new President, though.” he scoffed, stabbing
at the sizzling meat. “He’s been all over the TV since his father
was murdered. Too young an’ inexperienced, if y’ask me. It’s
never easy losin’ a family member, ‘specially not the way he did,
but it’s as if he’s been usin’ the whole thing to promote his own
agenda. Like he didn’t care or somethin’. I hear they’ve
scheduled a parade for him in Junon next week. You gotta
wonder. Maybe now the President’s dead, one o’ Rufus’ supposed
siblings will challenge him?”
“Siblings?” stammered Cloud.
“Och, it’s just gossip, lad.” Bill gave a dismissive wave. “There’s
been rumours goin’ ‘round for years ‘bout President Shinra havin’
illegitimate children. People used to say he had mistresses in
Wall Market an’ that his wife didn’t care. There was even one
44
III
woman who claimed she had proof he was her son’s father, but
she died before the end of the War.
Under suspicious
circumstances no doubt.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me…” Cloud muttered under his breath.
“Not that any of it affects us much out here in the sticks.” he
shrugged, leaning over to stoke the fire. “We’re still usin’ coal on
the ranch ‘cause we ain’t got no choice. The Mako Reactors at
Midgar or Fort Condor are too far away.”
“What exactly do you do here?”
“Well, this farm’s a mixed one.” replied Bill, giving the frying
pan a last shake over the dancing flame. “We grow all sorts of
seasonal fruit an’ vegetables in the fields out back, but we're
probably best known as a chocobo ranch.”
“Chocobos, huh?” Cloud repeated inattentively.
“Farmin’ these birds has been in my family for generations.
There’s so much to learn ‘bout ‘em and their strengths, their
personalities, their feather pigmentation, their breeding
habits…you name it. Some’re made for sport, others for heavy
work, an’ some are just godsdamn useless. All depends on their
pedigree, of course. Some o’ the best chocobos I ever saw were
caught in the wild. Damn things are almost impossible to trap.
They’re very cautious by nature, y’see, so they’ll run away at the
slightest noise. Been times I had to use special Materia just to
lure ‘em in. An’ whatever you do, you gotta be sure you don’t
make ‘em angry. Chocobos’re usually calm, but if you make ‘em
angry, they’ll hurt ya.
“My grandkids do most o’ the hard work lookin’ after the ones
we keep ‘round here. Both of them are fascinated by the animals,
but Billy’s a natural; that boy could tame a Great Malboro.
Money can be tight sometimes, y’know…especially since their
parents died. We keep some of our own birds, but the big bucks
are in rentin’ out our stables to jockeys or other riders.”
Grabbing a ladle from above the stove, Bill scooped an
enormous egg from the cauldron, and set it on a draining
counter. The shell was pale brown in colour, marked with several
45
round spots. He then took a large knife and hacked into the egg,
removing a sizeable portion of albumen and yolk. Shuffling it
onto a plate alongside the crisp bacon, he crossed the room to
place the meal on the table. Cloud responded with a forced nod
of gratitude, tentatively reaching for his fork.
“Yup.” Bill continued, trotting back to the kitchenette. “An’
business has been booming since those two Zoloms appeared in
the Marshes.”
“The what?” Cloud spluttered, almost choking on the chunk of
ham he had sliced off for himself. Bill’s enthusiasm immediately
drained from his posture, slowly turning with an expression of
apprehension.
“You are headin’ west from here, aren’t you?” he said with
concern, his thick brows furrowed. “Towards the mines?”
“Then, you’re thinking of crossin’ the Marshes?”
“Yeah.”
“But, you don’t know ‘bout the Zoloms?”
“Nope.”
“Boy, you’re lucky I found you when I did.” Bill whistled,
shaking his head in mock disbelief.
“What are you talking about?” Cloud retorted impatiently.
“A few months ago,” Bill lowered his eyes, “two huge serpents
turned up in the marshlands that surround the entrance to
Mythril Mine. I haven’t seen ‘em myself, but we’ve had some
pretty frightened travellers pass here lately.”
“You’re joking, right?” Cloud said, bemused.
“Apparently the Zoloms pick up on any footsteps in the
Marshes. Then…bam, they attack! And, I guess that would be
that…”
“And this is causing your business to boom?” asked Cloud
sceptically.
“Well, if you still wanna cross, you’re gonna need chocobos.” Bill
nodded. “Don’t matter how fast those monsters are; a chocobo
can zip through the marshland in the blink of an eye. Zoloms
46
III
won’t stand a chance catchin’ them. If you wanna avoid bein’
snake food, you’d better go speak to Billy.”
“There’s no other way to get across the Midgar Mountains?”
“Unfortunately not. They run all the way to the southern coast.
The mine’s the only way through without climbin’ over those
sharp cliffs, but it's a risk either way.”
“Figures…”
“What does?” Barret’s voice reverberated from the hallway
behind him. Cloud looked back to see the colossal man waddling
awkwardly towards the dining table, shielding his sensitive eyes
from the brightness of the morning as he nursed his hangover.
Aerith, Tifa and Red XIII followed closely behind, carrying the
stuffed backpacks.
“Ah,” welcomed Bill cheerfully, “how are y’all feeling?”
“Been better…” Barret groaned huskily, slumping into a chair
opposite Cloud.
“Can I get you somethin’ to drink? Homemade apple juice,
perhaps?”
“Please.” coughed Barret, offering a weak thumbs-up. “A cold
glass of Banora White used to cure these. I’m gettin’ too old for
this shit…”
The next hour was spent recapping and scrutinising the
information Bill had shared with Cloud so that the rest of the
party fully understood the dangers that their road through the
Marshes would bring. As they listened intently, he explained the
route they would have to take far across the plains to reach an old
miners’ trail where the waters of the vast and murky lagoon were
at their most shallow. It would see them navigate their way
around the watchful eyes of other farms, and lead them to a place
he believed they would be safest. The mood had grown tense, the
group unnerved by the news. Only Barret had not allowed his
concentration to remain on the subject, all the while shovelling
slabs of bacon and hard-boiled chocobo egg hungrily into his
mouth.
47
“So, where do we get a chocobo?” Aerith enquired eventually,
accepting the reality of the scenario.
“The kids’re over in the stables right now.” answered Bill,
motioning towards the eastern side of the estate. “They’ll be able
to sort you out.”
“We better get going.” asserted Cloud, standing and gathering
his greatsword and a backpack from the tiled floor.
“Thank you for your kindness.” said Tifa, holding out a hand.
“What do we owe you?”
“Don’t be silly, lass.” Bill chortled bashfully, throwing a chunky
arm around her shoulder. “This is a farmhouse, not a hotel. Your
money is useless here. Joinin’ me in a good old sing-along last
night was payment enough. Now, be gone with you. You’d better
reach the Marshes before nightfall.”
Saying their goodbyes, the five departed through the creaking
oak doorway and down the steps of the veranda, careful not to
knock the vacant flower pot shelves that lined the exterior timber
walls. Treading around a decaying keg and set of abandoned
ladders at the base of the bungalow, they passed the pA-66 truck
and crossed the small courtyard. The heart of the farm was made
up of two other buildings situated in close proximity, as well as
an expansive paddock out front, all encompassed by a ring of elm
trees, their branches bare for the winter period. To the west lay
the calm Lake Pahsana, its glassy surface reflecting the distant
snow-capped crests of the Midgar Mountains.
Four magnificent golden-feathered chocobos grazed within the
enclosure, one nibbling at the grass around the picket fence,
occasionally raising its head to emit a satisfied wark, while the
others meandered aimlessly around, their stubby beaks pecking
at the soft soil. Their delighted squeals drifted over the chilled
breeze like a melody and, though captive and domesticated,
seemed no less content than their free and wild counterparts the
group had witnessed in the valley the previous day. Each of them
was tall and slender, their athletic bodies arched, their long necks
bobbing enchantingly with every movement.
48
III
A short way from the farmhouse, beyond an old stone well
complete with water bucket, rose a hulking cylindrical storage
mill. Only a handful of airy portholes and a domed roof
decorated the otherwise-bland tower, clearly out of significant
use for the season. It overshadowed the elevated curving ceiling
of the adjacent barn, somewhat obscuring the corrosive rust on
the corrugated metal sheeting. The twin barn doors were fully
ajar, opening towards the paddock, and revealed a row of stables
inside. At the height of the front entrance was a comedic
animation of a yellow chicobo, painted on the chipped ashen
lumber above a pair of shuttered windows.
As they approached the stables, Cloud noticed two ceramic
garden ornaments that had been placed at the side of either door
to keep them from sliding closed. One resembled a fat chocobo,
its rotund shape sat on a small plinth, a lazy expression etched on
a chubby face with only a few feathers standing erect. The second
was much leaner, sculpted in mid-dash as if racing towards the
finish line of a competitive derby. An odd addition to the
statuette was that the bird was not being ridden by a jockey, but
by a fluffy white moogle with tiny bat-like wings, and a kamikaze
bandana wrapped beneath the red pompom on its head.
Entering the barn, the sour stench of droppings intruded
Cloud's nostrils immediately, making him gag slightly. The
concrete floor extended the full length of the shaded interior,
accompanied on both flanks by several pens constructed of dark
wood. Light filtered from the dusty plastic windows above each
stable, casting faint shadows of the roof beams over the ground,
and enveloping the beds of straw in the dimness. Some of the
resident chocobos glanced up from their meals, their beady black
eyes watching the company, lackadaisically flapping their squat
wings at the intrusion before returning to the mix of vegetables in
the feeding troughs.
At the centre of the corridor, two children huddled together,
their heads bowed as they read from a notepad, their discussion
hushed. The pair had been introduced to the party the night
49
before as Billy and Chole Greane. Billy was in his mid-teens and
the elder of the two by a few years, a strong boy with bushy,
copper-coloured hair, today clad in stained denim dungarees and
a straw hat. His sister was much more petite and presentable,
instead dressed in a burgundy frock with matching wellingtons.
Both looked up simultaneously as Red XIII came inside, his
heavy clawed paws clicking against the hard ground with every
step.
“What can I do for you old folks?” called Billy, taking the reed
from his mouth and slotting it behind his ear. He handed the
notepad to Chole and began towards them.
“Old folks…?” Tifa whispered.
“We're, uh, looking to hire chocobos.” replied Cloud. “Your
grandfather said you could help us.”
“Headin’ for the Marshes, huh?” Billy concluded as he joined
them. “How many you needin’?”
“How many do you have?”
“Well…” the boy thought for a moment, “to be honest, we’re
almost all out. We’re takin’ care of most o’ these birds for other
people, but I reckon I could spare two.”
“Only two?” moaned Barret.
“Unless you wanna go out an’ catch one yourselves.”
“Will two be enough?” Cloud asked dubiously, gesturing in the
direction of Barret. “I mean…will they be able to carry him?”
“Shut the hell up, Spiky!” he responded angrily, his wide nostrils
flaring, slamming his gun-arm against a support post, causing it
to shudder under the impact.
“Chocobos are remarkably strong animals.” Billy pondered,
scratching his chin, his eyes analysing the dark-skinned giant.
“I don't think it's right.” Tifa shook her head.
“Don't think what's right?” Cloud frowned, turning towards her.
Her pale face was partially concealed by the long strands of
untied hair that wilted clumsily to one side, running down her
spine without direction or purpose.
She stared back
50
III
determinedly, her large brown eyes swelling with unease and
guilt.
“Y’know…to use them like this.” she answered, her voice
softening as she spoke. “What if something happens?”
“You’re worried ‘bout them more than you’re worried ‘bout us?”
snorted Barret.
“You can only take them as far as Mythril Mine anyway.” Billy
assured her. “They’re good birds. They’ll find their way back;
they can take care of themselves.”
“I know that, but...” pleaded Tifa.
“Tifa, we don’t have a choice.” Cloud exhaled.
“I’ll probably have to give y’all Boco an’ Zeio if you wanna carry
everythin’ too.” considered Billy.
“Boco and Zeio?” Aerith murmured, raising an eyebrow.
“They’re our two biggest birds.” he nodded. “Wonderful
chocobos. Zeio is Grandpa’s, but Boco belongs to a Shinra
employee. She lets us hire him out, though, so I’m sure she won’t
mind.”
“What ‘bout that fellow?” asked Barret, pointing over Cloud’s
shoulder.
Cloud looked around to see which creature his comrade was
referring to, and felt his jaw drop as his gaze settled on an
unexpected sight. Through the hatch of a pen further down the
aisle, he could see the elegant neck of a chocobo leaning out over
the barrier, the curious bird unlike the others. Its sleek feathers
were jet black in colour, while its bill remained as golden as its
fellow inhabitants, cooing gently as if aware that it was now the
focus of the conversation.
“Him? No.” chuckled Billy. “That’s Hyperion. He’s a bit too old,
now.”
“Hyperion?” Tifa gasped in awe. “The Hyperion?”
“Yup.”
“I don’t understand…” said Aerith.
“He’s the famous black chocobo.” explained Tifa, wandering
over to the bird’s stable. With a steady hand, she reached out and
51
stroked Hyperion’s coat, causing him to kweh excitedly. “The one
that made Invincible Joe the best jockey in the world.
But…what’s he doing here?”
“Joe retired him.” Billy shrugged. “Now he races at the Gold
Saucer with his new black chocobo, Teioh. This old boy gets to
live out the rest of his days frolicking in the field or stuffing his
face with greens. Trust me, he’s happy.”
“Happy…” Tifa sighed in submission, patting his neck.
“So, how are we gonna do this, then?” Cloud said firmly, making
no secret of his desire to begin the day’s journey.
“Chole?” shouted the boy, waving to gain his sister’s attention as
she inspected the troughs at the rear of the barn.
“Uh huh?” she squeaked.
“Saddle up Boco and Zeio.” he instructed, taking his reed from
behind his ear and beginning to chew on it once more. “They’re
goin’ on a wee adventure.”
52
CHAPTER IV
A Shadow in the Marshlands
The tell-tale signs of an approaching dusk were upon them by
the time the company had traversed the great downs of the
Vargid Plains and reached the southeast banks of the Marshes;
the long shadows cast by the serrated peaks of the Midgar
Mountains stretching many miles over the grasslands. The thick
snow at their summit glimmered as the rays of a descending sun
crept around the ridges, a stark contrast to the gathering storm
clouds overhead.
The ride from the chocobo ranch had been swift and without
incident and, had it not been for an old signpost identifying the
nearby Reagan Farm, they would have considered themselves as
far into the wild as it was possible to be. The country was as lush
and pure as they had come to expect from this part of the
Continent, free from the deathly grasp of the Mako Reactors,
dotted sporadically by clumps of unkempt trees and the
occasional lake. It was abound with several species living in
harmony, from cattle to rabbits, deer, moose, levrikons, epiornii,
and even another herd of diceratopses, none of whom seemed
particularly concerned as Boco, Zeio and a fiery feline beast
galloped past.
The chocobos had handled like a dream, graceful in their
movement, but with a remarkable display of power and drive in
their muscular legs. Their tame nature and vast experience in
being ridden by humans meant that their behaviour was
impeccable, obeying every instruction commanded of them via
the reins. Even during the short break the group had enjoyed
53
alongside a small river, Boco and Zeio remained blissfully
compliant.
To appease her guilt of utilising the animals in such a fashion,
Tifa had purchased two tantal greens from Billy when he
recommended that the turnip-like vegetables were a favourite
among the docile creatures. The two had warked in delight when
she presented them from Barret’s backpack, rolling them onto
the grass by their large clawed feet. She had been unable to
suppress an apologetic smile as they gnawed and pecked at the
rough skin of the greens, devouring them within minutes.
Afterwards, Cloud watched with slight interest as the
magnificent golden birds waded out into the gentle flowing
waters, dunking their heads to drink, and shaking to cool the
sleek feathers of their elegant necks. They were soon joined by
Aerith who had discarded her boots and hoisted her pink dress
up around her thighs to avoid it getting wet. Boco and Zeio
seemed unnerved by her approach, instead offering the underside
of their breasts for her to stroke while she whispered soft
incantations. Their beady eyes had grown heavy and relaxed,
almost as if her words had entranced them, becoming
immediately alert again when Cloud had declared that they must
continue their journey. Aerith had led the chocobos back to the
embankment, collecting her things as the duo waited patiently to
be mounted.
“Need a hand?” Cloud had asked her as he heaved himself onto
Boco’s front saddle, careful not to injure him with the Buster
Sword.
“You’re such a gentleman.” Aerith teased, allowing Cloud to use
his unnatural strength to swing her up so that she sat directly
behind him, her legs hanging on either side of the animal’s short
wings. Both were oblivious to Tifa’s fleeting expression as she
scrambled to position herself similarly beside Barret, snatching
the reins while he fought to keep his balance atop the rear of the
visibly-uncomfortable Zeio.
54
IV
“Are you quite finished?” she had snapped as he steadied
himself.
The group had then set off once more, charging over the Vargid
Plains, feeling the cool wind against their skin as the birds
gathered speed. Red XIII was able to match their every step,
running over the rich earth as if he was being hounded, never
faltering or complaining of exhaustion. Only when they had
negotiated the crest of a steep hill overlooking the wetlands did
the chocobos lose their haste, unenthusiastically beginning their
final descent towards uncertainty. Now, staring out across the
uninviting murkiness of the Marshes, Cloud’s heightened senses
detected a lingering aura of malevolence. Aerith tightened her
grip around his waist; she also felt it.
According to Bill, the entrance to Mythril Mine was an ancient
cavern called East Gate, located amidst a now-abandoned base of
former workers’ lodges on the western-most point of the swamp.
Boasting a diameter of approximately two miles, the lagoon had
proven a formidable barrier between the grasslands and the mine
long before the Zoloms had taken residence there, thus the tiny
pioneer settlement of Luchile’s Pass was established, named in
honour of its founder. It was situated at the foot of a sheer cliff
which marked the geological shift in the direction of the Midgar
Mountains; the point at which the north-bound and east-bound
ranges met.
However, the desolate landscape that waited between the
company and Luchile’s Pass appeared far from forgiving.
Following the edge of the swamp south, they discovered the old
miners’ trail that Bill had also mentioned. Here the stale brown
waters seemed to have subsided to reveal an almost-unbroken
passage of semi-submerged islands, the path evaporating after a
short way into the haunting fog that was gradually sliding down
the mountainside. The blackening rainclouds above had all but
engulfed the jagged peaks by now, and the temperature had
plummeted so low that Cloud could see Boco’s breath rising from
the twin nostrils of his stubby beak.
55
“So…this is it.” Tifa exhaled, breaking the silence that had
surrounded the party as they paused on the shoreline of the
Marshes.
“We should get this over with.” Cloud responded adamantly,
scanning the bleak terrain for signs of movement. “It’s almost
nightfall. The longer we hesitate, the more dangerous it becomes.
Red, are you sure you’re up to this?”
“Your question suggests I have a choice.” said the beast blankly.
“If, however, you are proposing that I may be unable to outrun
our monsters, then you are quite mistaken. These dexterous legs
of mine have saved me from much worse circumstances than
this.”
“You could’ve just said ‘yes’.” muttered Cloud, giving the reins
around Boco’s neck a light tug. “Let’s go. And whatever you do,
don’t disturb the water.”
As directed, the chocobo trotted forward, his claws tentatively
testing the stability of the boggy land segments before submitting
the full weight of himself and his riders. Zeio came next, and
then Red XIII. The mud slurped underfoot with each timid step,
smothering the legs of the animals, the horrid sound resonating
in the mist like faint ghostly splutters. Tall unkempt weeds and
leafless bushes marred the path, their shoots as ominous as
wicked fingers, scratching the cautious chocobos as they passed.
Around them, wiry branches and poisonous stalks of dead trees
and plants reached out from the shallow waters, soon giving way
to a gloomy abyss beyond.
Before long, other footprints appeared in the spongy soil, both
of man and chocobo. Cloud lessened his hold over Boco,
permitting the bird to pick up the pace on a trail he seemed to be
familiar with, venturing more assuredly through the thickening
haze. A foul stench hung in the air, not unlike rotting meat,
suffocating the thoughts of the wary travellers. In addition, an
abnormal stillness had developed over the Marshes, like the calm
before a storm, amplifying each and every minute sound made as
the company progressed.
56
IV
Suddenly, Boco reared back, emitting a stifled kweh as Cloud
grasped frantically at the reins to bring him under control.
Struggling to settle the bird, he glanced quickly about them in a
bid to identify what had caused Boco to react in such a manner.
The curtain of fog had grown so palpable now that he could
barely make out the ground beneath them, or the treacherous
waterline. He estimated that they had crossed at least half of the
two-mile trek. Turning back, he saw the shadows of Zeio and Red
XIII slowly advancing towards him, and held up a hand to halt
them.
“Yo, what’s goin’ on? Why’ve we stopped?” hissed Barret.
“Something’s spooked Boco.” Cloud replied quietly, patting the
erect feathers on his chocobo’s neck to soothe him. Handing the
brown leather reins to Aerith, he expertly manoeuvred himself
down from his saddle. “Wait here while I check it out.”
Cloud’s military boots sank deep into the mud, pulling at him as
he edged forward. Guardedly, he reached over his shoulder,
wrapping his gloved fingers around the long, thin handle of the
Buster Sword, releasing it from its magnetic holster. The
pungent aroma emanating from the peaty swamp swept over
him, wispy fumes rising from the motionless surface of the
marsh, enveloping him, burning his throat as he inhaled. Brittle
twigs cracked underfoot as he crept through the mist, his eyes
trained on what lay ahead until, like a phantom, the reason for
the commotion appeared before him.
The footprints on the track had been decimated by a two-metrethick gouge that had torn clean through the islet passage. At the
centre of the fissure was a wrinkled snake skin, much larger than
any Cloud had ever witnessed, floating lazily atop the stagnant
water. The pallid yellow honeycomb pattern of its fist-sized
scales had shrivelled over time, but the extent of the gelatinous
skin was alarming, as was the implicit enormity of the monster
that had shed it.
Crouching to inspect the moulted sleeve further, he noticed
something bobbing very lightly to his right, almost-wholly
57
concealed by the giant skin. Cloud leaned forward, squinting
with curiosity, carefully moving it aside with the tip of his sword,
dislodging the object from the reeds it had been ensnared by. He
grimaced as the discovery took shape before his eyes; he had seen
a gnarled hand protruding from the water and now, freed from its
entanglement, the upper-half of a human torso floated to the
surface from the hidden depths. The twisted face of a young man
emerged only a few feet away, his decomposing expression wide
with fright, his body ripped in two at the stomach.
Did the Zoloms do this…?
As he lowered his gaze, a noise echoed from behind that caused
Cloud’s heart to skip a beat. He spun as he heard the resounding
splash, lurching to his feet, his legs instinctively blasting into a
sprint. Holding the Buster Sword aloft, he darted from island to
island back in the direction of his comrades, hurdling bushes and
knotted roots. Blood pumping in his veins, Cloud knew he had to
get to them before the terrible serpent; he had to protect them.
Harder and faster he surged, careering through the smog with
enhanced agility, his chest ready to explode as he burst onto the
narrow stretch of terrain where he had left the others.
“Godsdamn mud…” Red XIII cursed as he grumpily shook his
tribal ankle-bracelet dry, ripples wavering from the embankment
where his paw had entered the swamp.
“What the hell happened?” panted Cloud in a mixture of
annoyance and relief. Boco tilted his head in puzzlement at his
master’s abrupt and flustered entrance, mimicked somewhat by
Aerith and Tifa.
“The ground gave way beneath me.” snorted Red XIII, nodding
to a patch of earth that had crumbled in a miniature landslide.
“I thought…” Cloud trailed off, forcing the words back. “We need
to get outta here. Right now.”
“What did you see out there?” asked Tifa with concern.
“There’s no time…” he answered hurriedly, striding towards
Boco. Accepting the reins from Aerith as she adjusted the straps
58
IV
of the backpack she had been burdened with for the day, he
readied himself to mount the chocobo, but stopped.
“What is it?” gulped Aerith, her voice trembling, reading Cloud’s
frown.
“Listen…” he mouthed, holding a finger to his lips. Red XIII’s
ears perked as he craned his neck from side to side in an attempt
to pinpoint the sound they had both heard, his concentration
fierce. A tension fell over the party as they each held their
breaths, none daring to speak, the seconds ticking by as if an
eternity.
“Damn, Spiky,” Barret sighed eventually, “you losin’ your…?”
The rattle was unmistakable this time, slicing through the air
like a klaxon. It echoed all around them, its source close by, but
its direction indiscernible. Cloud and Aerith’s comprehending
gazes met for a fleeting moment before, in a single motion, he
sprung onto Boco, yanking the reins and digging his heels into
the bird’s side.
“Go!” he yelled as Aerith wrapped her arms around him, hastily
beckoning Tifa, Barret and Red XIII to follow.
With a shriek, the chocobos took off through the Marshes,
ducking their heads low and elevating their tail feathers as they
accelerated faster than they had run before. The animals skipped
sprightly over the land, hurtling along the miners’ trail, leaping
over the snake skin trench effortlessly. The rattling grew louder,
infectious to hear; a daunting threat to those whom had dared
venture into the Zoloms' territory. Mud and water churned as the
chocobos’ legs became a blur, carving their own route through
the swamplands.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, the rattling faded into a
thunderous sloshing sound. Cloud glanced over the metallic
pauldron on his left shoulder, and saw the silhouette of an
enormous slithering serpent behind the grey partition of mist. Its
preying seventy-foot body was gliding beneath the surface of the
lagoon parallel to them, leaving only the silvery scales of its back
visible, and was gaining speed.
59
Unable to take his gaping stare from the creature, jerking back
and forth as Boco evaded a stretch of unsteady ground, Cloud
brandished the Buster Sword once again, using a single arm to
hold its blade at a lethal angle while he simultaneously steered
the bird. The Zolom was now close enough for him to make out
the rubbery texture of its skin as it coiled through the water at an
incredible rate. There came a menacing hiss followed by a loud
gurgle and, as if it had all been an illusion, the snake vanished.
“Where the hell’d it go?” roared Barret.
“Keep your eyes open!” shouted Cloud, anxiously searching the
surrounding wetlands for any re-emergence of the colossal
abomination. “That thing could...”
The Zolom screamed as it rose vertically out of the marsh,
towering high over the advancing party. Slimy brown water
poured from the golden underside of the gargantuan cobra as it
threw its neck back and snarled, several deadly fangs gleaming
inside its wide jaws, each one a foot long. A raspy forked tongue
flicked out and cracked the air like a whip, the hooded frills on
either side of its head flapping wildly as it let out a second highpitched screech.
Veering left and right respectively, Boco and Zeio galloped
around of the Zolom’s broad, muscular abdomen as it brought its
body crashing to the ground, snapping its jaws hungrily. Cloud
turned quickly to see Red XIII dive out of the serpent’s lunging
path, narrowly escaping its gaping mouth. He landed heavily in
the mud, and stumbled as his paws sank under the impact,
sliding awkwardly in an attempt to regain his footing. The Zolom
hissed wickedly, lashing its barbed tail behind it as it slithered
below the marsh. Red XIII’s eye bore a glint of genuine fear, and
he wasted no time in racing after the chocobos as they sped
across the islands.
However, his relief was only fleeting, as the water behind him
began thrashing up violently. The large hooded head of the snake
suddenly appeared through the fog at his rear, its fangs
crunching savagely at the beast’s hind legs, drawing closer with
60
IV
each missed lurch. He yowled, holding his flaming tail between
his legs as he bounded at pace to keep it from being torn from his
back. Sensing the Zolom arch its neck and loom over him as it
primed its fatal strike, Red XIII was at its mercy. Closing his eye,
hoping this breath was not his last, he heard something explosive
whiz overhead.
The monstrous cobra bellowed in pain and fury as the thirty-five
millimetre bullets tore into its scaly midriff, forcing it to recoil.
Red XIII glanced up to see a ferocious expression upon Barret's
bearded face, his rotating gun-arm targeting the flailing snake,
Tifa helping to keep him balanced while she steered Zeio. The
serpent dodged from side to side, but Barret’s sweeping aim was
devastatingly flawless, shredding its silvery skin and causing
thick globules of blood to spray over the swamp. The Zolom
unleashed a terrible wail as it drove despairingly against the
torrent of shots for a few seconds longer, desperate to catch the
escaping beast, before gradually withdrawing, giving up the
chase.
His heart pounding as adrenaline cascaded through him like
wildfire, Red XIII did not notice the old miners’ trail had widened
and grown significantly firmer beneath his padded paws until
they had almost arrived on the western bank of the Marshes. The
shroud of mist had also declined, and was now nothing more
than a wispy layer of vapour that had settled over the patched
grassy terrain ahead. The chocobos slowed to a canter and
proceeded side-by-side beyond the threshold of the lagoon, along
the foot of the east-bound Midgar Mountains.
The sharp cliff face hung eerily over the party like a watchful
titan, black and craggy, glistening in the parts exposed to the light
rain that had started to fall. The storm clouds were now directly
above them, casting a tangible gloom over the landscape. Wary
of the fading daylight and the dreary night that would soon be
upon them, the group rode for the narrow corridor that wound
like a gorge between the scaling bluffs of the intersecting
mountain ranges to Luchile’s Pass.
61
They had only managed a short distance from the Marshes
before Boco and Zeio grew restless, often bucking or turning
away entirely from the mouth of the vale. Their reluctance
fuelled Cloud’s anticipation that the same great malice he had felt
before now lurked not so far away; he was certain it was him.
The birds’ warks dulled to whimpering kwehs, unnerving the
others, and causing his own stomach to tighten. Not even a
calming song from Aerith was enough to ease the chocobos’
discomfort, leaving the company no option.
“I think it's time these guys went home.” Cloud proposed as he
climbed down from Boco, holding out an arm to help Aerith.
“They’ve been brave enough for one day.” nodded Tifa sombrely,
absently stroking Zeio’s head as she deliberated the situation.
“But…do you think they’ll be okay on their own?”
“You mean in the Marshes?” asked Cloud “Why wouldn’t they
be?”
“The damn birds outran that snake for fun.” snorted Barret,
lowering himself to the ground. “An’ one o’ them was carryin’
me.”
“We can't take them into the mine, anyway.” Cloud added.
“It’s just…” Tifa bit her lip, peering back into the ominous mist.
“Billy told us these two are pretty resourceful.” Aerith
encouraged her with a smile. “They’ll be fine; they’ll find their
way back to the ranch.”
Tifa stared into space for a number of seconds, her large brown
eyes glazing over as she fell deep into contemplation. With a
sigh, she finally lifted her leg over and dismounted, slumping
down to join her four comrades. Unfastening the reins, she
stuffed them into the small saddlebag, gesturing for Cloud to do
the same. Boco and Zeio shared an excited gaze, eagerly scraping
their claws in the dirt in recognition that they had been granted
freedom.
“Be safe.” Tifa bade Zeio, patting his breast firmly.
With a resounding wark, the giant golden bird bowed his head,
then took off back in the direction of the swamp, soon followed
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IV
by Boco. As the chocobos retreated into the Zolom’s domain, the
company stood in silence, watching their ratite allies vanish amid
the wall of fog. It was Cloud who moved first, shouldering the
backpack he had reclaimed from Aerith and, taking up the Buster
Sword, trudged towards the gorge.
“Let’s go.”
“Barret?” Red XIII cleared his throat, causing the whole group
to pause for a moment. His voice was delicate, laden with
humility if not a touch of shame. Barret turned to face him,
arching his scarred eyebrow. “I…um…I just wanted to thank you.
For saving my life.”
“Sure thing, old timer.” he waved dismissively, pointing at the
still-smoking barrels of his gatling-gun. “My partner here enjoys
a good ol’ bit o’ monster bashin’. Don’t forget, I got a reputation
o’ protectin’ folks.”
“Indeed,” acknowledged the beast, starting after their leader,
“but you have my deepest gratitude nonetheless.”
The hike to the entrance of the Pass lasted slightly longer than it
may have otherwise done. The group travelled without much
urgency, allowing the weary Red XIII to regain his energy after
what had seemed an entire afternoon of running on his part. The
rain had picked up, swathing them in a blanket of cold
precipitation and bullying them into donning their waterproof
cagoules.
The jackets fluttered harshly as the wind increased, howling
indefinable cautions as it swept between the mountains and the
bare branches of the trees. The trail underfoot had begun to
slope progressively downward, the soft earth giving way to
uneven rocks that sprung from the ground like enormous grey
eyeballs. It was only when the party rounded a jutting outcrop of
the cliffside that Cloud’s dread was realised; there was no
question that Sephiroth had come this way. They were greeted to
a sight more horrific than any could have imagined, halting each
of the company in their tracks, the girls gasping in fright.
63
The limp, skewered body of another seventy-foot Zolom hung
awkwardly, twisted in a disjointed fashion around the pointed
head of the enormous stake that impaled its throat. Resembling
a barren makeshift tree, the tall mast rose with purpose through
the upturned topside of the monster; a warning to those who
witnessed the butchery of the mangled snake. Its once-menacing
red eyes were unmoving and lifeless, its frills drooping lazily on
either side of its golden skull. The entire figure of the mammoth
cobra was splattered with dark blood, some of which still trickled
from wounds across its scaly silver form.
A sudden flash of lightning struck the northern face of the
Midgar Mountains, illuminating the sunken dead eyes of the
hideous terror. Wrapped around the splintered trunk, the
Zolom’s black tongue tossed flaccidly in the wind, as did its
deadweight tail, the harmless rattle now only a simple
distraction. No smell of rotting flesh floated on the air; the
slaughter had been recent. The imminent thunder of the
colliding storm clouds rumbled around the five as they gawped
uneasily at the annihilated creature, defeated without remorse.
“Cloud…” croaked Tifa, her words a faint mumble in the gale.
“You don’t think this was Sephiroth, do you?”
“It was him…” Cloud confirmed, his trained eyes absorbing
every detail. The appalling scene was an overdue glimpse into
the world and psyche of the former Captain of SOLDIER. “He’s
less than two days ahead of us.”
“You’re telling me that our enemy is someone capable of this…?”
Aerith questioned, her tone lacking its usual passion.
“This guy’s pretty strong, I’d say.” mused Barret with a hint of
reluctance. “You sure we oughtta be huntin’ him?”
“Like you have no idea…” Cloud retorted determinedly, unable
to cast aside the mental image of Nibelheim engulfed in flames.
Sephiroth’s strength was unimaginable; infinitely more
destructive than the legends that preceded him. He had been
revered as the defender of Shinra, Inc.; a hero of the Wutai War;
the strongest of all the SOLDIERs; but he was still the man who
64
IV
massacred an entire village of innocent civilians, including Cloud
and Tifa’s family. A tense restlessness enveloped the party,
endorsed by the pummelling rainfall. Somewhere in the midst of
the indecision, Red XIII’s lone words drifted like a profundity
upon which the rest were expected to heed.
“This is a power that we should respect…”
65
CHAPTER V
Into Darkness
With a mighty swing of the Buster Sword, Cloud cleaved the
engraved doorway into a dozen shards. The ethereal fingers of
the chilled mist bade him beyond the entrance and into the
chamber, where he came to a broad platform overlooking the
swirling rivers deep within the mountain. The scaling walls of the
secret hollow were plated by long panels of immaculate
aluminium, encircling the tall elevated podium at the room’s
core, lit only by the pale green Mako and what little spotlights
targeted the centrepiece. The pedestal was kept aloft by thick
steel framework, passing to and fro across the cavernous pit
below.
Sephiroth strode almost gleefully along the rubbery extension
that bridged the space between the room’s ingress and the
podium, the tails of his cloak bounding gracefully behind him.
He stopped at the pinnacle of the extension, gazing attentively at
the metallic effigy before him. The masked angel statuette rested
upon the base of the darkened capsule that had been erected atop
the pedestal, not unlike a headstone, rising up with spanning
wings as if willing to break free. It appeared to be some sort of
elaborate filtration system, feeding the purified Mako into the
tank behind. Again, Sephiroth held his arms out, welcoming
himself into her presence.
“Mother…” he said enthusiastically, “it is I, your son. I have
come for you, Mother. I have come for you so that we may take
this Planet back for ourselves. I…I’ve had an epiphany; let’s go to
the Promised Land…”
66
V
“Sephiroth!” bellowed Cloud, the mere sight of his foe instilling
newfound strength through his hatred for the man. “My
mum…my hometown…how could you do this to them? Answer
me!”
“They’ve come again, Mother.” chuckled Sephiroth, lowering his
arms to his side, not taking his eyes from the bosom of the angel.
His tone was one of revulsion, choosing to address the sculpture
rather than his subordinate. “Mother, with your superior
knowledge, power, and magic, you were destined to rule this
Planet.
But, they…those worthless fools…those wretched
beings…they stole the Planet from you. Though, don’t worry,
Mother. I am here. I am with you now…”
Suddenly, Sephiroth grabbed the abdomen of the statuette with
both hands and heaved with the force of a behemoth. The
excruciating grinding of metal reverberated around the chamber
as he tore the body of the angel from its foundation, sending
sparks fizzing between the disconnected livewires as the wings
detached and fell away. A strange brown liquid bubbled from
inside the open mouth of the effigy, trickling down its masked
face, spraying across the podium as Sephiroth tossed it
dismissively into the depths.
With a hiss of energy, the great capsule came to life. Brilliant
lights awoke to illuminate the naked humanoid figure of Jenova,
fully immersed in a transparent blue chemical. Her silver hair
and lean face frighteningly resembled Sephiroth’s, though her left
eye shone with an unnerving red glow, concealed to an extent by
a chrome helmet bearing her name and the date of her discovery.
Her sinewy flesh was worn and frayed in places, wrapped by an
unusual growth of organic matter, and pierced throughout by
wires designed to preserve her ancient body. Sephiroth gasped
with joy as he saw her, placing a hand on the cold glass in an
attempt to become closer to her.
“We meet at last, Mother,” he said contentedly, “so you won’t
have to feel sadness anymore…”
“Sadness?” roared Cloud, his grip tightening on the leather
handle of the Buster Sword as he slowly began across the tube
67
extension towards the podium. “Is that what this is all about?
Sadness? What about my sadness? What about the sadness of
all those who lost their friends and family tonight? Isn’t that the
same as your sadness?”
“My sadness?” laughed Sephiroth, engrossed in his study of the
woman suspended in the tank, carelessly ignorant as Cloud drew
nearer. “What do I have to be sad about? I am the Chosen One. I
have been chosen to be the leader of this Planet. I have orders to
take back this Planet from your foolish race and return it to the
hands of the Cetra. That is why I was born. That is my calling.
And I am doing all this for Mother. What am I supposed to be
sad about?”
“Sephiroth, have you completely lost your mind?” growled
Cloud from behind him, pressing the thick blade of the Buster
Sword against his neck. Sephiroth’s hands slipped from the
glass, his breathing long and hard. He contemptuously turned
his face to meet Cloud’s uncompromising stare, his lips again
forming a menacing smile. “I…I trusted you. No…you’re not the
Sephiroth I used to know…”
“You traitor!” snarled Sephiroth, slipping the Masamune from
its sheath before Cloud could react, the screech of metal ringing
out around them as the swords clashed.
*
*
*
‘Do you really think you can beat him?’ came the ominous
whisper, buried deep inside his subconscious.
“You…who are you?” he gulped. “What do you want?”
‘You told the others you don’t remember what happened that
night in Nibelheim, right?’
“So…?”
‘Sephiroth is still out there. You didn’t end it then. What makes
you think you can end it now?’
“Why are you doing this?”
‘You’ll find out soon enough…’
68
V
*
*
*
Cloud opened his eyes to a thin strip of pallid morning sunlight
that skulked through the stained window of the old miners’ cabin,
creeping up the walls of bare and rotting timber. The dawn
seemed too nervous to rush upon the loitering rain clouds of the
vale, instead peering over the summit of the Midgar Mountains
with curiosity. A musky dampness hung in the air of the openplan room, stale and nauseating. About him, everyone but Red
XIII was still encased in their sleeping bags, the rhythmic
breathing and Barret’s snoring an indication that they were yet to
wake from their slumber. The feline beast turned from grooming
his spiked mane to meet Cloud’s drowsy gaze, repositioning the
gold barrette behind his hooped earrings, alerted to his
comrade’s stirring.
“Bad dream?” he asked, his eloquent voice low and soothing.
“Something like that.” Cloud muttered, unzipping his own bag.
“You?”
“I do not sleep much.” he replied bluntly.
“I bet that tail of yours doesn’t help.” Cloud gestured towards
the flickering flames at the end of Red XIII’s swaying appendage.
“You get used to it.”
“Does it ever go out? I mean, will it work in the mines?”
“As a torch to guide us?” he pondered for a moment. “Yes. Yes,
indeed it will.”
“You sure?”
“Long ago, my race lived in the dark caves within the Valley of
the Fallen Star. My grandfather, Bugenhagen, once told me that
if something exists, it is because evolution had intended it.”
“That might’ve been true before Shinra came to power…” sighed
Cloud.
“That also is my opinion.” Red XIII agreed. “I discussed with
him the difference between plants and animals that had mutated
because of Mako toxins in the soil, and those which been
genetically-modified in the laboratories of Shinra. The latter are
most certainly not the work of nature.”
69
“And what did he say?”
“Grandpa explained that monsters can be differentiated from
animals by the way that they treat the corpses of their opponents.
Animals kill to eat; it is a survival mechanism. But, monsters
often kill without purpose. To them, their prey is just sport; an
irrelevant existence. Once they have killed, they simply move on
to their next victim. When you think about it in those terms,
humans have more in common with monsters than with
animals.”
“It’s not the first time I’ve heard that…” Cloud nodded solemnly.
“Yes…well…living in one of Hojo’s cages for more than a year
allows you to view the world in a less optimistic light.” the beast
growled, the very recollection generating anger within him. “I
witnessed many things in that man’s laboratory that I would wish
cast from my memory. The depths to which the scientists of
Shinra will plunge without care for morality is simply staggering.
Of course, you as well as anyone will know this.”
“How did you end up in Midgar?” Cloud automatically changed
the subject.
“That is a long story…” replied Red XIII, pausing as if to
deliberate whether or not he should continue. His repositioned
his heavy paws beneath himself with a hint of agitation, his
powerful muscles flexing beneath a thick orange coat scarred by
old battle wounds, dark tribal tattoos and the numerical branding
on his left foreleg from which his epithet had originated. “The
short version is that Professor Hojo desired me as research
sample. I was forced into a difficult situation, and the only choice
I had was to make a deal with the Turks for my conditional
surrender. But, what those scientists did to me…I have longed to
return to Cosmo Canyon since that day. It is there that we will
part ways on this journey.”
Red XIII said nothing further, instead frowning thoughtfully as
he stared outside. Only the faint patter of rain on the window
disturbed the silence between them, remaining that way for
several minutes until Cloud finally shuffled his legs from his
sleeping bag and stood. His heart was still pounding in his chest;
70
V
the re-emergence of that indistinguishable voice had significantly
affected him. Not since the night President Shinra was murdered
had it come to him, and not since that night had he thought of it.
What’s wrong with me…?
Quickly performing a set of squats to relieve the lingering
anxiety, he wandered over to the low stone fireplace, stoking the
still-glowing embers to revitalise it. The hearth crackled weakly,
gradually gaining in warmth. Cloud’s mind drifted into a trance
as his eyes became transfixed on the spluttering red coals,
interrupted by flashes of a burning Nibelheim.
Tifa was the next to wake, then Aerith, and finally Barret. The
group shared a bland breakfast of toasted bread and beans
cooked from a can. There was little in the way of conversation,
the gruesome sight of the butchered Zolom continuing to haunt
them. By the time they had packed their things and vacated the
lodge, the rain had ceased and the fog had lifted, and what beauty
was present in the valley was at long last revealed to them.
The small settlement of Luchile’s Pass was located on a bluff
from which the East Gate of Mythril Mine could be seen
approximately one-hundred metres into the gully below. The
sharp cliffs on either side glistened with dew, patches of green
and brown and gold moss sprouting from every available crag. A
winding man-made staircase of concrete and lumber descended
into the ravine, coming to an end at a single rail track that
emerged from the cavernous mouth of the subterranean opening.
“So…” Aerith breathed as she mopped her drooping bangs from
her face, contemplating the climb down towards the mine. “We’re
going in there after Sephiroth.”
“I don’t expect any of you to go further than you want to.” Cloud
responded, his words dancing around the party as if carried on
the sweeping winds. “But, I have to find him. I have to stop him
and finish this once and for all.”
“We’re with you.” said Tifa resolutely, fastening the straps of her
fingerless red leather gloves and clanging their metal knuckle
studs together.
71
It was a statement loaded with determination, and one which
appeared to represent the stance of the others. It was her first
real act of support in the week since she and Cloud had sat alone
together by the River Mandragora, recalling how she had been
wounded at the hands of the silver-haired madman. The faint
reassuring smile at the corner of her lips suggested she had now
forgiven the indifference he had shown that night.
The uneven stone steps were slimy and mud-splattered, proving
difficult for them to maintain their footing as they made their way
into the gully. The grips of the company’s hiking shoes barely
kept them grounded on the steep decline, and even Cloud’s
military boots had become slippery. Only the padded paws of
Red XIII seemed untroubled by the descent as he bounded
elegantly over the hillside with ease. The peaks of the Midgar
Mountains loomed formidably over them as they proceeded
further and further down, the temperature dropping significantly
enough for them to once again don heavier garments.
At the foot of the staircase, the earth had been flattened by
decades of activity, the bare terrain now carpeted with a thin
layer of weeds and grass. They found an empty watchman’s
station nearby as well as a hut filled with old shovels, picks and a
handful of broken gas lanterns, but nothing of notable use. In the
centre of the sunken ingress, a lone mine cart sat against the
buffers at the railroad’s terminus, its armoured iron shell and
wheels rusting and neglected. The tracks themselves disappeared
into the shadowy confines of Mythril Mine, the unwelcoming
darkness creeping almost to the tunnel entry.
“Stay on your guard,” instructed Cloud, drawing the Buster
Sword, “we don’t know what kind of monsters might be lurking in
there. And keep close. It’ll be easy to get lost in this maze.”
Following his leader’s orders, Red XIII marched at the head of
the group, the brilliant blaze of his tail illuminating the
otherwise-murky walls as they crossed the boundary of the pit.
The main entrance of East Gate was a high portico built of
redbrick, but whose colour had all but faded to grey. Bristly moss
and silken cobwebs hung from its arcing ceiling, and insects
72
V
scurrying to and fro between the cement fissures to escape the
white glare. The nocturnal blackbats in the rafters stirred from
their slumber, some cowering from the light, while others
departed their roosting spot with a feeble shriek.
Gravel crunched underfoot as they walked alongside the tracks,
the corridor beginning to slope almost immediately, though its
gradient was slight. But for their own movement and the distant
echo of running water, the surroundings were void of sound.
After fifty metres or so, the redbrick passageway expanded into a
vast rocky channel, held aloft by wooden scaffolding. Rope lines
were pinned to the walls on either side, a way of guiding the
workers when the oil lamps overhead had diminished. Thick
timber columns fenced off the unstable sections, though some
had tilted under the strain, supported in places by wire mesh or
even barrels. The mine network of the mountain’s interior had
long ago been carved from dynamite blasts, crooked and
potholed, and the crumbling rock still posed a threat.
The winding tunnels progressed due-west for a period, then
turned north. The air had grown heavy but cold, laden with
grime, and stifling to inhale. Every few minutes, one of them
would stumble on a piece of rutted ground or an obstacle that
Red XIII’s natural torchlight had failed to detect, and Cloud
would respond with a fierce scowl, lowering his weapon. The pair
of rails seemed ignorant of the hardship, bending nonchalantly
with the path until they were brought to a cantilever bridge that
spanned a narrow but deep chasm, accompanied by the rumbling
waterfall of an underground current as it cascaded a nearby rock
face.
In the glow of his comrade’s tail, Cloud could make out shapes
on the underside of the steel frame, shirking from the radiance.
No less than a dozen castanets clung to the bridge’s welded
girders with their crab-like pincers, their navy bodies
shimmering, watching the intruders with beady yellow eyes in a
mixture of intrigue and dislike. The vermin scuttled out of sight
as the five crossed to the opposite ledge, their unsettled gazes
acknowledging the daunting blackness of the crevasse.
73
This soon led them to a huge cavern which was undoubtedly the
former core of operations. A granite ceiling spread as far as they
could see into the gloom, bolstered by a grid of sentinel-like
pillars and cloisters of dense lumber. Miners’ tools lay scattered
over the floor, rusting and surrounded by the glass of smashed
handheld lanterns. The cart track diverged into five or six
individual sidings, all but two of which were vacant, and a vehicle
turntable that one of the trucks had toppled from and spilled its
contents.
Runner rails of iron chains and hooks hung
disconcertingly above, and stout industrial cranes that had seen
better days stood at set intervals along the northern perimeter,
once used for loading and unloading coal or Mythril ore.
A decade had passed since mining activity had severely
dwindled in the wake of the Kalm disaster, but the site appeared
to have been occupied far more recently. As the party advanced
between the tracks, they scanned the layout of the facility’s
nucleus with interest, taking particular note of the anti-Shinra
graffiti on walls glittering with Mythril dust, a large portion of
which came in the form of Wusheng kanji. Tell-tale signs of
campfires and hollows where people had slept under blankets
were prominent, but these were by no means the strongest
evidence of a previous presence here of a resurgence group.
The five were stunned to discover the remains of what looked to
have been some kind of militant base. Large scrolls of detailed
blueprints were unfurled across stone plinths, pinned down at
the corners by a handful of rocks and a single can of fish. The
slabs were covered by a decorative black cloth embroidered with
a derivation of the Crest of Wutai. It was an oriental depiction of
the deity Leviathan; the serpentine insignia not unlike those
Cloud had observed in Don Corneo’s mansion, and one he knew
to have represented a special force within the Wutai Army.
Uneven scorch marks and remnants of burned twigs on the
ground as well as half-full tin mugs and decayed bread indicated
the encampment had been abandoned in a hurry, and those
stationed here had never returned.
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V
The strangest addition to the scene by far was the row of
armoured breastplates that had been left along the bottom of an
adjacent shelving unit, silver with the same symbolic engraving of
the aquatic Water God upon them. Among the armour were a
collection of gunlances and an enormous helmet whose shape
was unnatural; sculpted to accommodate amphibian-like eye slits
and wide nostrils, with a lengthy segment of thick chain mail
extending from its neckpiece.
“What is this…?” gulped Tifa, her expression one of concern as
her studied the area. “Did monsters do this?”
“Not monsters.” Cloud shook his head, processing the
information.
“How d’you know, Spiky?” scoffed Barret sardonically.
“This place was used by the Crescents.” he answered brusquely.
“You mean…the Crescent Unit?” Red XIII choked with surprise.
“Of Wutai?”
“Yeah.” Cloud said, kneeling to inspect the cobwebbed
gunlances. “These weapons belonged to the Wusheng, more
specifically the Engetsu Corps of the Crescent Unit. After the
War, many of the rebels regrouped under the leadership of the
Crescents to fight a covert battle against Shinra. Most of the
troubles were kept hidden from the public, and it was SOLDIER’s
job to hunt down and eliminate members of the resistance. The
problem was that they were the masters of espionage - some were
even Ninjas - and they were a lot stronger than official reports
would ever let on.
“You see that helmet there? Those were given to the Vajradhara
ogres that the Wusheng trained during the War for antiSOLDIER combat. When Emperor Kisaragi surrendered, a
section of the Wusheng went rogue, including pretty much all of
the Vajradharas. The Shinra Executive believed the rebels were
still getting their orders from the highest level, but they could
never prove it.”
“Gods,” gasped Barret, tracing a finger over the blueprints, “this
is a complete breakdown of the Central Complex in Midgar. You
think these guys were plannin’ to destroy the city?”
75
“It’s possible.” Cloud shrugged. “The insurgents didn’t usually
attack civilians, but they got desperate towards the end. Who
knows what they would’ve done if SOLDIER hadn’t stopped
them?”
“So this was one of the Crescents’ secret hideouts, then?” asked
Aerith, her voice hinting at her wonder over the find.
“Looks like it.” Cloud exhaled, rising to his feet and frowning as
he noticed a faded scroll of parchment on one of the makeshift
shelves above the armour.
As he reached for it, he heard a vicious hiss, followed by an
aggressive rattle; a sound that caused Red XIII to shirk away
impulsively, the trauma of the Zolom chase still fresh in his
memory. A viper the same shade as Cloud’s coarse blue
SOLDIER First Class outfit slithered out from behind the cabinet,
its displayed fangs dripping with venom. The unusual twin tails
at its rear distinguished it as a crawler rattlesnake, a species of
the heg family, and one which possessed a highly-poisonous bite.
Cloud retreated a step, granting the serpent an escape route into
a nearby hole, and it duly accepted with a final warning hiss.
When it had vanished, he pulled the piece of paper from the shelf
and gently unfolded it, holding it out for the others to see.
“What is it?” inquired Tifa before Red XIII was able to
illuminate it properly.
“A map of the mines.” Cloud replied, unveiling a diagram of the
labyrinthine complex.
Both the East Gate and so-called
‘Distribution Hub’ were clearly marked on the illustration, as was
their destination on the western slopes of the Midgar Mountains.
“It says we’ll need to take the Pass of Angra-Mainyu to get to the
West Gate. We can access it from here.”
“Then, we should proceed.” grunted Red XIII with foreboding as
he glanced down to where the crawler had gone. “I sense that we
are not welcome in this place.”
Towards the northwest corner of the Distribution Hub, the
company located the signposted opening to the Pass of AngraMainyu, a narrow walkway and the only exit not to descend from
the cavern. Two elevator shafts and a trio of railroads that
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V
disappeared sharply into the darkened depths were situated close
by, as was a broad tunnel previously used as an entrance for
workers traversing the arduous hike to the buried quarries of
Mythril Mine. His tail raised high above his back, oscillating
back and forth, Red XIII directed them into the passage, the
iridescent cave walls reflecting its mesmeric luminosity.
The incline of the route was temporarily trivial, channelled by
long planks of sodden wood that reinforced their footing, but
tiring over the lapsing hours. Though scaling the inner mountain
became an increasing challenge for the lagging Aerith and Barret,
Tifa and Red XIII displayed impressive stamina as they marched
on ahead, and Cloud’s enhanced physique allowed him to bear
the burden of a loaded backpack and the Buster Sword while
scarcely breaking a sweat.
Sephiroth had once explained that the Mako infusion during a
SOLDIER candidate’s tolerance examination not only gave them
the gleam in their eyes, it improved their strength, agility and
pain threshold far beyond normal capacity.
Superhuman
attributes were both the prize and price of greatness. To alleviate
his own struggle, Barret had created a distraction by sharing his
knowledge and experience as a coal miner in the Corel
Mountains, relating much of it to the history of Mythril Mine.
Established more than one-hundred years earlier and
stimulated by revolutionary feats of engineering, these dangerous
but profitable pits had supplied most of the Eastern Continent
with coal and gas energy long before the discovery of Mako and
construction of the Reactors. Outside the Mako cities of Midgar
and Junon, which had become monopolised entirely by the
Shinra Corporation, traditional energy methods were preserved
in the isolated rural regions of the Continent, or even in
conservative towns such as Kalm.
During the peak of coal excavation between [µ]-εγλ 1940 and
1960, nuggets of Mythril ore were detected in the rock here but
not actively mined. It was not until the true worth of Mako as a
source of power was fully realised that coal value plummeted,
alienating the once-prosperous energy firms from the industry,
77
and the attention of the associated businesses turned to
alternative markets. While some of the quarries beneath the
Midgar Mountains were fortunate enough to boast the
unearthing of copper, silver or even gold, it was this mine which
proved the most lucrative of them all, eventually changing its
name in honour of the rare and precious metal that revitalised its
trade.
Mythril resembled silver but was significantly tougher than
steel, and much lighter, thus perfect for weapon manufacturing
among other things. Easily shaped by practiced craftsmen but
uncommon in modern society, it was a polished and ageless
metal, and one which could be found in the unlikeliest of places.
Often extracted as an alloy, it had to be refined using industrial
processes to determine its true form, and was ultimately
treasured as ten times its weight in gold.
As the two-thousand-year-old [µ]-εγλ drew to a close, the
displacement of the Mako rivers in and around Midgar gave rise
to incalculable species of monsters, many of which originated in
the lowest fractures of the mines where the streams breached the
earth. Combined with slowing investment, this had contributed
greatly to the subsequent closure of the facility, and the
consequent infestation of abnormal creatures that ensued.
Watching carefully as their path unravelled, Cloud listened
intently to the constant dripping of rock-bound creeks, analysing
each new feature of their trail. The cramped air was suffocating
at times, generating the destructive illusion of claustrophobia
among the party. However, the difficulties of the gradual climb
of Angra-Mainyu Pass finally succumbed to a more spacious
corridor, and the cooler atmosphere relieved the tension that was
building amid the group. They were thereafter brought to a slim
stairwell cut from the stone, with a delicate glimmer emanating
from its height, and at this point Red XIII paused, encouraging
the others to continue on ahead.
“What’s up?” asked Cloud, joining his comrade from the rear of
the procession, immediately acknowledging that all was not right.
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V
“We are not alone.” murmured Red XIII, casting a wary glance
behind them. “Something is following us.”
“Shinra?”
“A more cunning enemy.”
“You know what it is?” Cloud clenched his jaw, tightening his
fingers around the handle of his blade.
“There is a foul stench on the air.” he said, bearing his fangs. “I
would recognise its vulgarity in even the darkest reaches of the
Planet. I could never forget it. It is as I feared; we are being
tracked by one of Hojo’s experiments.”
“An experiment?” Cloud repeated ominously. “You mean one of
his research samples? Is it dangerous?”
“Remarkably.” answered Red XIII, his single eye betraying his
hesitance. “And it seldom hunts on his own. We should be on
high alert…”
“Cloud!” Aerith’s shrill voice resounded down the staircase,
causing him to instinctively adopt a defensive stance with the
Buster Sword.
“What?” he called hurriedly. “What is it?”
“Get up here!” she demanded from the pinnacle of the steps.
“You need to see this…”
Sharing a fleeting and uncertain look, the duo took off up the
stairway, the athletic beast springing ahead. Hurtling from the
egress, Cloud felt the air rush from his lungs as the spectacle
expanded before him, halting him in his stride. The others had
gathered on the ridge of an elevated cliffside gallery, each of them
leaning out through the gaps of the natural arcade, entranced by
what lay beyond. He puffed in astonishment at the wealth of
visibility, unquestionably the most they had enjoyed since
morning, and at the revelation of such an extraordinary sight.
Countless great sloping columns of black and silver faded into
the dark yonder beneath a lofty ranging ceiling of ragged shaded
limestone, growing like a battalion of karsts from the vast pits,
and forming the basis of this breath-taking subterranean
landscape. Each scaling mound was a compressed assortment of
coal, metal alloys, and lode Mythril, towering more than one79
hundred feet above the majority of gaseous chasms. Their
exteriors shimmered hypnotically in the ghostly pale green of the
Mako swells that radiated from the deep, the toxic fumes
skulking into the colossal cave from far below, the very image
prompting the scar on Cloud’s torso to sting painfully.
Accompanying the outcrops was buttress after buttress of steel
framework, strengthening the foundations of the mineral-laden
monoliths as a safety precaution for the mine workers, and
connected by an impressive system of wooden walkways. The
jagged bluff at the summit of each bore more scaffolding as well
as a selection of coloured flags which presumably identified the
metals that could be found there. On the southern side of the
backdrop was an immense complex of deserted machinery, the
silhouettes of sizable quarry drills and furnaces cowering inside
its hulking shell, and from it wound the rail tracks and staircases
that would lead back to the Distribution Hub. Huge bats
fluttered in and out of the shadows above the facility, their flight
patterns haphazard at best.
A piercing shriek somewhere in the distance suddenly stole
Cloud’s attention, and he held a finger to his lips, motioning for
the others to remain still and silent. Crouching, he turned his ear
in the direction from which the sound had surfaced, listening
acutely and skilfully to detect its source. Squinting into the
dimness, he realised for the first time that there was movement
atop one of the closer karsts, the outlines of prowling monsters
partially concealed by the Mako mists.
A handful of humanoid sahagins pranced nimbly around the
bleeding tawny body of a broken-winged ahriman, the turtle-like
creatures sparring with powerful pitchfork claws to determine
their dominance and claim the kill. Their sharp cries had
attracted a flurry of activity overhead as the large bats soared and
swooped for a better view of the proceedings. It was only when
one of the circling creatures dipped so low that their profile
passed through the veil of drifting vapour that Cloud’s expression
did falter. These were not bats at all; they were belials, vicious
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scavengers not dissimilar to the hostile gargoyles that inhabited
the highest peaks of Mount Nibel.
A thunderous roar echoed throughout the seemingly-limitless
cavern, immediately ending the sahagins’ standoff. The nowtimid fiends slowly backed away from the struggling ahriman,
retreating as a pack towards the crest of the slope, and the belials
maintained their cautious position high above. The dull boom of
heavy footsteps reverberated from the site, followed by a second
deafening bellow, and Cloud’s eyes widened with awe as the King
Behemoth emerged from the blackness at the base of the outcrop.
The magnificent canine giant lumbered uphill in the direction of
the ahriman, its thick golden fur glistening with moisture, and its
spiked club tail swaying lazily behind. The sahagins scurried
hastily down the opposite precipice, clinging to the layered rock
like geckos with webbed setae toes as the behemoth advanced.
Approaching the bluff, the monstrosity lowered its neck to assess
the writhing prey, its elongated horns of dense bone obscured
from the onlookers by a wild mane of purple hair. As the
ahriman flapped its taut wings futilely, scrambling on stout legs
to escape, the brute struck it mockingly once, pinning it down,
then lunged devastatingly forward with a full jaw of razor teeth.
“Would ya look at that…” exhaled Barret as the King Behemoth
tore at his victim’s pallid flesh, gouging its single terrified eyeball
from its rotund head. “Not every day you see one o’ them fellas.”
“What’s happening?” gasped Tifa as the limp body of the
ahriman melted from the clutch of its slayer, dissolving into
ethereal strands of Mako, the jade-coloured threads hovering on
the air for a moment before vanishing completely.
“Its spirit is returning to the Planet.” Aerith whispered softly,
her words carrying a vague sense of enlightenment, as if the
scene had brought her a new understanding of the world.
“Come, let us move on.” bade Red XIII as the others watched in
hushed fascination, agitated by the threat of pursuit. “We must
hurry to the West Gate.”
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“Do as he says.” Cloud instructed, rising to his feet and once
again shouldering the backpack. “We’ve already wasted too much
time here.”
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CHAPTER VI
The Battle of Mythril Mine
The group started along the Pass of Angra-Mainyu, catching
brief glimpses between the spaces in the arcade of the victorious
behemoth which had since slumped on the stone incline. After a
short stretch, the partial-tunnel opened onto a cliffside path,
bordered by a wall of damp and serrated rock to their left, and an
unguarded sheer drop into the lowest regions of Mythril Mine on
their right. With their surroundings’ visibility substantially
enhanced by the glow of the underground Mako rivers, Red XIII
opted to hide what he could of the white light radiating from his
flaming tail, desperate not to expose their presence to the myriad
of would-be enemies lurking in the vicinity.
The isolated and often uneven trail twisted northwest above the
cavern, narrowing enough in places to force the five to continue
in single file. Rotting panels of timber lain as makeshift stairs
and neglected rope bridges were cause for concern, slowing their
progress each time they had to navigate their way over a
treacherous ravine. These crossings were usually escorted by
ancient waterfalls that trickled blissfully down the cliff, having
spent millennia carving the very gullies into which they now
flowed. Others instead culminated in shallow pools at the side of
the ridge, their banks coated with silver or copper residue. As
they walked, Cloud noticed his four-legged comrade’s repeated
subtle glances over his shoulder, remaining vigilant of whatever
stalked them.
The party eventually arrived at a section of the Pass where the
route widened, forming a junction. A few mining tools and
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assorted items were strewn across the platform, apparently left
there in a rush. Confirming the illustrations on the map Cloud
had discovered at the Distribution Hub, a decayed signpost
revealed that to proceed along the rock face would lead them
deeper into the mountain as far as Gysahl Coalmine, while the
adjacent path ascended towards the West Gate. Their road,
however, would be atop a suspended formation of winding stone
viaducts, held aloft by several crooked natural columns and the
occasional wooden bridge. It was at this intersection that Red
XIII stopped, emitting a low growl as his gaze darted between the
shadowy domains of both trails.
“What is it?” Cloud asked quickly, for he too had heard the faint
clicking sound.
“We have company.” he answered bluntly, his snout twitching as
he sniffed the heavy air.
“Aerith, Tifa…get behind me!” ordered Cloud, drawing his
greatsword. “Barret, you ready for a fight?”
“Bring it on, Spiky!” Barret responded with a perverse grin,
dropping his backpack and lifting his gun-arm, bracing himself
for the imminent kickback. “Who’s ass we kickin’?”
“These are no mere adversaries.” said Red XIII, a strange hint of
obstinacy in his voice. “They are abominations; cloned freaks
manufactured in Professor Hojo’s laboratory.”
“Clones?” gulped Tifa as she adjusted her studded martial arts
gloves for combat. “Did you just say ‘clones’?”
“Genetic hybrids to be exact.” he nodded solemnly. “Created for
a single purpose: to test the boundaries of science. They were
among Hojo’s most prized research specimens until they escaped
during an incident at Shinra Headquarters three months ago. It
would appear that these mines are their chosen refuge. Even
though they may still be considered cubs, their ferocity knows no
limit…”
As Red XIII spoke the last word, the figures of two guard
hounds materialised from the gloom, one on each side of the
junction so as to block any opportunity to flee. They resembled
robust dobermans, with globules of saliva dripping from their
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snarling armoured jawbones, and erect pointed ears above
hauntingly-vacant eyes. Hairless dark blue skin clung to their
slender but muscular physiques, branded by the same markings
as Red XIII, though their numerals read ‘XIV’ and ‘XV’
respectively.
While their regular tails were stumpy and
ineffective, the guard hounds bore an unusual tentacle-like
appendage that grew from between their shoulder blades,
rubbery and orange in colour, lashing violently about them.
“Cobalt XIV and Indigo XV,” Red XIII muttered under his
breath, defensively digging his paws into the dirt as the duo
loomed, “they were the predecessors of the specimen Hojo
deemed perfect.”
“You mean there’s another one?” Cloud frowned, not taking his
stare from the nearing clones.
“Yes. His moniker is Cerise XVI, a title no less mundane than
that which was given to me,” the beast replied, “but he acquired a
special place in Hojo’s corrupt heart. He is called Belzeque,
named by the scientist himself…and he is the one who has been
hunting us…”
With a tentative sigh, Red XIII slowly turned back to confront
the foe that had tracked the group from the Distribution Hub.
The crimson hound, Belzeque, had elected this moment to reveal
himself from his covert chase, sauntering arrogantly from around
the curve the five had negotiated moments earlier. Cloud was
unnerved by the exceptional level of stealth shown by the
monster, evading even his own heightened senses.
A superior somatic design to the twin guard hounds, Cerise XVI
was similar in many ways to Cobalt XIV and Indigo XV, but with
added athleticism and a thin coat of fur whose colour reflected
his codename. However, his facial attributes did not at all display
the grand traits that his distinguished name implied, for half of
his malevolent and deformed features were concealed within a
chrome death mask. A raspy tongue flicked from Belzeque’s
scowling mouth of razor teeth, his expression almost a grimace,
or at least an obvious discomfort in the company of his feline
nemesis.
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“Be on your guard.” instructed Red XIII, his usual-eloquent
voice now replaced by one much fiercer and without mercy. “This
is the devil that robbed me of my right eye.”
“We’ll make the bastard pay!” Barret swore, the six barrels of his
gatling-gun systematically beginning to rotate.
“Not to worry, I have already had my revenge.” replied Red XIII
with a ruthless expression Cloud had never before seen on him.
“Let me just say that Belzeque did not always require a helmet to
keep his skull intact.”
As if to acknowledge the taunt, Cerise XVI reared up on his hind
legs, roaring in a blood-curling screech that seemed as
abnormally-mutated as his masked face. In response to the
challenge, Red XIII did the same, howling into the vast darkness
of the mines like a proud and dominant lion. The beasts dropped
back to the ground almost in tandem, immediately circling one
another in a predatory fashion. Their shoulders arched, their
claws borne, their muscles flexed, the two launched themselves at
one another, snapping wildly with deadly fangs.
In that instant, Cobalt XIV and Indigo XV simultaneously
charged at the party, their paws thundering against the rock.
Cloud stepped forward as the clones drew near and, with a
mighty swing of the Buster Sword, sent Cobalt XIV smashing
against the cliff wall with the blunt side of his blade. The hound
whimpered momentarily before scrambling back to his feet, his
limp tentacle flailing behind him, shaking his head groggily as he
saw Indigo XV sprint by.
“Come eat some lead!” Barret bellowed as he prepared to unload
the contents of his gun-arm at the monster, the weapon trained
on it as it galloped right at him. His manic grin suddenly
vanished, however, as there came a heart-stopping grinding click
from the bullet-belt feed. He pounded the gatling-gun with his
fist in a frantic attempt to unhinge the jammed ammunition, but
to no avail. “Godsdammit, Partner, don’t do this to me now!”
Indigo XV took full advantage of the malfunction, soaring
through the air towards the dark-skinned giant like a hulking
projectile, its foaming jaws ready to clamp down on his flesh.
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Barret brought the steel weapon up to his face at the last moment
to block the attack, and was barged onto his back by the sheer
momentum of the fiend. He landed hard only a few feet from the
ledge, his strong hand wrapped around Indigo XV’s throat as he
grappled with it. With a hammering blow, he slammed the gunarm sickeningly against the clone’s temple, but even such brute
force did little to deter it.
Dashing forward to her friend’s aid, Tifa immediately unleashed
her kickboxing talents to devastating effect. Her initial strike was
powerful enough to send Indigo XV tumbling onto its side, its
exposed torso scraping over the gravel. The creature growled
with distaste, dragging itself up to stand face-to-face with its
opponent, its maddened features contorted hideously as it sprang
at her. Tifa ducked to her left, ramming her shoulder into the
beast’s oncoming midriff, catching it with a series of lightningquick, bone-crunching punches before it had even hit the ground,
the metal studs on her knuckles leaving visible lesions on Indigo
XV’s taut skin.
“Step aside, Tifa,” boomed Barret as he rose up behind her,
“things’re ‘bout to get catastrophic for this mothafucka.”
Yanking the bullet-belt from the ammunition slot, he grabbed
an explosive-tipped round from the bandolier around his waist,
and skilfully inserted it into the chamber without falter. Tifa had
already leapt clear of the blast zone before the shot left the uppermost barrel of the gatling-gun, landing gracefully in a crouched
position, readying herself as the shell pierced the ribcage of the
helpless Indigo XV. The guard hound screamed in agony as the
round detonated at that moment, ripping a hole through its back.
Tifa did not miss a beat as she rushed upon the stricken clone
and, flipping her body into a somersault, her boots collided hard
with its head, knocking Indigo XV from the ridge and into the
abyss.
Witnessing its sibling perish, Cobalt XIV roared with an
untamed fury, its fierce glare shifting between Cloud and Aerith
as it contemplated its next move. The Ancient seemed frozen to
the spot, hesitant as her generally-calm demeanour waned, and
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her breathing grew erratic and fearful. Releasing a decisive snarl,
Cobalt XIV turned in her direction and broke into a run, bearing
down with all its vengeance. Intuitively, Aerith reached towards
her feet, snatching up one of the abandoned iron rods, and thrust
it awkwardly at the monster. Dodging the swipe, the beast
careered past her, skidding to halt a short distance away,
unaware that Cloud was already giving chase.
Watching the brawl unfold over only a few seconds, everything
had seemed to slow in the mind of the former SOLDIER, his
advanced military training taking hold as it did each time he
entered the battlefield. His target was acquired; his goal was
clear; his strategy to resolve the conflict was in motion.
Anticipating the clone’s evaluation that it should eliminate the
weaker adversary first, Cloud had pre-emptively reacted to
counter. Now, as he closed in on Cobalt XIV, he honed his
senses; heard the blood pumping in his veins; smelled the putrid
stench of these abominations; saw the unnatural eyes of the foul
being lock onto his in a final moment of fatal realisation.
The Buster Sword sliced effortlessly through the guard hound’s
neck, severing its pointed head in one swift stroke, spraying dark
blood across the pathway. The whip-like tentacle became flaccid,
dropping to the ground as the body of Cobalt XIV collapsed
without life, rapidly disbanding into what Aerith had called
‘Spirit Energy’, like hundreds of ghostly fireflies parting ways
until they had disappeared entirely. Looking over his shoulder,
Cloud saw Tifa and Barret hastily re-join Aerith, comforting the
clearly-shaken girl whose expression was an odd combination of
shock and remorse.
“This rod makes quite a good Guard Stick.” she declared
absently, tossing the iron pole aside and offering an almostapologetic shrug. “Hey…where’s Red?”
Spinning on his heels, Cloud had a fleeting recollection of
noticing their comrade and Belzeque retreating into the shadows
of Angra-Mainyu Pass while he dispatched Cobalt XIV. Taking
off along the winding eastern trail, he hurtled around corner after
corner, bounding over cragged gullies. As he ran, his focus was
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drawn to the flight of several belials in the distance, their flocked
movements indicating that they would not be remaining as
spectators for much longer, something which concerned Cloud.
He soon spotted Red XIII on a ridge below, his battle with
Cerise XVI developing unfavourably. The pair were sloshing
around in one of the rock pools, the swirling water tainted by
spilled blood, with Red XIII trapped against the jagged precipice.
Belzeque was hobbling from an apparent wound to his foreleg but
was still in control, cutting off any attempt by his counterpart to
regain a level footing.
With bleeding fangs displayed
aggressively, the beasts clawed at one another every few seconds,
like boxers strategically testing their opponent’s weaknesses.
Suddenly, the crimson hound lunged determinedly at Red XIII,
heaving a mighty paw. Identifying the danger and reacting at
incredible speed, he threw up a leg to parry the strike,
simultaneously butting the airborne Belzeque with his tribal
headgear. However, the improvised weaponry of his gold
barrette and plume of eagle feathers was no match for Cerise
XVI’s chrome mask, and Red XIII staggered backwards, dazed
and concussed. Belzeque stood over him contemptuously, poised
for a slow and degrading kill.
Summoning all his strength, Cloud vaulted over the chasm that
separated him from the two with a superhuman leap, knowing
that he was almost out of time. He hung in the air for what felt
like an eternity; ten feet; twenty feet; thirty feet. As the sunken
rock pool crept towards him, he bent his knees, bracing himself
for impact. In one single ruthless motion, he rolled forward as
his army boots touched the stone walkway and, rising just as
swiftly, slashed across the belly of the monster with his
greatsword.
A startled whine escaped Belzeque’s lips as his perplexed gaze
met Cloud’s merciless one, unable to comprehend what had
happened. Then, the pain took hold, and the clone’s legs buckled,
stumbling as he withdrew to the embankment in surrender.
Cloud marched purposefully after him, scraping the blade of the
Buster Sword against the rock menacingly, causing orange sparks
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to spit from its point. Cerise XVI cowered as the blonde warrior
approached, his spine futilely arched so as to shelter his injury.
Lifting the blade aloft, preparing to deliver the finishing touch
and rid the foe of his terrified misery, Cloud paused as the first of
the gunshots rang out.
Glancing hastily towards the elevated junction where he had left
his others, he saw the first of the magenta belials swoop at his
comrades, its demonic form passing perilously close to the ridge
before being forced back by a spray of Barret’s thirty-five
millimetre bullets. As more and more circled above the platform,
their collective attack manoeuvres began to evade the defensive
firing, and the strain was showing. Turning back, Cloud frowned,
for all that remained in place of Belzeque was a patched smear of
blood descending into the darkness.
I don’t have time to pursue…
“We need to go!” he said firmly, returning his sword to its
magnetic holster. “Can you run?”
“You let him get away.” grunted Red XIII, wading through the
pool to where he stood.
“Yeah?” Cloud retorted. “Well, you can thank me for saving your
life when you’re feeling a bit more appreciative. Now, c’mon, the
others need our help.”
Tearing along the narrow pass, Red XIII following suit, Cloud
raced up the twisting incline, every muscle in his body burning.
They hurdled over wooden stakes and charged through the
waterfalls that cascaded the ravines, sprinting around every
crooked bend as if it were guarded by a barrier. The shrill cries of
the gargoyle-like fiends resonated like overhead klaxons, and
seemed to echo throughout all of Mythril Mine, alerting more
enemies to the ensuing skirmish.
Even as he ran, Cloud could make out the hordes being fended
off by the gatling-gunfire, with countless bullets ripping straight
through the wiry flesh of their wings, causing many to plummet
to their doom. In response, a trio of belials broke away from the
main drove, scaling the protruding cliff beyond Barret’s range,
then arcing into a nosedive towards the giant man. Cloud and
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Red XIII reached the summit just as the monsters dropped, the
trail broadening, granting the feline beast enough space to speed
ahead and launch himself savagely at the belial that plunged
closest to Barret.
The remaining two had veered off at the last moment, their
tactics unmistakable as they zipped through the air like missiles
in the direction of the girls. Tifa soared high to meet her attacker
head on, her powerful legs swinging masterfully in a skullshattering roundhouse kick. The fiend shrieked in a panicked
stupor, flapping wildly as she gripped its bony tail long enough
for Barret to shred its chest with piercing rounds. Letting go of
the belial as it fell to the ground dead, Tifa’s expression instantly
filled with absolute terror.
“Aerith!” she screamed.
Surging onto the raised junction, Cloud knew all too well how
grave a situation they faced. Aerith was still twenty feet from
him, her eyes wide with fear as she struggled to free herself from
the unyielding grasp of the belial’s talons. Its claws were hooked
around her shoulders, pulling inelegantly at her tight jacket of
red denim, lifting her with difficulty from the stone platform.
Running faster than he even thought possible, Cloud closed in on
her, but the demon would soon pass the threshold of the ridge,
and glide out over the gaseous Mako pits of the lower mountain.
At that point, Aerith would then be beyond rescuing.
Yelling inaudible obscenities above the thunderous barrage of
gunfire, Barret dragged his arm towards the ascending belial, the
hail of bullets dismembering the old signpost for Gyshal
Coalmine. As the shots rifled into the monster, it thrashed in
mid-air, globules of blood spurting from its torso. Crashing onto
the ledge, the writhing belial released its grip on Aerith before
tumbling off, and she cried out as she caught hold of the
platform, clinging desperately to the crumbling shelf. Cloud
hurled himself towards her, landing hard on his stomach,
wrapping his fingers firmly around her wrist as the rock beneath
her collapsed.
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Everything seemed to grow distant as he lay there clutching the
hanging Aerith, his chest heaving, the pounding heartbeat in his
ears deafening. Around them, the belials had ceased their
assault, and were returning to the gloomy vastness of the mines,
fleeing from Barret’s relentless onslaught. Straining his arm
under her weight, Cloud hauled Aerith back up onto the junction,
their gazes meeting as he brought her to safety. Her pale green
eyes burned into his with adoration and gratitude, lingering there
as part of a delicate complexion that was awash with emotion.
“You okay?” he asked calmly, slowly helping her to her feet.
“I think so.” Aerith nodded with a gulp, casting an anxious
glance back into the depths as she brushed the grime from her
hands. “It’s just good to know you’re still my bodyguard, right?”
“Sure...” he replied absently, barely acknowledging her reference
to their first encounter at the church in Midgar’s Sector5 Slums.
He had instead detected a faint frown that had flitted across
Tifa’s brow as she approached, one which she immediately
concealed from Cloud.
“Aerith…” Tifa gasped with relief as she embraced her friend. “I
thought we’d lost you.”
“Me too.” she smiled warmly. “Next time, I’m leaving the
fighting to you guys.”
“Folks, I hate to break up the party,” called Barret as he strode
to join them, his voice uneasy, “but there’s…uh…there’s
somethin’ big headed our way.”
“I concur.” added Red XIII from the perimeter of the area, his
back to them as he examined the yonder.
“What can you see?” asked Cloud, listening intently.
“Another airborne creature.” answered the beast ominously, the
flame of his tail swishing with alertness. “Its movement is fluid
and non-linear, not unlike a leaf on the river. Our presence has
awoken it and now…oh, Gods…”
“What…?” squeaked Aerith but, as she spoke, Red XIII wheeled
around and dashed to where they stood, his wolf-like face laden
with dread as he passed.
“An ark dragon! Run!”
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Acknowledging the dire threat without question, Cloud grabbed
Aerith’s wrist and led her hurriedly towards the path to the West
Gate, beckoning Barret and Tifa to follow as he snatched up his
backpack. Ignoring the trail that descended southbound to the
Gyshal Coalmine, the five hastened onto the snaking causeway,
immediately conscious of how delicate the road was. The narrow
strip of suspended rock weaved above the shadowy abyss like a
loose strand of thread, offering little protection from a misplaced
step or stumble that could so easily mean the demise of any of the
company. These perilous viaducts connected a network of
gargantuan stalagmites, whose crusts were significantly less
appealing than the mineral-heavy karsts they had witnessed
earlier.
“Don’t look down.” Cloud directed, sensing apprehension among
the others as they ventured urgently along the walkways. “You
won’t stall if you don’t look down.”
“We must quicken!” insisted Red XIII from the head of the
group. “There is not much time.”
Advancing from column to column, over the winding stone
crossings and atop the rickety bridges of decaying timber, they
ran in single file, using Red XIII’s tail as a guide. Far below, a
sprawling Mako river emerged from the darkness of a
subterranean canyon, its jade-coloured glare illuminating the
foot of an immense cliff a few hundred feet in front of them. But
for a small relatively-parallel incision on the opposite side of the
chasm, indicating a passage bearing natural light, all that existed
was a wall of blackness extending in all directions.
“There!” called Tifa from just behind the galloping beast,
pointing to the left of the nearing stalagmite.
Cloud watched as a great rope bridge took shape in the dimness,
slanting gradually upwards, lifeless above the ravine that
separated the party from the mountain’s exit. Its frayed bindings
and broken wooden boards bore an aged and unwelcoming aura
which, much like what they had encountered elsewhere in
Mythril Mine, suggested there had long since been any activity on
this particular overpass. As the five gathered at the twin stakes
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around which the tension wires were knotted, Cloud shared a
glance with Red XIII, and understood that they had only one
chance at this before the hunting predator was upon them.
“Damn, man,” Barret swore, “this don’t look too secure.”
“We don’t have a choice.” Cloud shook his head. “We have to
make it to that opening.”
“I shall go first.” Red XIII volunteered. “Let my light escort you
safely to the other side.”
“Good luck!” bade Tifa, placing a hand on the shoulder of the
shaking Aerith to calm her.
Inhaling deeply, he stepped carefully out onto the first of the
worn planks, each of his four paws treading cautiously. The
bridge groaned wearily beneath his weight, creaking as it swayed
gently with his steady paces. The radiance of his flaming
appendage crept slowly after him, leaving the rest enveloped by
the cavernous gloom. Particles of dust floated from the derelict
foundations as the ropes strained, and only a muffled cough from
Barret accompanied the rattle of pebbles in the nervous silence,
the gravel sliding back down the bridge as Red XIII walked and
tumbling into the gorge. At last the beast arrived at the western
apex and, from the jutting balcony of the alcove, signaled for
them to do the same.
Tifa and Aerith came next, the latter’s hesitance cancelled out by
the courage and expertise of the former Mount Nibel tour guide.
Barret followed them, his momentum stunted as he repeatedly
scrambled to maintain his balance on the dangerously-oscillating
crossing, his boots thumping inelegantly on the lumber. Cloud
had elected to remain until the others had negotiated the deadly
clutches of the canyon unscathed, the events of the Nibelheim
incident and his plunge into the River Stygian still fresh in his
memory. Wary of the prospect of having nothing more than a
few inches of decomposing wood between him and the lowest
depths of the Midgar Mountains, he cleared his mind of such
thoughts, and started across.
However, as he reached the centre of the bridge, Cloud suddenly
became aware that his intense concentration had betrayed him.
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He had neglected the numbing buzz as it climbed to a crescendo,
now rendering the warning cries of his comrades mute. The
fragile rope bridge began to rock back and forth, and he gripped
the wires on either side, feeling the turbulent flutter generated by
magnificent wings from somewhere below. He stopped in his
tracks, hoping the lack of motion would create a brief window of
uncertainty for the villain so that he may compose a strategy.
With an enormous surge of power, the ark dragon soared into
view from within the chasm, hovering above him in a malevolent
stance. It was fifteen feet in length from its horned snout to the
tip of its spiked tail, armoured by scales of shimmering celadon,
and malicious lizard-like eyes which blazed straight into Cloud’s.
The monster hung stationary in the air as if to tease him, with a
blur of beating wings, silver smoke escaping its flaring nostrils as
its harsh wheezing echoed around the stalagmites. He dared not
move as a terrible grin of lethal teeth formed on the dragon’s
mouth, but the orange glow that emanated from its gullet left him
without an option.
If only I had some Materia…
Cloud broke into a sprint as the first wave of fire erupted from
the creature’s throat like a flamethrower, blinding him as the
backdrop was lit up by the awesome energy. The inferno
engulfed the entirety of the eastern half of the overpass,
vaporising the bridge and, as he charged forward, he felt the
tension on the scorched wires break. As the boards beneath his
feet prepared to give way, Cloud propelled himself skyward,
sailing like a dart towards the recess where the others were
poised to flee. The ark dragon bellowed with fury, snapping
violently at its prey with feral claws, but it could do nothing to
prevent Cloud’s ascension.
He caught hold the ledge with difficulty, burdened by the
backpack, his torso crunching awkwardly against the rock,
winding him. As the pain of the collision coursed through his
body, a strong hand gripped his bare shoulder and yanked him
effortlessly onto the balcony. Wincing, Cloud glimpsed Red XIII
and the girls disappearing into the adjacent tunnel and up the
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stone staircase at its rear, with Barret pushing him in the same
direction. A haunting screech rang out once more as the dragon
pursued, the blistering blast of a second blaze consuming the
passage behind the two. The alcove bottle-necked at the stone
stairs, halting the monster as it careered after them, gnashing in
vain with champing jaws while they raced to freedom.
The tapered path inclined steeply and continued for a
considerable distance, all the while filtering traces of evening
sunlight from its pinnacle. The murky cave walls and their
buttresses resembled those of the East Gate, overwhelmed by
silken cobwebs and broken gas lamps at regular intervals. The
atmosphere had become less dense, and the temperature grew to
a more familiar level. At the summit of the layered steps, Cloud
and Barret decelerated to catch their breath, both of them aching
all over, utilising the time to absorb their new setting.
The stairwell had brought them to a lofty chamber flooded by
the scarlet rays of dusk, casting long shadows of the twisted rock
formations and dishevelled mossy vines that cascaded down
them from the overhanging galleries. Pale green vapours danced
from a series of thin craters on the ground, fading into the
evening via cracks in the ceiling. At the far corner of the cave was
a redbrick portico cut from the mountainside, unmistakably
marked as the West Gate, and beyond were the verdant plains
and forested land of the country. Tifa, Aerith and Red XIII
waited at the ingress to the hollow, each of the trio displaying
signs of fatigue and an adrenaline comedown. Trudging past
them and across the room, Cloud spun sharply as a commanding
voice reverberated from one of the terraces above.
"Hold on a second." instructed the man, his tone low but
uncompromising.
“What the hell…?” spat Barret, aiming his gun-arm before Cloud
gestured for him to lower the weapon; his instincts told him his
comrade was being observed from the shadows by someone else,
possibly a sniper.
The man peered down at them through stylish legless sunglass,
a strange expression on his tanned face from between the granite
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pilasters. He wore a thin goatee, a contrast to his polished bald
head, his appearance distinguished by an array of hooped
earrings on his left ear. He was tall and broad in stature, clad in a
tailored black suit ensemble with a formal tie to match, though
contrasted to a degree by the addition of fingerless martial arts
gloves. Cloud identified him without a sliver of doubt, the attire
infamous, but it was Red XIII who spoke first.
“I had hoped never to see any of you again…” growled the beast,
the hairs of his brilliant mane standing on end.
“So, you know who I am?” the man asked coolly.
“From the Turks, right?” Cloud responded, folding his arms
brazenly.
Thanks to his previous employment with the Shinra
Corporation, he was no stranger to the notorious Investigation
Division of the General Affairs Department and their shady
activities. Officially an organisation tasked with scouting for
potential SOLDIER candidates, they were in reality closer to a
secret police force, answerable to only a few. Their true job was
to eliminate any and all threats to the Company’s empire with a
skewed moral compass, participating in extortion, espionage,
kidnap, torture and assassinations among other things. If Shinra,
Inc. desired it, the Turks would make it happen.
“Correct.” the man nodded. “Then, I guess this won’t take long.
The name’s Rude.”
“You’re the one who locked us up in the cells at the Shinra
Building.” accused Aerith.
“Orders are orders.” he replied bluntly, scratching his skull.
“Such is the way of the Turks. To be honest, it’s difficult to
explain what we do…”
“How ‘bout blowin’ the shit out of Sector7?” roared Barret,
foaming at the mouth with hatred, the veins on his temple
bulging. “Huh? That one hard to explain? How many innocent
people did ya murder, eh? Tell me, you fuck! Our friends were
on that Pillar…!”
“To put it negatively, yes…” Rude said coldly, lowering his head
for a moment as if to conceal a hint of discomfort. “But, since
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President Rufus replaced his father, that’s not all there is to the
Turks anymore…”
“What do you mean?” frowned Cloud.
“Sir?”
Confirming his intuition, a second Turk emerged from behind
the stone colonnade of the balcony that roofed the exit of the
stairwell to the deep. In comparison to her superior, she was of a
petite build, with bleached-blonde hair that was bobbed and
parted to the right of her attractive young face. Her black suit
uniform clung to her dainty figure, her feminine qualities
emphasised by her somewhat-inappropriate heeled shoes. The
girl gazed patiently at Rude, anticipating his acknowledgement of
her interruption.
“Yes?” he sighed finally.
“I know speeches aren’t really your thing.” she said assertively.
“May I?”
“Be my guest…”
“Well,” she accepted, amplifying her voice and shifting her
attention towards the group with a derisive scowl, “thanks to
whichever one of you shot Reno back in Midgar, we're a little
short-staffed. Although, from a personal perspective, I must
admit that I am grateful. You see, his absence resulted in my
promotion from Shinra Academy. I’m Elena, the newest member
of the Turks.
“We don’t give a rat’s ass!” barked Barret.
“In any case,” she continued with a contemptuous shrug, “our
job is to find out where Sephiroth is headed, and to stop you
every step of the way."
"Elena...” Rude spluttered, “that's not what I..."
"The hell you babblin' ‘bout?" snorted Barret, glancing at the
others with bewilderment.
"Wait a minute," she hesitated, reconsidering her statement,
"what am I talking about? It's you who are getting in our way.
You and the rest of that AVALANCHE scum. Did you forget
when your goons tried to kidnap me?”
“Hey, lady, we ain’t the same as the old AVALANCHE!”
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“And what you did to my sister…”
“Elena, that’s enough!”
The severity of the order was equalled only by the sinister
footsteps that echoed from the gateway, the dull clicking of
hardened leather against the chamber’s floor. Cloud slowly
turned to see Tseng enter the threshold of the portico, his
penetrating brown eyes set on the party. His waist-length black
hair flowed down his spine, pulled back from his sharp but
handsome features and distinct birth spot at the centre of his
forehead. As Chief of the Turks, Tseng was regarded as the
linchpin of the organisation despite only being in his late
twenties, for within his composed exterior lurked an unforgiving
and ruthless personality, not to mention an unflinching loyalty to
his employers.
“Chief…?” gasped Elena, blushing.
“There was no need to inform them of our mission, was there?”
he asked frostily, his husky voice barely louder than an irate
whisper, clenching his jaw. “And you should keep any private
sentiments to yourself while on duty.”
“I…I’m sorry…” she stammered sheepishly.
“I thought I gave you another task?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now go,” Tseng told her, pointing outside, “and don’t forget to
file your report.”
“Right away, sir.” she replied with a hasty salute. “Rude and I
have concluded the target is headed to Junon. We will
rendezvous there.”
“Elena,” snarled Tseng, “you don’t seem to understand.”
“Oh…” she gulped, holding a hand to her quivering lips,
“I’m…I’m…”
"Just go! Both of you. Do not let Sephiroth get away!"
"Yes, sir." called Elena, stumbling as she hurriedly retreated
from the arcade.
“You got it.” added Rude, pausing before he skulked completely
from view. “Oh, and by the way, Reno said he wanted a rematch
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after his injury heals. I think he’d like to show his affection for
you all with a new weapon."
"Well, then," Tseng exhaled, watching without expression as his
colleague vanished, "I guess pleasantries are in order; Aerith,
long time, no see.”
“What do you want?” she posed suspiciously.
Cloud had learned during their rescue of Aerith at Shinra
Headquarters that not only were she and Tseng acquainted, she
had trusted him over the last decade to keep her safe when he
had been assigned to monitor the Ancient. There existed an
unspoken bond between the two, like that of a lost friendship,
and a perhaps-misplaced faith that he had Aerith’s best interests
at heart.
“Two-hundred-and-sixty-seven.” said Tseng.
“Excuse me?”
“That was the number of civilian casualties when your friends
here blew up Mako Reactor1.” he explained calmly. “Twohundred-and-sixty-seven.”
“And what does that have to do with me?” retorted Aerith.
“I’m curious to know why you have chosen to associate yourself
with these terrorists.” Tseng’s piercing stare locked onto hers.
“They did tell you that they are AVALANCHE, didn’t they? I
assumed after what happened with the militants at the church all
those years ago, you had given up on the idea of running off with
this lot. I simply cannot comprehend why someone of your
ancestry, someone whose very nature it is to bring beauty and life
to the Planet, someone destined to end the impoverishment and
suffering of millions, would remain in the company of those who
murder and maim for a futile cause.”
“Well, I’m curious to know how you could be such a hypocrite.”
she argued.
“Please elaborate.”
“You rhyme off these numbers in the hope that I’ll see your
point of view.” Aerith hissed furiously, tears welling in her eyes.
“But, you’re wrong. Yes, I know who these people are, and yes,
what they did was terrible. They’ll have that blood on their hands
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for the rest of their days, and nothing can change that. No cause
is worth a single life never mind hundreds. I’ll never condone
their actions, but at least they were fighting for something they
believed in, something that was supposed to be for the greater
good. They’re trying to make this world a better place, to save the
Planet from destruction.
“But, you…what are you fighting for, Tseng? What do you
believe in? You’re nothing but a lapdog, blindly carrying out the
wishes of the greedy and the corrupt. You tell me AVALANCHE
killed two-hundred-and-sixty-seven innocent citizens that night?
What about the thousands who died when the Sector7 Plate
collapsed? Their blood is on your hands, Tseng!”
“Be that as it may,” he dismissed apathetically, “I have many
other pressing matters to concern myself with right now, as I’m
sure you have already gathered from Elena’s overeager outburst.”
“So, that’s it?” fumed Aerith, aghast by his indifference. “Don’t
you even care?”
“I wanted to take this opportunity to say goodbye.” he
responded solemnly, bowing slightly. “It seems that you may
have slipped from Shinra’s grasp for the time being, now that
Sephiroth has reappeared."
"So, what are you telling me?" she snapped. "That I should be
thankful to Sephiroth?"
"We won't be seeing too much of one another for the foreseeable
future, so take care."
"Strange hearing you say that after all these years." she replied
spitefully, turning away from him. It was only then that a single
flicker of genuine regret flashed across Tseng’s façade.
"Just be sure to stay out of Shinra’s way." he concluded, offering
a mock wave before gliding elegantly towards the entrance of
West Gate. He stopped briefly beneath the redbrick arch, gazing
pensively out over the landscape, his silken hair wavering in the
twilight breeze. The sky was by now growing overcast, the
darkening clouds washing over the Midgar Mountains, bringing
with them the drone of a helicopter’s rotating blades as the Turks’
ride prepared to depart. Straightening his tie before withdrawing
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from the cavern, Tseng shouted back over his shoulder. “There’s a
storm coming. I’d take shelter here for the night if I were you.”
“What was that all about?” frowned Tifa, eventually breaking the
silence that had befallen the five as they watched the B09 craft
take flight and fade into the horizon, the grey heavens broken
only by a line of deepening purple.
“I think it is fair to determine that Shinra are significantly more
aware of our movement than we have previously realised…" Red
XIII answered grimly.
"…and they don't seem to like it." muttered Cloud.
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CHAPTER VII
Brothers in Arms
The downpour had not faltered by morning and, despite
begrudging his heed of Tseng’s advice to take refuge within the
West Gate of Mythril Mine overnight, Cloud was grateful that
they had. The wind screamed wickedly beyond the entrance to
the cavern, hurtling wave after wave of frosty rain against the
mountainside. Embers of a small fire smouldered at the heart of
the chamber, granting scant warmth to Aerith and Tifa who
remained huddled by it, while Red XIII meandered along the
circumference walls, sniffing and scrutinising the Mako-stained
rock with intrigue. Barret and Cloud stood by the redbrick
portico, sheltered from the storm as they strained their eyes to
identify a path for which to proceed with the day’s journey.
A lone and muddy gravel trail descended the cliff at an
uncomfortable gradient, snaking down towards the vast
Allemagne Plains, lined on both sides by jagged boulders and
hazardous potholes. Even in the gloom, the shapes of rusting
miners’ tools lingered among the ditches, smeared with decay
and age, cast aside to rot forever. Through the shivering silver
curtain of the gale, the fertile backdrop of the Continent could be
seen, a far cry from the desolate Wastelands that surrounded
Midgar. The green expanse of grassy moors and forests of pine
disappeared into the west, melting below the dark heavens like an
old watercolour painting.
With a sigh, Cloud lowered his head, glancing fleetingly back in
the direction of the campfire, and Aerith. She seemed deep in
conversation with Tifa, her pink dress pulled down over her bent
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knees, the cotton badly stained with grime. Her guise was playful
and earnest, as if her outburst of condemnation regarding
AVALANCHE’s bombing of Mako Reactor1 had been but an act.
Cloud knew better; he understood that in her heart, Aerith was
conflicted; that she would never fully accept or forgive their
actions. His focus loitered on the pair for a number of seconds,
eventually disturbed by Barret’s rumbling voice.
“What ya thinkin’?”
“How far would you say Junon is from here?” he responded, his
expression troubled as he turned away, gesturing towards the
wilderness.
“You reckon that Turk was tellin’ the truth ‘bout where
Sephiroth is headed?” Barret followed.
“It makes sense.” Cloud frowned. “He’ll be able to cross the
ocean from there.”
“Well, on foot, it’s probably more than a week to Junon.”
“That’s what I estimated, too.” he nodded grimly, slapping his
palm against the brick. “We don’t have enough supplies to last us
a week.”
“What we gonna do?”
“We don’t have much choice.” said Cloud. “We’ll have to take a
detour, but we gotta be careful now that Shinra are watching our
every move.”
“What about Fort Condor?” Barret suggested with a whisper, as
if its very mention would alarm the others.
“The Reactor?” Cloud hissed disdainfully. “Your idea of avoiding
the Army and the Turks is to march straight into a Shinra
facility?”
“So, that blank memory’s not just for show?”
“Huh?”
“Fort Condor ain’t exactly run by the Shinra nowadays.” he
grinned defiantly, punching the air like a boxer. “Heard the
villagers there rebelled. Them folks’ve been a thorn in the
Company’s side for years. If anyone’s gonna help us out, they
will.”
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“I dunno,” Cloud answered contemplatively, “it’s pretty far
south. Though, with all the other distractions the military’s
facing, it’s unlikely they would track us there.”
“The way I see it, we need food an’ somewhere we can plan our
next move.” shrugged Barret. “Fort Condor’s the kinda place
that’d welcome AVALANCHE with open arms, and oughtta have
stockpiles we can buy from.”
Cloud fell silent as he considered the proposal, mentally
mapping the route across the country. The Fjordland due west of
their location formed two great inlets, Siren Bay and Wyvern
Sound, that spanned more than a hundred miles each, meaning
that a direct passage from Fort Condor to Junon was impossible,
and would ultimately add several days onto their journey.
However, Barret was right; the five would be safest at an antiShinra stronghold. Finally deciding on their course of action, he
prepared to unveil his commands to the group but, as he traipsed
down the stone steps of the ingress, he could not resist muttering
to himself under his breath.
“Not all of us belong to AVALANCHE…”
*
*
*
By late afternoon of the second day since escaping the haunting
bleakness of the Midgar Mountains and the arduous hike that
ensued down its rugged and treacherous bluffs, the tempest had
yet to subside, slowing their progress. The battering rain on the
nylon roofs of the tents and their fierce struggle to remain
grounded against the relentless squall had taken its toll on the
vitality of the company, and the general spirit was low.
Dismantling their temporary encampment that morning had
proven a much greater challenge than ever as they slid around on
the sodden grassland, often losing their footing and sinking into
the mud. Cloud’s clothes were damp, clinging unpleasantly to his
skin, and most of the blonde spikes of his hair drooped heavily by
the side of his face, some reaching his shoulder pauldron.
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With the mist-covered peaks of the mountains now many miles
behind, the slog through the southern fields revealed little in the
way of civilisation, and only a handful of distant farmhouses or
roads. The rolling hills of Allemagne were less than ideal for such
a trek, and there came no improvement when at last the first telltale signs of a barren landscape appeared on the horizon, forming
the unofficial borders of the Mako Reactor’s territory. The Fort
Condor facility was less than a decade old, but its devastating and
disfiguring effects were already far-reaching, leaving the soil stale
and lifeless.
The sullen Spriggan Fells that surrounded the Reactor seemed
parched despite the obvious torrent they had endured in the last
forty-eight hours. What remnants of vegetation may have
survived the initial Mako extraction had long since vanished, only
to be replaced by mutated weeds and arid loam. Aerial scavenger
harriers circled overhead like vultures, their azure wings angled
to surf the wind nimbly, stalking the five as they gradually scaled
the inhospitable rises, their beady eyes small and dissecting,
constantly anticipating a betrayal of weakness.
The obstinate incline brought them to an altitude where the
climb became more than a ramble, but the party trudged on
regardless, clawing at the precipice for support as they clambered
around its bulging frame. The hardened mud beneath their feet
crumbled with almost every step, causing tiny pieces to tumble
down the overhang into the gullies below. Only with the coming
of dusk did the clouds eventually begin to part, sweeping the rain
to the north, allowing the cool winter sun to sneak out from
behind its pallid curtain for a short time before vanishing beyond
the Wyvern Sound. It was then that the party’s diminished
mental state was relieved, and the ascent became progressively
easier and less tiresome.
When after several hours upon the wilderness they arrived at
the crest of the Spriggan Fells, the group was met by a
spectacular vista. Though dwarfed by the Midgar Mountains, the
summit offered a panorama view of the Allemagne Plains and the
sandy beaches that lay far to the south, snaking and shaping the
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coastline of the Eastern Continent. All was swathed in the fiery
orange and magenta glow of the spellbinding sunset, its very
sight a privilege that granted significant consolation to the
wretchedness of the day’s travel.
“It’s so beautiful…” Aerith had gasped, tears welling in her eyes
as she knelt at the edge of the headland, her hands clasped
together in prayer. “The world beyond the Slums is much more
magical than I ever could’ve imagined…”
“One of life’s wonders.” Red XIII had agreed, peering up at
Barret, whose bristly features had become somewhat melancholic
as he stared absently out over the country, lost in the memories
of a private past.
Darkness of night slowly skulked up the slopes, and the party
continued on, grateful to discover the road ahead to be relativelyflat and less troublesome. The elevated ridge proceeded due west
until, against the fading purple twilight, the magnificent
silhouette of Fort Condor emerged amid the hilltops, towering
above all else like a vigilant sentinel. They gaped in astonishment
as the village and accompanying facility came into view, pausing
briefly to admire the strange sight.
Fort Condor was a settlement that had been established many
generations before within the sprawling network of rock passages
and grottos that existed beneath the fells. The region had long
been famed for the colony of rare, gargantuan Condors which
once resided there, dominating the grasslands with their majestic
flocks, and drawing enthusiasts from around the globe wishing to
pay homage to so regal a creature. The bird-watchers sought not
to disturb the Condors’ habitat, and so a small community was
formed below the surface of the peaks, flourishing over time into
a thriving hamlet that utilised openings in the cliffside to observe
the animals. However, the Shinra Electric Power Company had
other plans. All this Cloud knew, both from his own military past
and the scraps of information Barret had shared.
Towards the end of [µ]-εγλ, the corporation built a Mako
Reactor at Fort Condor, the majority of the complex structure
also enclosed within the earth. Only the bulbous shell at its head
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was visible, protruding hideously from the highest pinnacle of the
Spriggan Fells, a mass of rusting pipes slithering in and out of the
soil around it. Pale green fumes drifted into the atmosphere from
the domed chimney of the industrial furnace, its exterior adorned
with the Company’s insignia, the red Shinra Diamond.
The facility’s very presence was a paradox; a vast synthetic
power plant, created to drain the energy of the Planet, housed
inside this hollow, natural bastion. Rumours had spread that the
extraordinary birds had migrated elsewhere after the Reactor’s
completion and, despite its uniqueness and impressive
innovation, the settlement soon-after became nothing more than
lodgings for the complex’s personnel. As such, the marvel that
awaited the party atop the scaling steel crown was enough to take
their breath away.
The enormous Condor perched on the roof of the Mako Reactor,
its broad body hunched forward and wings wrapped around the
building’s circumference like a protective partition, and huge tail
suspended at the side of the hilltop for balance. Even by the
waning light of dusk, they could distinguish the sleek brown and
tawny feathers that covered its entire form, at least two-hundred
feet in length, but for its bald face and curved golden beak. The
glorious creature was almost completely motionless, its narrowed
eyes trained hypnotically on whatever rested at the heart of the
cocoon it had fashioned.
“Damn!” Barret shook his head in disbelief, unable to take his
gaze from the scene, finally breaking the awed silence that had
befallen the group. “That’s one big bird…”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” whispered Tifa, spellbound.
“Did you know about this?” Cloud asked sceptically, frowning as
he turned towards Barret. “Is that why you brought us here?”
“Not a clue.” he replied, holding a hand up to protest his
innocence. “I swear.”
“I do not wish to ruin this wondrous moment,” Red XIII
interrupted suddenly, “but, I should mention that someone is
approaching.”
“What can you see?” said Cloud, his senses alert.
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“Three men, each carrying a torch.” he answered flatly,
squinting in the direction of the raised citadel. “They appeared
moments ago from a concealed recess and, by the haste with
which they are moving, I would assume they intend to question
us.”
“Then, let’s not disappoint them.” Cloud grunted, taking a
second to check his sword and backpack were secure before
striding along the ridge. “C’mon.”
A weathered track gradually began to take shape among the
randomly-strewn boulders, their shaded and ancient surface
smeared with shrivelled moss and ingrained bird faeces. Slight
traces in the dried mud of horse hooves or chocobo talons
indicated that the pathway was not frequently used, particularly
in the sections where the incline was rough. A selection of
smooth rocks had been placed at regular intervals in such parts to
craft a makeshift stairwell, narrowing the road to bottleneck its
traffic. It was not long before flickering orange light illuminated
the hill a short distance in front of the group, the trail ahead
guarded by the trio Red XIII had spoken of.
Cloud slowed as he saw one of the men step forward, pointing
his torch at the company as if to halt them within its radiance.
He was tall in stature, handsome with bronze skin and powerful
muscles, clad in beige garments of cotton and patched leather
that exposed his bare arms and chest. His associates wore
similar outfits, and seemed to have been made with what few
materials were available to the villagers, all of them with
matching white bandanas tied around their shaven heads. They
were unarmed, though the smallest of them had a decorative
gunlance strapped to his back, reflecting his Far Eastern or
Wusheng heritage.
“Who goes there?” boomed the large man. “Identify yourselves!”
“We’re AVA…” declared Barret in an assertive tone, his words
immediately breaking off as he felt Cloud’s elbow jab sharply
against his waist. “Hey!”
“I’ll do the talking.” Cloud hissed through gritted teeth, scowling
at his comrade.
109
“Well?” pried the speaker.
“We mean you no harm.” he answered, offering a submissive
palm and shuffling aside so that the torchlight revealed the entire
party. The man’s cautious glare crept over the five, hesitating
slightly when Aerith gave him a cheerful wave, falling
suspiciously on the Buster Sword and Barret’s gun-arm.
“State your business!”
“We’ve journeyed from the mines,” explained Cloud, his voice
composed and consciously passive, “but are running short on
provisions. We’d hoped to buy some here, or even find a bed for
the night.”
“Travellers, huh?” he scoffed, exchanging an unimpressed
glance with his friends. “It doesn’t look much like it to me. Have
you seen combat?”
“Some.”
“You lie!” spat the man from Wutai, his catfish-like moustache
flaring. In the swiftest of motions, he drew his gunlance, its
bayonetted barrel aimed at Cloud’s head. “That emblem on your
belt, you think I don’t know it? You’re a SOLDIER!”
“Former.” Cloud corrected him, unflinching. “I’m nothing more
than a mercenary now.”
“A SOLDIER for hire, you say?” the tall man raised an eyebrow,
reaching behind him and gently lowering his comrade’s weapon.
“So, you’re no longer affiliated with the Shinra?”
“What proof do you have?” snarled the Wusheng, his dark eyes
burning with hatred.
“That’s enough, Mu.” the speaker ordered, nodding pensively as
he studied the group, his jaw stern. After a few seconds, he
swung his torch towards the ascending path, gesturing for them
to continue their hike. “Come, then, travellers. You must be
weary…”
Cloud and the others were led up the remaining stretch in single
file, their aching legs driving against the gradient, relieved only
by what few stone steps jutted from the infertile ground. The
large man introduced himself as Tristoner, Commander of Fort
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Condor’s Volunteer Corps, and gave the impression he was
increasingly-keen to display a hospitable manner with every pace.
This irritated Mu, who had reluctantly returned his gunlance to
its holster while he shadowed the visitors, the oriental patterns of
its beautifully-carved butt matched only by the ferocity of its
silver blade.
Nearing the Reactor entrance, they arrived at a somewhat-secret
fork in the road, masked from anyone not searching for it. A
second, much-leaner track deviated from the main path, sloping
downward and looping around the jagged precipice of the ridge.
Even by the brightness of day, the ledge would have remained
clandestine as it circled below the looming shell of the industrial
furnace, winding among the arcing cylinders that channelled
excess waste from the site. It soon brought them to a cramped
cave buried within the rock, no wider than twenty-five feet in
diameter, its dusty walls absorbing the torchlight.
“We’ve been fighting the Shinra on this battlefield for a long
time.” exhaled Tristoner, stopping at the centre of the hollow and
placing a firm hand on Cloud’s shoulder. “Even after all these
years, we’re still settled in for an enduring war with them.”
“Why?” asked Tifa, her teeth chattering in the seeping cold.
“Perhaps Master Zemzelett should be the one to explain that to
you…” Tristoner replied.
“Who…?” mumbled Barret, frowning as the commander kicked
one of the stones nestled by the foot of the wall, causing it to slide
backwards.
The soft sound of air being released was heard, followed by a
mechanical grinding as a wooden ladder dropped gracefully down
in front of them, lowered from a platform that had been hidden
in the dimness overhead. Aerith puffed with enchantment,
clapping excitedly, her mouth hanging open in fascination, while
Red XIII inspected it with uncertainty. Stepping forward,
Tristoner grabbed a hold of the worn rungs with one arm and,
stifling a satisfied grin, held the other aloft.
“Welcome to Fort Condor.” he said. “Make yourselves at home.”
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Climbing the ladder proved no easy feat, particularly for the
feline beast who required assistance from Barret despite a
notable attempt using only his own paws. The apprehensive Mu
insisted that he wait behind to ensure they were alone, joining
the others in the raised corridor when he was content there was
no external threat. The passage beyond was blocked by a hulking
rusty door of solid iron, anchored to the walls by bolts larger than
human fists. Tristoner knocked once.
“Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul.” a muffled voice
resounded from the opposite side.
“Pride is lost,” responded the commander, reciting the
password, “wings stripped away, the end is nigh.”
“You may enter.” the gatekeeper said, his words drowned out by
the sharp clang of the dated lock.
Cloud blinked hard as he was bathed in white light, shielding his
eyes as he was ushered inside. The adjacent hallway was laden
with blazing electric bulbs, connected by several wires that hung
from nail hooks, and the occasional hint of encased piping.
Tristoner guided them through the underground thoroughfare,
keeping to the central route as it twisted this way and that,
shadows dancing on every corner under the buzzing lamplight.
Countless more passages branched into the darkened
labyrinthine depths of the former village or Mako Reactor
complex, while others simply accessed bare storerooms and
dishevelled living quarters. A vivid sense of adversity clung to the
thick air, spawned by the destitute and almost-wholly-abandoned
stronghold, though chaperoned by an unyielding resoluteness. At
the end of the corridor was a cragged staircase that had been
shaped manually from the rock, and at its height was a sizable
cavern; Fort Condor’s core of activity.
The hub consisted of two levels, one approximately five feet
above the other, connected by a set of frail timber steps towards
the rear of the area. Its natural stone walls were draped in sheets
of worn steel and corroded bronze, dotted with flashing neon
signs that would not have been out of place in marketplaces of
Midgar’s Slums, and an array of flags and banners bearing
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anything from Wusheng kanji to swords and axes. A blanket of
ashen sawdust covered the floor, softening their footsteps and
disguising the coarse settings below the sunken ceiling. It was
furnished only by a handful of low wooden tables and an obsolete
greybrick well with an odd-looking miniature crane, but played
host to what seemed like the entirety of the settlement’s
inhabitants.
Dozens of men were collected inside the chamber, conversing in
groups, playing card games or simply relaxing around the
benches. As expected, they too were clothed in the same generic
beige outfits, each of them with a shaven head and bandana, but
a variety of ethnicities. Most succumbed to nosiness as the party
entered, their attention drawn to the strange new arrivals,
particularly the females that accompanied them. Cloud felt
Aerith press her dainty body against his, intimidated by the
stares of those whose vows to protect Fort Condor probably also
meant celibacy.
Ignorant of this and in no mood to explain the situation, the
commander marched across the hub and up the creaking stairs to
the second level, the others at his heels as he strode through the
doorway to a neighbouring room. A selection of dining tables
were arranged around the space, overlooked by a pair of sturdy
pinewood cabinets with clay plates and bowls stacked on their
shelves. A lone figure sat at the farthest corner of the mess hall,
his back to the company, resting his chin on his clasped hands as
he bowed his head in quiet thought.
Approaching the man, Tristoner leaned over his shoulder and
whispered something into his ear.
With a nod of
acknowledgment, the man unhurriedly revolved on his stool to
gaze upon the travellers through curious eyes, forcing a quivering
but warm smile on his wrinkled face. He was wrapped in a
ragged white shawl, his wispy hair hidden beneath a pointed non,
but his appearance did not otherwise suggest fragility.
“So,” he said after a few moments, his northern accent like a
soothing melody, “you’re the ones who we spied from the
watchtower?”
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“You knew we was comin’?” asked Barret, casting a tentative
glance at Cloud.
“You should be more careful, my friends,” sighed the old man,
motioning to Red XIII’s flaring tail, “we detected that flame from
many miles away.”
“We’ll keep that in mind.” Cloud muttered, mentally scolding
himself for disregarding such an obvious betrayal to their
planned stealth.
“Allow me to introduce myself.” he said. “My name is Zemzelett,
leader of this motley crew.”
“Cloud Strife.”
“So, Master Strife, Commander Tristoner tells me you’re an exSOLDIER.” Zemzelett continued, tilting forward with intrigue.
“Your eyes are definitely different…you have the mark.”
“They’ve been infused with Mako.” Cloud clarified.
“Now, this sure is somethin’…” he murmured, his features
brightening. “I must say, it’s a pleasant surprise to find that
someone actually climbed up here, never mind a lad with your
expertise.”
“We were simply looking to shelter here for tonight.”
“Of course you were.” the old man bowed humbly, indicating to
the vacant seats of his table. “And that will most certainly be
arranged. Now, come, join me….”
“Thank you.” Cloud replied politely, urging his colleagues
forward.
“Madouge,” Zemzelett called, addressing the third guard to have
escorted the party, “would you be so kind as to notify Tonberry
that we have guests? Supper and clean sheets are in order.”
“Yes, father, right away.” answered the man, turning and
disappearing back through the ingress.
As instructed, the five took their places on either side of
Zemzelett, with Red XIII slumping on the floor by the feet of
Aerith, one-by-one sharing their names. Tristoner announced his
leave so that he may attend to his duties, while Mu remained as
sentry at the head of the mess hall, his uncompromising stare
fixed on them. The old man waited patiently for the visitors to
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settle in their chairs, the hard and grooved wood less than
luxurious. It was Tifa who spoke first.
“We’re very grateful for your generosity.” she smiled sincerely.
“We’ve been on the road for a long time.”
“Yeah,” snorted Barret, nodding towards the doorway, “though
not everyone’s happy ‘bout it.”
“Pay no attention to Master Mu.” Zemzelett chuckled, peering
over his shoulder. “He was an Imperial Guard during the Wutai
War, and later part of the resistance under the Crescent Unit. As
you might imagine, he has quite a bone to pick with SOLDIER.”
“This place seems quite diverse.” perceived Cloud. “Your
accent…you’re not from around here either, are you?”
“Indeed not.” Zemzelett’s gaze lowered for a fleeting second, as
if recalling a long-forgotten memory. “My son and I come from a
little town in the Modeo region, not too far from the Permafrost
Glaciers. We moved to Fort Condor many years ago, after his
mother died, to live somewhere that reminded us of the beauty in
nature. We were at peace, but…I suppose it was only a matter of
time before the Company recognised that there was profit to be
made in such beauty.”
“You mean Shinra?” asked Tifa.
“Precisely, Miss Lockhart, precisely”
“The hell those jackasses do to this place?” spat Barret as he
pounded his gun-arm on the table-top, startling the squat man
who had entered the room carrying a tray of food.
“It would appear that you have a problem with Shinra, too.”
concluded Zemzelett, waving the man forward. “This interests
me. However, why don’t we wait until Master Tonberry has
served dinner before you listen to what I have to say?”
“Oh, by all means.” Tifa beamed eagerly.
Swiftly and proficiently, the cook distributed the steaming bowls
of boiled rice and seasoned mushrooms, and poured mugs of
filtered water from a pewter jug. Cloud noted the chef’s knife
tucked under his hooded maroon robes, the carving blade clearly
doubling as a concealed weapon. He had grown concerned by the
direction of the conversation, wary of what information
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Zemzelett may be seeking to extract from them. Since escaping
Midgar, he had maintained that to reveal their identities as part
of AVALANCHE, or that they were fugitives of Shinra, Inc., or
that they had a survivor of the Cetra among them, would
undoubtedly lead to unwanted questions.
“Commander Tristoner told us you’re at war with the Shinra.”
Aerith roused Cloud from his musings, her words subdued
somewhat by a mouthful of rice. “Is that true?”
“Sadly…yes.” Zemzelett exhaled uneasily. “Yes, it is true.”
“What’s goin’ on?” probed Barret, his beard matted with juices.
Zemzellet paused for a number of seconds, carefully
contemplating how to begin before finally bringing the prolonged
silence to a close in a low and earnest tone.
“Do you know what sits at the top of this mountain?”
“The Reactor and the Condor.” Cloud frowned.
“It sure is something…” Aerith added, her eyes glazed in wonder.
“I can see you’re very perceptive.” chortled Zemzelett with a
charming grin and an amicable hint of sarcasm. “You are exactly
right.”
“So…the Shinra’re tryin’ to…get ridda the bird?” Barret
surmised as he shovelled food into his ravenous mouth, his
sentence separated by each spoonful. “But, why?”
“Well…” started Zemzelett, “when the Company first
approached Fort Condor about building a Mako facility here, they
were full of what were later revealed to be empty promises. ‘We
respect the sanctity of these creatures’ home’, they told us. ‘Help
them and help yourselves by signing up as maintenance workers’,
they told us. And, for what?
“When the Reactor was completed, us villagers were charged
with overseeing its daily operation for terrible pay and worse
conditions. We were determined to minimise the ecological
damage to these rare animals, but a few months later, the entire
colony had fled to fresh and foreign pastures, driven from this
land by the disastrous harm to the local plantation. Most of us
had grown to love the Condors, and a large section of our
community had first come here on a pilgrimage to admire them.
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We were devastated until, as the will of the Gods would have it,
something unexpected happened…”
“A Condor returned.” hailed Barret elatedly, evidently inspired
by wildlife overcoming the recklessness of his adversaries.
“Correct, Master Wallace.” Zemzelett nodded, a wry smirk
forming on his shrewd lips. “When the Condors came back, the
Shinra dispatched their troops and mechanised weapons here,
even some of their SOLDIERs. The military wanted to get all the
villagers off these hills so that they could slaughter the birds…but,
we wouldn’t let them. We had sacrificed too much to just allow
these mindless drones to follow greedy and insane commands.
And so, we stood our ground, barricading ourselves inside this
fortress. We sent our wives and children to the towns outside
Junon, away from this madness, and resigned ourselves to our
fate. That was around six years ago, when our battle with the
corporation really began.”
“It seems Shinra doesn’t like the idea of having a Condor on top
of their facility.” said Tifa, engrossed in the account. “I don’t get
it, what’s so wrong with that?”
“Well, as it turns out,” he replied, folding his arms, “there’s a
special type of Materia at the Reactor core. President Shinra,
may he rest in peace, was so terrified that something might
happen to his business’ treasure that the Army was ordered to
recover it. They attacked us time and again, using many different
strategies, and not only them…militia from all kinds of
organisations, but we have held out thus far.”
“So, what happened?” asked Cloud. “Why did you guys go to
such lengths to defend this place? Why didn’t you just hand over
the Materia to Shinra?”
“Because of our honour.” shrugged the old man, his expression
determined. “The Company paid us to keep the Reactor running,
so that’s what we did. It’s what we still do and, while Shinra’s
focus is pulled in other directions, there’s a sort of status quo that
makes us a low priority. But, it won’t last. This is why we have
devoted ourselves to the cause; our lifestyle is a discipline. Our
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fight wasn’t about Mako or the Huge Materia, it was about
protecting the Condors…”
“Why do keep saying ‘Condors’?” Aerith interrupted with
scepticism. “We only saw one.”
“That, my dear,” illuminated Zemzelett, “is also why it’s so
important that we retain control of the mountain. Did any of you
happen to notice the particular posture that our feathery brown
friend takes?”
“You mean the defensive stance?” Cloud responded, recalling his
earlier observation.
“Bravo, Master Strife.” clapped Zemzelett with reverence. “Your
attention to detail is remarkable. Yes, the Condor that roosts
upon the facility is, in fact, a mother. She is guarding and
warming her egg, and that is the very reason she returned in the
first place. Condors’ eggs take a few years to hatch, which is why
we have lingered in this village for so long; it is our duty to keep
them from being harmed, and save our own home in the
process.”
“Those eggs are a real miracle of nature.” agreed Tifa, brushing
the dark locks from her face and clenching her fists with purpose.
“We’ve got to help preserve the lives of the Planet, especially the
endangered ones.”
“So, to protect the Condor’s egg, you must protect the Reactor?”
Aerith summarised, slowly comprehending the situation.
“I’ll do it!” roared Barret, spitting grains of rice across the table.
“We’ll protect them from the Shinra.”
“The rest of you have combat experience also?” Zemzelett tilted
his head in curiosity and, before Cloud could stop him, Barret
answered with pride and boastful assertion.
“Of course,” he boomed, “we’re AVALANCHE.”
“AVALANCHE…?” gulped the man, sharing a fleeting look of
concern with Mu. He seemed to withdraw slightly, his expression
timid, cowering from the group. “You mean…you’re the terrorists
who attacked Midgar? Or are you from the older faction?”
“It’s not what you think…” Tifa intervened hastily. “You’ve
probably heard a lot of propaganda and lies.”
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“So, just so we’re clear, are you telling me that AVALANCHE did
not detonate a bomb at the heart of the city’s main Reactors?”
scowled Zemzelett with disdain. “Or that it did not result in the
deaths of more than two-hundred civilians?”
“That…that was an accident…” she stammered, her lips
trembling. “The bomb wasn’t supposed to be so big. You have to
believe us…”
“And what about your destruction of Sector7?” he asked
scornfully. “Was that an accident, too?”
“What happened in Sector7 wasn’t them…” Aerith opposed
sternly, the ferocity in her tone startling those around table as she
sat forward, her pale green gaze burning into Zemzelett’s, “it was
Shinra. I’m not part of AVALANCHE, but I was there; I saw what
the Turks did. If it hadn’t been for these three, even more people
would have been killed that night. Some of their friends died
defending the Pillar, so show some respect!”
“Even if what you say is true,” Zemzelett stroked his chin,
glaring at the so-called revolutionaries, “you have still murdered
in the name of justice for the Planet. You have murdered the very
people you claim to fight for. To me, you are no better than the
Shinra Company.”
“Now, wait just a damn minute…!” thundered Barret, his
argument so loud that Mu reached again for his gunlance.
“Did you even consider what you would do if you toppled the
corporation?” he tested the dark-skinned giant. “What are your
plans for alternative energy? How do you expect people to fuel
their homes? Or feed their families? What happens to the
infrastructure when the Mako Reactors fail?”
“I’ve got some ideas…”
“The way I see it,” he persisted, “all your actions would achieve
is to cripple the economy. Has it even crossed your mind that
irrespective of Shinra’s greed, the populace might have weighed
up their easy lifestyle against the damage to the Planet, and
decided it was something they were willing to compromise?”
“That’s not their call to make!” Barret fumed.
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“And who’s call is it?” snorted Zemzelett, rolling his eyes
sardonically. “Yours?”
“I come from a coal mining town.” he replied. “When I was a
kid, we used coal to power our vehicles, heat our houses, or give
us light in the winter months. Sure, it was hard work an’ things
moved slower, but that don’t mean it shouldn’t be done. An’ who
knows what other stuff like oil can do? Ain’t there still some
refineries in the West?”
“There hasn’t been enough modern research done on these fossil
fuels.” the old man countered. “For all we know, they could cause
more harm to the Planet than Mako. What about renewable
energy? Wind power? Solar power…?”
“Truth is, I don’t got an answer.” Barret hung his head, his
mighty shoulders sagging. “All I know is, I’m on a pilgrimage to
Cosmo Canyon…I got a promise to keep to some kids who ain’t
with us no more. An’ I wanna learn from the elders; I wanna
learn how to be a better person; I wanna learn how to save the
Planet without hurtin’ anyone…”
“Our quarrel’s with Shinra.” Tifa maintained, her large eyes
pleading forgiveness. “Sometimes innocent people get caught in
the crossfire and we have to carry that burden, but we can’t let it
get in the way of our goal. We can’t give up; we have to meet our
enemy head-on. Surely you appreciate that?”
“Therein lies the predicament in which the Fort Condor
Volunteer Corps finds itself.” Zemzelett quietened his voice, as if
burdened by shame for his rushed conclusions and the
subsequent row. “Unfortunately, we don’t have the ability to
engage Shinra in conflict ourselves. At any minute, this place
could become a battlefield so, over the years, we have simply
hired mercenaries to help us. It wasn’t too hard after the War, as
the scattered remnants of the Imperial Army, such as Master Mu,
were happy to aid us against the Company. I mean, how do you
think we ended up with so many Wusheng in our ranks? But,
now…”
“So, this was your plan, was it?” Cloud growled, suddenly
understanding Tristoner’s abrupt insistence on behaving
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hospitably. “Lure us in here so you could get something in
return?”
“Yes…” Zemzelett whispered solemnly, making no effort to deny
the claim, his firm stare trained on the former soldier.
“Then, tell me,” he demanded through gritted teeth, “what are
you asking of us?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Tifa piped in, placing a calming hand on
Cloud’s wrist, anxious to ease the escalating tension. “We’ll help
you.”
“Really?” the old man coughed, taken aback by her enthusiasm.
“Even after everything I’ve said?”
“What’s there to think about?” endorsed Barret, nodding
furiously. “Y’all want the same thing as we do.”
“Um…well…” stuttered Zemzelett, his thick brows furrowed,
“sponsorship can come in the shape of a donation or by fighting
alongside us when the need arises. Will…will you join us?”
“Cloud…?” posed Tifa, gently tightening her grip on his arm.
The party’s leader sat without sound; his gaze vacant; his chest
barely heaving as he breathed; the uncertainty of the decision and
downright refusal to compromise his own goals smothering his
judgment.
“Why are you still even worrying about it?” Aerith snapped,
frustrated by his hesitation. “Don’t be so wishy-washy. Hurry up
and make up your mind!”
“I’d like to help, but…”
“C’mon, man,” pressed Barret, “if they want our services, we
gotta do it!”
“How?” he disputed, shrugging incredulously. “We make for
Junon tomorrow, and we’re not coming back. We don’t have a lot
of gil so funding is out of the question, and we can’t fight if we’re
not here!”
“To hell with that!” Barret bellowed. “I won’t just abandon our
brothers in a war ‘gainst the Shinra. Remember, Spiky, we ain’t
all on this journey for the same reasons as you! If I can be useful
‘ere...then, I ain’t gonna decline!”
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“Be realistic!” retorted Cloud. “We can’t handle Shinra on two
fronts!”
“I don’t mean that, man.” Barret groaned impatiently. “These
folks don’t expect that neither.”
“It makes no difference!”
“Yes, it does…” said Barret, his entire demeanour shifting,
softening his gruff voice. “They don’t want us to give what we
don’t have; they don’t want us to be knights in shinin’ armour; all
they want’s our support...a promise not to ignore their plight...”
“Please…” Tifa begged, mouthing the word so that only Cloud
could hear. Studying the room, he glimpsed the anticipation on
the faces of those around him, and knew that he was
outnumbered. “We can’t possibly leave these people like this.
Let’s do whatever we can, alright?”
“Whatever…” he conceded, sighing in defeat.
“Yes!” cheered Aerith, rubbing Red XIII’s mane jubilantly. “Let’s
do our best! For the sake of the Condors, we can’t afford to be
beaten.”
“You are most kind, Miss Gainsborough,” Zemzelett beamed,
removing his non to reveal tufts of white hair, and holding it to
his chest in an honourable gesture, “as are you all. I respect your
concern, but do not fret that you have offended me or my men,
for it is not easy to argue such a strong opinion. If you cannot
contribute financially to our cause, we will gladly accept the skills
of an ex-SOLDIER. We have seen many able warriors come and
go in our clashes with Shinra, but you, Master Strife, are in a
different league entirely.”
“Hey, we’ll all come to the rescue!” Barret declared petulantly,
spinning the barrels of his gatling-gun. “He ain’t the only one
who can kick Shinra’s ass…”
“Of course not.” chuckled Zemzelett, offering an apologetic hand
as he turned to the guard, his features brimming with delight.
“Master Mu, please send for a bottle of our finest wine. The hour
draws late and we must soon retire to our bunks. But, before we
do, let us tonight make a toast to the bonds of a new friendship,
one which I believe will prove most decisive…”
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CHAPTER VIII
The Watchtower
Madouge, the son of Zemzelett and one of the trio to have
accompanied the party into the bowels of the Spriggan Fells, sat
alone at a wooden bench on the raised section of Fort Condor’s
central hub. He had been reading from an aged novel, its faded
cover revealing it to be a classic edition of the bestselling ‘Velvet
Voix’, closing its pages as he glanced up. An honest smile spread
across his haggard face; he had undoubtedly been made aware of
AVALANCHE’s oath to aid their cause. Slipping the book inside
his beige robes, Madouge adjusted the cotton bandana back
across his shaven head, and politely poured a second mug of
coffee as the neon sign behind him flickered with a vicious buzz.
“Good morning.” he called in a husky northern voice, waking
Cloud from his wandering thoughts as he entered the spacious
chamber. As he sluggishly approached the table, Madouge
offered him the mug. “You’re up early.”
“Didn’t sleep well.” muttered the former SOLDIER, graciously
accepting the coffee.
The group had been granted a vacant quarters deep within the
tunnelled network of the citadel. The dormitory was enclosed by
sweeping walls of dried and compressed dirt, and consisted of six
beds, half of which were complemented by a small pine desk that
boasted a sweetly-scented vase of violets. Thick beams blemished
with Wusheng kanji graffiti buttressed the lofty ceiling, high
enough to remove any sense of claustrophobia. The room could
not be considered a lavish burrow by any means, but its soft
chequered blankets and electric lamps were a rare luxury
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nonetheless, though Barret had insisted on the use of candlelight
to minimise his own otherwise-hypocritical Mako expenditure.
Cloud had awoken from what felt like a fleeting nap to find his
outfit laundered by the men of the village as they had so kindly
promised, knowing immediately that sunrise had passed. He had
swiftly dressed in what dim glow Red XIII’s tail emitted as it
swayed absently back and forth above the sawdust-sprinkled
floorboards, the large beast fast asleep between the girls’ beds.
Only the rumble of Barret’s snoring could be heard, echoing
around the hollow like a diceratops’ song, the baritone notes
numbing and hypnotic. As he clipped his spiked pauldron into
place on his left shoulder, Cloud had noticed the peaceful Aerith
stir, his gaze lingering on her for a moment.
She lay on her side, silent and tranquil, her brown hair sprawled
across the feather pillow. A pale gleam radiated from her closed
palm, inside of which he could make out the precious White
Materia she held so dear. The unusual glassy orb had been given
to Aerith by her real mother, Ifalna, before she died during their
escape from Professor Hojo and Shinra, Inc.’s Science
Department, an heirloom whose value transcended mere
sentimentality.
“It’s special.” she had once explained, chuckling to herself. “It’s
good for absolutely nothing.”
The White Materia’s very presence brought comfort and safety
to Aerith, forever tucked beneath the bows of the flowery ribbons
that secured her plaited hair. Curled up and savouring the
warmth of the duvet, she seemed so innocent; so vulnerable. It
was then that Cloud realised the adjacent bed was empty, its
covers cast messily aside. Stumbling sleepily towards the stone
stairs that climbed from the quarters, he hastily began in the
direction of the hub, his groggy mind determined to ensure all
was well.
Where the hell is Tifa…?
“Everything alright?” asked Madouge, again returning Cloud to
the present.
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“I want to find my friend.” he replied, sipping his coffee
vigorously, feeling the caffeine sear through his veins.
“Ah, you mean Miss Lockhart?” the guard nodded with a smirk,
the pink skin of his sunburnt features deepening. “She’s gone to
visit the lookout deck of our watchtower.”
“Can you take me there?”
“Of course.” said Madouge, gathering his things. “My shift
begins in a few minutes, anyway.”
Cloud followed Madouge down the frail timber steps between
the levels of the area and through a bronze-plated archway that
lay beneath a red banner depicting the oriental deity, Leviathan,
the serpentine Water God wrapped around a silver sword bearing
the kanji slogan ‘No retreat’. This led to a cramped and winding
passage which soon brought the duo to a spiralling staircase that
ascended steadily towards the hilltop, a tight squeeze for the
robust physique of his guide. At its height was a small grotto
enclosed by barren rock, bare but for a rusty steel ladder that
dropped from a hatch which, for the first time since they had
arrived at Fort Condor, unveiled natural light.
Scaling the ladder, they came at last to the watchtower, a
makeshift shed constructed with planks of rough lumber that had
seen better days. The golden remnants of a cloudless dawn
blazed through a rectangular window cut coarsely from the wood,
cascading beautifully down the jagged walls and across the
granite floor, casting long shadows of the empty food tins that
had been abandoned next to the hatch. An old crate and a folding
stool sat below the window, both ingrained with footprints and
doodles, but there was little else except for a warning bell
hanging by the doorway to the observation deck.
Tifa’s voice filtered from outside, chirpy and more carefree than
Cloud had heard it since his appearance at Seventh Heaven.
Striding across the shed, he barged through the opening onto the
elevated wooden terrace, shielding his eyes from the brilliant sun
as they fell upon his childhood friend. She was leaning on the
barrier and, despite the early morning chill, wore only a snug
white vest-top and short leather skirt. Her silken black hair had
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been tied at the bottom of her spine, flapping gaily in the breeze
like a dolphin’s tail, caressing her bare legs as if to accentuate her
femininity. Commander Tristoner stood by her side, one arm
wrapped around her exposed waist, the other pointing out over
the glistening landscape. Cloud hesitated when he saw this, his
words involuntarily catching in his throat.
“Tifa?”
“Cloud!” she gasped, spinning and brushing Tristoner away in a
single motion, her cheeks turning scarlet. “What are you doing
here?”
“I might ask you the same question.” he answered bluntly, his
military boots clumping heavily on the boards as he paced
towards a neighbouring ledge. The crisp air felt refreshing on his
skin, tainted by the faint odour of Mako, but it was not enough to
wash away the tense atmosphere that had suddenly arisen. He
could tell that his unexpected entrance had disturbed the pair
and, though not his business, an uncomfortable knot had gripped
his stomach.
“Now that Master Madouge has joined us,” Tristoner declared
without fluster, “I shall relieve myself of duty. I hope to see you
again, Miss Lockhart.”
“Um…yeah…” Tifa mumbled, her anxious gaze darting between
he and Cloud, offering nothing more than a feeble wave as he
marched back into the lookout shed. “Cloud, I…”
“So, what do you think?” asked Madouge, inadvertently
interrupting as he stepped onto the deck. “Awesome, huh?”
Cloud said nothing, his pensive stare trained on the Reactor
summit. The hulking exterior of the facility emerged ominously
from the arid crest of the plateau, manacled by synthetic
tentacles piping toxic gases from the industrial furnace, its entire
outer body of corroded metal a monstrosity against the azure sky.
The painted Shinra Diamond at its height had withered due to
the sea salt carried by the northbound winds, many sections of it
having fragmented or warped beyond recognition, a fitting
tribute to those who defended the settlement.
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However, where a colossal bird had perched the previous
evening, the arcing roof of the Reactor now presented a different
spectacle. Approximately a dozen vents encircled the crown of
the structure, all of them discharging pale green Mako vapours,
while the densest emissions pumped from the largest chimney
near the head of the dome. It was at this spot that a nest of
driftwood and dried soil mingled with varied debris, at least
twenty feet in diameter, lay inside what seemed like an airing
groove. A huge egg bulged from the heart of the nest, its
hardened shell an array of mesmerising colours that ranged from
magenta to crimson in the sunlight.
“Where’s the Condor?” Cloud frowned, glancing back at
Madouge in puzzlement. “I thought she was protecting the
chick?”
“That doesn’t mean she can’t still hunt.” he shrugged. “She flies
out to sea before sunrise to feed, then returns to warm her egg.”
“Every day?” asked Tifa.
“Every day.” nodded Madouge, taking up a position between the
two. “These hills are the perfect location for them to roost; within
easy flying distance of the coast, but far enough inland that the
weather is significantly milder.”
“So, they eat fish?” Cloud deduced.
“It’s basically the staple of their diet.” was the reply. “And there
ain’t no shortage of fish in those waters.”
As he spoke, Madouge gestured to the southern stretches of the
Allemange Plains that lay far beyond the dusty slopes
surrounding Fort Condor. Miles of crumbling and sterile terrain
descended from beneath the balcony, marred further by the
random and hazardous segments of the Reactor that protruded
from the incline. It was a battleground that had seen several
skirmishes with the Shinra Army and their mechanical technosoldiers, countless abandoned remains of the roboguards left to
erode on the hillside.
Cloud noted weapons such as the clunky custom sweepers and
their heavy artillery, or the drill noses of hovering barbarian hell
slashers, or even the motorised wings of an airborne eagle
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gunner. The Corporation had thrown such might behind their
offensives, their tactics easily monitored from the very command
post upon which he now stood, not once devising an alternative
scheme to infiltrate the bastion by its hidden entrance.
A credit to the ignorance of General Heidegger, no doubt…
“Thanks for accepting.”
“Huh?” stammered Cloud, not expecting the comment.
“Someone like you agreeing to help us means a lot.” Madouge
confessed, his brows furrowing as he glanced sheepishly at the
floor. “The Volunteer Corps doesn’t have a lot of money. Even if
we wanted to fight, our hands are tied because we’re broke. We
know what we’re asking is selfish, hiring mercenaries isn’t cheap.
It costs around four-hundred gil per man, so I’m sure you can
imagine what we have to pay just to keep this place safe.”
“Do you have a strategy?” asked Cloud, the spikes of his blonde
hair blowing in the light gust.
“We’ve always simply set up traps for our enemies as they climb
the mountain,” he said, “then utilised the high ground and
knowledge of the area to our advantage, blocking them off or
attacking them guerrilla-style. Fortunately, their troops have
never penetrated our defences and made it to here…”
Cloud did not respond; it was difficult to comprehend such
needless and repeated vehemence amid such an inspiring
backdrop. Madouge’s gaze gradually lifted and moved across the
horizon where the pristine heavens fused with the sparkling
sapphire ocean, his eyes tracing the shoreline with admiration as
its beaches of purest white wound southwest towards the distant
Equites Peninsula which bound the Strait of Ptolomea. Much like
what the party had earlier witnessed from the highest ridge of the
Spriggan Fells, the sight of lush green fields melting into a vast
pane of turquoise was a novelty to those whose lives had centred
around Midgar for so long.
Across the ocean was the Southern Continent, a great
archipelago of islands known for their warm climate but
temperamental seismic activity. An array of fishing villages made
up the coastlines of the isles, tiny communities which were self128
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sustaining and not fond of outside interference. Monsoon season
was upon them, halting much of the local trade while their boats
were anchored firmly to the wharves, isolating many villages
from the rest of the world.
“Places like this make you feel so small, don’t they…?” sighed
Tifa, rubbing her arms to fend off the icy air. “There’s so much of
the Planet I just don’t know about. I mean, I haven’t the slightest
idea what’s on the other side of the horizon.”
“Mideel, I reckon.” Madouge answered quietly, his expression
growing troubled. “Though, you’d probably be best to avoid that
area for a while.”
“How so?” asked Cloud.
“I heard there was another underground eruption last week.” he
said. “You gotta feel for the folks down there sometimes.”
“Eruption?” Tifa repeated, perplexed.
“That’s when the Mako rivers breach the land.” Madouge
explained, his rosy cheeks losing some of their colour. “It’s no
secret that the currents run close to the surface on the Southern
Isles, making the region vulnerable to earthquakes and sinkholes.
That part of the Planet is a focal point for these rivers and, when
too many converge at the same time, the pressure becomes too
great, forcing them to burst from the earth. It’s quite a
phenomenon, and the only place in the world to see such an
event. Anyway, one of these eruptions happened not too far from
Mideel only a few days ago.”
“That’s terrible!” croaked Tifa.
“True…but, it’s also something of a normal occurrence. There’s
an old saying in the town that if you lose something to the
Lifestream, these swells are where you’ll find it. Rumour has it
all sorts of weird crap gets washed up. The people of Mideel have
gotten pretty used to them over the years, but it’s only a matter of
time before things get serious. I mean, you only have to go back
to the turn of the decade to remember the Banora incident…”
“The Banora incident?”
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“You guys don’t know?” Madouge spluttered, glancing between
the two in shock. Tifa shook her head. “Okay, you’re both from
Nibelheim, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And there’s an old Reactor there?”
“The first of its kind.”
“Well, are you familiar with the process Shinra uses to
determine the location for the facilities?”
“You’re talking about the Mako Excavation Test Sites, aren’t
you?” said Cloud.
“Correct.” he confirmed. “Now, when Mako energy was first
discovered, Shinra Manufacturing Works, as they were known
back then, began mining in areas that were considered extremely
fertile. The purpose of these so-called ‘Mako mines’ was for the
scientists of the company to establish the best methods of
extraction. By the mid-[µ]-εγλ 1960s, the process had been so
refined that the use of the Reactor power plants were given the
go-ahead, effectively rendering the mines obsolete. I know all
this because my grandfather was an engineer at the Modeoheim
site until it closed. Same thing happened in Banora, though
Shinra’s presence there was kept a secret from the public.”
“But, if the land was so fertile,” mused Tifa, “why didn’t they just
build Reactors?”
“In Modeoheim’s case, there simply wasn’t enough demand. As
for Banora, that’s a different scenario entirely. Shinra decided
that to construct a Reactor on the Southern Continent would be
too dangerous because of the inconsistencies in the geology,
particularly the Mako eruptions. Instead, they lost interest in the
village, and it eventually became famous for the locallynicknamed ‘dumbapples’ that grew in its orchards. You’ve
probably heard of its trademark export, Banora White Juice?”
“No way!” laughed Tifa, her face filled with amazement. “I used
to love that stuff. Why did they stop making it?”
“Because of the Banora incident.” Madouge replied grimly,
casting his gaze back out to sea. “Six or seven years ago, there was
a devastating eruption, and the entire town was consumed by a
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sinkhole. According to the news reports, there were no survivors,
and all that was left of the site were a handful of destroyed
homes…”
“The hell y’all doin’ out ‘ere?” boomed an unmistakable voice
from behind as Barret appeared in the doorway of the
watchtower shed. He was brushing dirt from his wiry black beard
in frustration, most of it having collected during his passage
through the confined subterranean tunnels. “Hurry up, the ride’s
here. We’re ready to go…”
“Before you depart,” suggested Madouge, raising a hand to his
forehead and shielding his eyes from the sun, “do you guys want
to see her up close?”
“See who?” Barret grunted irritably, the entire gallery
shuddering as he walked.
“The Condor.”
“But, didn’t you say…?” began Tifa, her question fading as an
almighty shriek resonated across the sky, slicing through the
serenity like a deafening klaxon.
“She’s coming home.” Madouge grinned, his chest puffing with
pride as the silhouette of the majestic creature took shape beyond
the overhanging cliffs where the sullen Midgar Mountains
careered into the bay.
Silence enveloped the quartet as they beheld the arcing flight of
the Condor, sweeping above the coastal municipals, then slowing
before it reached the borders of the Equites Peninsula. The sleek
feathers of its russet body and tawny underbelly shimmered in
the radiant daylight, adding to the already-impressive splendour
of the two-hundred-foot animal. Gliding north of the tower, the
mother swooped and entered her final descent, spreading her
wings and tail to reduce her speed. As she touched down, she
gave a thunderous beat of her enormous wings, forcing the
engrossed observers to hastily grab hold of the railings so as not
to be blown from the terrace.
“She…she’s incredible!” Tifa ogled the wondrous bird, captivated
by its elegance.
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“Perhaps now you understand why we fight?” agreed Madouge,
his features thoughtful. “These Condors are so striking. We quite
simply can’t allow them to be killed by man’s greed and egotism.”
“There’s no way!” Barret roared, thrusting his gatling-gun in the
air. “‘Specially at the hands of Shinra!”
As the mother shuffled up the domed roof of the Mako Reactor,
clasping an entire log in her curved golden beak like it was no
more than a brittle twig, the reflective glare from the motion of
Barret’s weapon caught her beady eyes. The Condor’s breathing
grew immediately raspy, a low hiss emanating from her throat,
dropping the driftwood into the nest and wrapping her wings
hurriedly around the egg. Her bald face scowled at them
unwelcomingly, every inch of her massive form rigid.
“We better go back inside.” Madouge whispered judiciously,
edging deliberately from the barrier. “Condors are naturally
cautious creatures. If they sense a threat to their offspring, they
will not hesitate to protect them with their lives. We generally
only watch them through the window.”
“Alright,” said Cloud, glancing one last time at the crystalline
horizon as the four retreated to grant the Condor the seclusion
she desired, “we’re coming…”
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CHAPTER IX
Crossing the Continent
The first thirty-six hours that followed the detour to Fort Condor
passed without much incident. As chance would have it, the
biweekly delivery of provisions and news to the Volunteer Corps
had arrived ahead of schedule, only a short time before Cloud and
the others had unexpectedly appeared.
Insisting on
compensation for their promise to aid the workers’ cause,
Zemzelett had negotiated with the driver for him to ensure the
fugitives’ safe passage across Fjordland as far as the Baldor
Mountains; the closest he came to the city of Junon.
The five had since spent almost the entirety of the ride clinging
to the rear of the man, Cripshay’s, old-fashioned pA-16 pickup
truck. It was a significantly-dated version of the pA-66 model
owned by Farmer Bill at the Chocobo Ranch, and infinitely less
comfortable. Without the security of a fastened seatbelt, they
were tossed violently time and again against the mouldy walls
and rusting steel framework of the wagon as the bulky vehicle
bounced along the gravel highway. The silver lining was that the
tarpaulin sheet strapped to the roof of the cargo hold provided a
welcome and resilient armour against the regular winter showers,
though only granted them a view of the countryside that lay
behind them.
The journey had taken them northwest beyond the barren
wastelands surrounding Fort Condor and the rolling hills of the
Allemange Plains to the sagging bluffs that overlooked Siren Bay.
The dark and choppy waters of the vast lagoon seemed to span
such a distance that the group could have been forgiven for
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assuming nothing but the snaking Ptolomea Strait lay between
them and the ocean, as even the horizon did not betray the
presence of the Peltast Peninsula whose horn arced for several
dozen miles around the western banks.
Countless rural settlements and homesteads marked the
sprawling shoreline of the great fjord, simple buildings
constructed in sandstone or granite, many of which boasted small
but delightful flower gardens, though spring was still months
away and the soil was mostly bare. These remote communities
exhibited little in the way of activity and were of scant interest to
foreigners, cast in the disheartening gloom of a perpetually-grey
sky. Farmyards empty but for a handful of livestock or weatherbeaten chocobos dotted the verdant moors and chequered fields,
occasionally attended by derelict barns or mills. Very few
vehicles passed them on the road, frequently in the form of
trundling tractors or sputtering sA-27 motortricycles, oblivious to
the illicit freight of Cripshay’s six-wheeled sedan.
By late afternoon of the first day, the company had waved
goodbye to the craggy coves of Siren Bay and entered the
dominion of the Eastern Continent’s Midwest. The landscape of
the region was notably flatter, easing the turbulent ride to the
point where both Barret and Red XIII had dozed off, the latter’s
substantial feline body filling much of the shuddering cargo bed
while the others huddled on the benches at either side.
Cloud had spent a large portion of the journey gazing out from
the back of the pickup, speaking only when addressed, his mind
entranced by the ever-changing blur of scenery. It was calming to
feel the cold raindrops against his skin and the air through his
spiked locks, or smell the familiar childhood scent of hay bales on
the wind, or hear the distinct caws of circling seagulls and
screeches of the flightless epiornii flocks that pranced on the
pastures. Each of these trivial things reminded him that he was
alive, but also just how much he had lost.
He had sensed Tifa’s concern for him; that same maternal
instinct she had regularly displayed since that fateful evening in
early December when she had found him dazed and confused
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near the Train Graveyard of Midgar’s Sector7 Slums. Despite the
years that had come and gone since the terrible events at
Nibelheim, she had received him into her inner circle without
hesitance or question, providing sanctuary at her Seventh Heaven
bar and insisting on his recruitment by AVALANCHE. Cloud
knew that she would understand his reserved state, for she too
had suffered and lost at the hands of Sephiroth.
Dusk had long settled over the grasslands before Cripshay
turned onto one of the narrow dirt tracks that branched from the
highway. Knolls of unkempt weeds dominated the lane, gnarled
and clawing at the wagon as its flickering headlights washed over
them. The driveway led them to the neglected courtyard of a
crumbling redbrick mansion, the south corner of the roof having
completely collapsed, with much of the walls enveloped by thick
moss. Rumbling to a halt, the battered Goodstone tyres
squealing, Cloud had heard their escort hop down from the cab,
soon appearing from the dimness at the rear of the truck.
“This here’s the old Rhapsodos Estate.” the lean man had
explained, hauling a sack of camping equipment from beneath
Barret’s feet, and gesturing for them to climb out. “We’ll be
sleepin’ in the caretaker’s cabin tonight.”
“Won’t the owners mind?” Aerith had asked unsurely.
“Owners?” Cripshay had chuckled, marching across the oncedecorative paving of the silent quad, his shadow dancing in the
moonlight. “Ain’t been nobody livin’ in this place for years. They
used to grow barley in the fields ‘round back, but I guess the
plantation just got abandoned…”
The party had set off at sunrise the next morning, a low mist
hanging above the country like a ghostly blanket, bringing with it
an unnatural chill. Returning to the main road, they had
followed the high hedges of weary grain until, after around an
hour, they pulled up at a junction at foot of a gradual slope. As
Cripshay had slowed to take the western route, Cloud caught
sight of the frail and rotting signposts, directing the traffic east to
Mythril Mine or north to the now-obsolete coal refineries at the
head of the River Nerosuferoth.
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By midday, they had reached the boundaries of Dinornis Forest,
the highway slinking within the armies of conifer trees.
Numerous rays of dense sunlight struck the muddy track like
golden spears, piercing the shade of the leafy evergreen canopy
overhead to create a mesmeric kaleidoscope of shapes across the
ground before the pA-16. Diurnal owl-like monsters hooted
raucously in the treetops, their pointed ears alert as they clapped
their hefty barbed wings, warning their kin of the hulking
metallic intruder as the grinding cylinders of its tired 1S-Geu type
Mako engine annihilated the tranquillity.
“Never had this problem when I was a kid.” Barret had
complained, his bitterness over their use of a Shinra-built
automobile unyielding. “Back then, the steam-powered cars did
just fine…”
The group had paused for lunch at a glade enclosed by a wall of
compact foliage, rationing what little bread and tinned meat the
men of Fort Condor had been able to spare. The sounds of the
woodland captivated them; shrieks of birds squabbling on
obscured branches or grunts of rodents burrowing in the
undergrowth or the far away howls of wild beasts hunting
altogether generating a somewhat-satisfying ambience. The only
disturbance came when a tiny gremlin stumbled upon the
clearing, the creature’s bearded face contorting into a mixture of
fear and revulsion. Much to the amusement of its audience, the
gremlin had unleashed a barrage of foul-mouthed human
vocabulary for which these peculiar fiends were known, then
scampered back into the vegetation.
It was only when at last their passage across the Midwest
brought them hours later to the Wyvern Sound, however, that the
company was afforded the most remarkable vistas of their
odyssey yet. They had emerged from the Dinornis Forest near
the northern tip of the three-hundred-mile-long firth, the largest
of Fjordland. A herd of grazing diceratopses watched cagily as
the haggard sedan roared past along the slender road, the beady
eyes hidden within the bucks’ armoured skulls narrowing, their
attention returning to the crops as the pickup approached the
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apex of the plateau at which the route had wound down along the
jagged cliffside.
They were presented with the panorama of an immense basin
whose glassy surface reflected the stunning snow-capped
highlands that encircled its coast, the tallest of the peaks
shrouded in mist. Tree-covered slopes cascaded into the
turquoise water as far as the eye could see, broken sporadically by
secluded sandy inlets or the mouths of tumbling creeks, the
glimmer of leaping salmon evident as the fish made their way
upstream to breed. Even from the altitude of the sheer incline,
they could make out wiry tentacles of several beachplugs basking
along the rocky coves below, the preying molluscs patiently
awaiting curious birds to settle nearby so that they may pounce.
Progressively descending the sharp turns of the bluff and tracing
the shores of the sound, the party had travelled beyond the divine
scenery and once again onto the sweeping savannahs in the
direction of the Baldor Mountains.
“So, Zemzelett tells me you used to be with the Shinra Army…”
Cripshay’s unexpected conversation startled Cloud, drawing his
thoughts back to the rattling cab of the pA-16 truck. By his own
request, the group had taken turns to accompany the driver,
lending an ear to his rambling stories of life on the potato fields
outside his hometown of Corvette, or his former employment as a
labourer at the coal refineries. Due to a lack of steady work and
no real commitments, his existence had since become somewhat
nomadic, but he seemed charming and earnest, and grateful to
share the trip with others.
“That’s right.” Cloud answered, wrinkling his nose as a pungent
stench of stale manure wafted through the car.
“Which division?”
“I was a SOLDIER. First Class.”
“Oh.” grunted Cripshay, pulling his bunnet down over his
forehead to shield his eyes from the deepening glare of the sun,
leaving tufts of greying hair poking out the sides. Puffing on his
tobacco pipe, he gave his passenger a nervous glance.
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“Does that intimidate you?” Cloud posed brusquely, sensing a
tension.
“Intimidate?” he cackled, bearing his brown teeth. “Makes me
wary, sure, but not intimidated. I just ain’t the biggest fan o’ the
Shinra is all.”
“Yeah?” Cloud sighed, gazing out the window. “Join the club.”
“Nah, you an’ your friends are quite normal compared to some
o’ the hitchhikers I’ve picked up over the years.” Cripshay
continued. “Believe me, lad, I’ve met some characters on these
jobs.”
“Whatever…”
“I gave this one stranger a ride a couple of months back,”
recalled the driver, ignoring Cloud’s flippant attitude, “dressed in
some kinda mysterious military outfit he was. One that I ain’t
seen before. He was real quiet at first, starin’ straight ahead, an’
refused to take his hood down. I tried askin’ a few questions,
y’know, to help break the ice an’ make him feel more comfortable.
All I got was silence. Didn’t wanna tell me his name, where he
was from…nothin’…
“Then, I raised the subject ‘bout what he did for money, an’ he
opened right up. It was like a totally different guy…I’ll never
forget it. He called himself Van Bungee, an’ it turns out he was a
thief who stole from Shinra to trade with towns in the Midwest.
O’ course, me bein’ all nosy, I wanted to know what kinda stuff he
looted, but that’s when things got serious. He showed me this
weird hi-tech Mako gun, so I asked where he’d got it. He just
replied that the vagrants o’ the Slums had discovered some secret
underground facility in the caverns beneath Midgar. Started
babblin’ ‘bout a whole army of SOLDIERs bein’ trained down
there…”
“Impossible.” scoffed Cloud, shaking his head dismissively. “I
would’ve heard of it.”
“That’s what I said,” Cripshay countered with a shrug, “but he
told me he’d seen it for himself. There was truth in his voice…”
“Yeah, well I don’t buy it.”
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“An’ I don’t blame ya,” chortled the driver, “but you can’t deny
that there’s plenty happnin’ on this Planet that we can’t even
imagine. I gotta agree with the old cave fella on that one…”
“Who?”
“Oh, sorry, I’m talkin’ ‘bout this elderly wacko I’ve encountered
a few times.” Cripshay mused, a fleeting smile on his lips. “He
lives in a grotto up near the railway tunnels at the source o’ the
Nerosuferoth. Damn fool only uses the river to wash an’ fish,
even in the winter when it’s freezin’. I mean, surely it’s just
melted snow from the Midgar Mountains by then?
“Anyway, I found him sittin’ by the side of the road one evenin’
an’ gave him a lift back to Corvette. All he did the whole way was
sleep or keep askin’ me how many times I’d fought in battle.
After Gods-know-how-many attempts to convince him I’m just a
handyman, I decided to humour him, and told the bloke I’d killed
ninety-nine monsters. An’ you know what he did? The crackpot
rewarded me with this pendant…”
As he spoke, Cripshay pulled his denim dungaree braces aside
and, reaching under his oil-stained shirt, unveiled a precious
metal fragment on a thin chain around his neck. The polished
surface of the grape-sized nugget exuded a silvery gleam, a stark
contrast to the grubby fingers of its owner as he caressed the
charm gently. Leaning forward from the passenger seat to
inspect it, Cloud’s studious eyes crept over the bullion.
“Is that what I think it is?” he murmured, frowning as the
realisation dawned on him.
“Yup!” Cripshay grinned, taking his focus from the road to
admire the priceless treasure. “Mythril.”
“And the old man just gave it to you?”
“Wouldn’t take no for an answer.” he nodded, inhaling deeply on
his pipe. “Guess he had no use for it. Neither do I, to be honest,
but I took it…I mean, look how big it is. All it does is just dangle
‘round my neck like a feather.”
“Mythril’s extremely rare.” said Cloud, transfixed on the locket.
“If the wrong person saw you wearing that, they’d kill you for it.”
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“My thoughts exactly.” he gulped, his expression pensive. “If I
was a superstitious man, I’d even say it’s brought me bad luck.
But, I ain’t a superstitious man, I’m a rational man; that’s why I
think you should have it.”
“Huh?” Cloud stammered.
“Just like you said,” explained Cripshay, making no effort to
conceal his enjoyment over his acquaintance’s perplexed face,
“hangin’ onto this thing could mean I end up on the wrong end of
a bandit’s dagger. Having a death sentence cast on me ain’t
exactly an ambition o’ mine. You, on the other hand…nobody in
their right mind’s gonna steal from an ex-SOLDIER. Plus,
Zemzelett kinda let slip ‘bout your mission to stop Shinra. Why’d
you think I agreed to help you outlaws? I don’t mean no
disrespect or nothin’, but for the love of Minerva, a giant with a
machine gun on his arm, a weird animal covered in tribal tattoos,
and yourself with that huge sword o’ yours ain’t exactly
commonplace…”
“What are you getting at?”
“Listen, man,” Cripshay grew serious, acknowledging Cloud’s
angered tone, “I had a good life at the coal refineries, but Mako
energy robbed me of it. No-one wants to strike back at these
greedy bastards more than I do. I’m not a freedom fighter. Gods,
I’m not even that smart. But, that don’t mean I won’t play my
part for the cause. If a token gesture like givin’ you a ride or
passin’ on this Mythril might help you guys in some way, then
that’s what I’m gonna do…”
As the words trailed off, Cloud noticed for the first time that the
pickup was steadily slowing. Squinting against the ebbing
sunlight, he peered through the dusty windscreen and saw a
lurking frontier of evergreen trees approaching, its regimented
clusters establishing a formidable woodland bastion. Few
conifers strayed from the wall, the border between the forest and
the dry plains unambiguous. It was set against a backdrop of the
Baldor Mountains, whose white crests rose far to the north like
great sentinels. Veering left, Cripshay took the vehicle off-road,
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its tyres bounding over the straw hummocks, finally rolling to a
standstill at the edge of the treeline.
“Okay,” he declared, taking the pipe from his lips and stuffing it
under his hat, “we’ve arrived.”
“Where are we?” asked Cloud as he opened the door and
climbed down from the cab, a refreshing breeze passing over him.
“This is Capparwire Forest.” Cripshay shouted as he disappeared
around the opposite side of the wagon, banging his palm on the
rusting body to notify the others to disembark. “The highway
doesn’t enter it for another few hundred miles, an’ by then we’ll
have passed Corvette. It’ll look suspicious if I’m not back soon,
so this is where we part ways.”
“You sayin’ we gotta hike it?” grumbled Barret as he dropped
clumsily to the ground, sluggishly composing himself to assist
Aerith and Tifa.
“‘Fraid so.” the driver replied, putting his hands on his hips as
he watched the fugitives assemble their baggage. “But, this here’s
a shortcut to the city if you’re goin’ on foot.”
“How do we get there?” asked Cloud, slotting his Buster Sword
onto its magnetic holster and shouldering a backpack.
“Just keep headin’ northwest.” Cripshay motioned with a wave
in the general direction. “Use the angle of the shadows to guide
you if you get lost. After a day or two, you’ll find the old freight
railway; the tracks’ll take you straight to Junon…”
“Thank you…” Tifa hugged him, “for everything.”
“A…anytime.” he stammered bashfully, his cheeks glowing
scarlet. “Be careful, though, there’s still some Shinra outposts
along the way that’re patrolled by roboguards.”
“Nothing we can’t handle.” Cloud responded, undeterred.
“I hope so…” he muttered, looking tentatively towards the dark
wood. “Folks in these parts are scared o’ the forest, an’ people in
Corvette been gossipin’ for weeks ‘bout a black mist that suddenly
appeared in the sky not so long ago. Only rumours I reckon, but
still…”
“We’ll be fine.” Aerith assured him with an angelic smile, placing
a hand soothingly on his arm. “Take care of yourself.”
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“An’ when you see Old Man Sakaki,” added Barret, lifting his
bulging limb to display the gatling-gun, “tell him I’m still wearin’
this damn prosthetic.”
“Let’s be on our way.” instructed the party’s leader, starting
through the tall stalks of the heath.
“Cloud!” called Cripshay, halting him after only a few steps.
Cloud turned to see him yank the Mythril pendant over his head
and, with a final glimpse of the priceless metal as if to wish it
farewell, tossed it to the former SOLDIER. “Good luck…”
* * *
Much of Capparwire Forest’s expansive domain belonged to the
valley that lay between Wyvern Point and the Baldor Mountains,
and so seemed always to be on a gradient of some sort. The
trunks of the scaling conifers had grown thick over the centuries,
their girth immeasurable, secured to the rich earth by an
entanglement of probing roots. So compact were the legions of
trees that the ceiling of leaves they had created was too dense at
times for even a sliver of sunlight to breach. Though, when a
distant rumble of thunder reached the ears of the group, they
knew that they would undoubtedly be sheltered from the
subsequent rains.
A mixture of sweet amber and dampness flirted with their
nostrils, occasionally interrupted by the overwhelming aroma of
the pinecones that littered the ground. Twigs cracked loudly
underfoot as the company held the course Cripshay had
recommended, trudging through a sea of withered bark and crisp
rotting foliage. Gurgling brooks trickled down slopes shaped by
boulders covered in woolly moss, allowing them to refill the
canteens Zemzelett had generously supplied.
The girls
entertained themselves by picking the large cupped mushrooms
that sprouted along the trail, offering the edible fungi to their
comrades as a nourishing substitute for the dried food the five
had been limited to almost every day since leaving Kalm.
Unlike the vibrancy of the Dinornis, however, an eerie ambience
smothered this gloomy landscape. There was no birdsong; no
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scrambling in the underbrush; no buzz of curious insects. The
haunting stillness lingered on the ancient air as if mourning the
loss of its very soul, the murkiness that lay beyond their vision
like a window to an alternative and ill-omened dimension.
Whatever life may have dwelled in the dark wood around the
base of the mountain had long ago cloaked their existence from
the menacing gaze of the ageless and inhospitable trees.
That evening, they fashioned a small camp at a dell bound by
two murmuring streams and a thicket of bramble bushes too
thorny to negotiate. The trio of tents were set upon the soft turf
of the confined glade, and a fire lit using the sticks and bracken
they had collected during the trek. The warmth of the flames
were satisfying, briefly alleviating the heavy thoughts that
burdened the party, until one-by-one they filtered away so that
only Cloud remained on watch, absently stroking the blade of his
greatsword as he stared dreamily into the dying red embers of the
campfire.
“The forest is weeping…” Aerith had whispered under her breath
before falling asleep that night, conducting a Planet reading as
her ancestors once did, and reciting the poem her biological
mother had taught:
Cetran children,
The Planet’s from birth,
Speak with the Planet
And unlock its worth.
Cetran children,
The Promised Land waits,
With bliss never-ending
Beyond secret gates.
“…there is so much suffering here…I don’t understand what
you’re trying to tell me…”
The following day’s journey proved more challenging than they
had anticipated. A milky haze had descended in the early hours
of the morning, swathing the woodland in a cold blanket of
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opaque vapour. Much of the slog was against an incline, draining
the strength from their already-fatigued legs as they lumbered
towards the high ground. Perspiration soaked their clothes more
thoroughly than any downpour had during their travels, weighing
them down further. When at last they broke free of the fog’s
wispy clutches and emerged atop a ridge wide enough for them to
enjoy a short rest, Aerith’s manner shifted abruptly and without
warning from serene to desperately anxious.
“What is it…?” she cried out, falling to her knees, clasping her
ears frantically as the others gaped at her in fearful
bewilderment.
“Aerith!” gasped Tifa, immediately tending to her tormented
friend. “What’s wrong?”
“Show me…?” wailed Aerith, her eyes shut tight, her entire body
trembling. “Show me what…?”
“What’s happening?” Tifa’s panicked glances darted back and
forth between her companions as the Geomancer mumbled
incoherently, addressing an ethereal entity. “Somebody…help
her…”
Aerith suddenly shot to her feet, ripping free of Tifa’s embrace
and stumbling on the muddy hill as she sprinted along the dirt
track. Stunned by her crazed behaviour, it took the others a few
moments to react, each of them careering down the path after
her. The tails of her pink dress flapping at her heels as she
ducked and weaved through the overhanging branches, hurdling
a fallen log, the girl ran as if possessed by a nameless power,
ignoring the pleas of those in pursuit. Galloping after her, his
enhanced physique outstripping the rest, Cloud slashed his way
through the vegetation, swiftly gaining on Aerith. As he closed in,
he grabbed the platinum bangle on her wrist, causing her to trip
and plunge into an adjacent hedge.
Cloud tumbled through the shrubs after her, landing hard on a
floor of fine grass. Quickly recovering his bearings, he saw Aerith
less than five yards away, her attention fixed on the enormous
white stone obelisk at the heart of the area. They had come to yet
another clearing, the trees on its circumference tall but slender,
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guarding the space in what appeared to be a perfect circle. An
overcast sky loomed threateningly above, an ominous addition to
the already-unnerving scene.
The strange monolith rose from the centre of the plateau, each
of its four sides adorned by engraved murals of prehistoric origin.
At its pinnacle was a vessel, a carved chalice held aloft by a
quartet of spokes, but the object for which it had been designed
was now absent. A large chunk was also missing from one face
near the column’s height, as if it had been cleaved by a monstrous
brute.
“I see…” Aerith breathed, her features laden with awe as she
bowed in veneration of the obelisk. Their comrades clambered
hurriedly through the thicket seconds later.
“What’s going on?” panted Tifa with confusion.
“Does my eye deceive me…?” Red XIII stammered as he
absorbed the site. “That…that’s a Materia Pillar…”
“Huh?” Barret snorted, his brows furrowing. “What’d you say,
old timer?”
“A Materia Pillar.” he repeated, trotting inquisitively forward,
his snout twitching as he inspected the odours of the locale. “This
is a sacred monument. It was one of many erected millennia ago
by the Cetra to honour the Gods, but only a handful still exist.”
“Shiva…” croaked Aerith, gingerly pushing herself up, grasping
Tifa for support. “This one’s dedicated to the Goddess Shiva, the
Ice Queen, but…something happened here…something
terrible…a light…the light that penetrates the darkness…it no
longer shines…”
“Wait!” Red XIII snarled unexpectedly, the gruff seriousness of
his eloquent voice startling.
“What is it?” asked Cloud, immediately gripping the handle of
the Buster Sword.
“I hear something.” replied the fiery orange beast as he scanned
the treetops before them. “Someone is up there, close by,
attempting to sneak up on us.”
Heeding the counsel, Cloud followed his vigilant gaze, squinting
in the daylight as he examined the layered canopies. Most of the
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thick branches were hidden within the shroud of evergreen, like a
curtain swaying in the breeze. Taking measured, purposeful
footsteps across the glade, his weapon raised defensively, Cloud
began to edge towards the perimeter of the wooded area. There
came a rustle from high atop a conifer to his right, drawing his
focus. The sound hastened as he advanced in preparation of a
quick and disabling blow but, when a squirrel dashed from the
foliage, he exhaled, his shoulders slumping.
Allowing his muscles to relax slightly, Cloud turned, but caught
a flash of silver from the corner of his eye. Swinging the Buster
Sword with all his might, the blade clashed with the spiked
shuriken as it soared gracefully through the air towards him,
causing the metallic missile to change direction and slice
effortlessly through the bark of a nearby tree, embedding itself
deep in the trunk. Glancing up in the same motion, Cloud saw
the figure of a girl dive at him from where the shuriken had come,
but could do little to regain has balance as her bootlaces smashed
hard against his chin, knocking the greatsword from his hand.
He staggered backwards, clutching his jaw as he tasted blood.
The Ninja pounced once more, her attack like greased lightning,
striking him with guile and force. Her wushu-style martial arts
techniques proved difficult to parry, with Cloud drawing every
defensive combat manoeuvre in his repertoire simply to restrain
the onslaught. Aerith and Tifa yelled out from behind him, their
voices seeming a thousand miles away. With a surge of strength,
he pushed the girl to the side, allowing himself the brief space
and seconds to gather his composure.
Cloud looked down in an attempt to see her face, but she dodged
his line of sight in contemplation of her next action, agile as a
mouse. With a blur of movement, she danced her way around
him, her feet light over the ground. She kicked out sharply and
caught the joint of his knee, making it buckle beneath him. As he
faltered, she launched another assault but, blocking her swipe, he
knocked her standing leg away.
The Ninja toppled to the dry earth, landing awkwardly as she
fought to break the fall. Groaning, she tried to spring up, but
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hesitated as Cloud placed a heavy military boot across her throat.
He glared at her as she struggled under the pressure, wiping the
blood from his burst lip with the back of his gloved hand and, for
the first time, realised how young she appeared.
The girl’s petite form and childlike complexion suggested she
was no older than sixteen, her features unmistakeably Wusheng.
She was clad in only a thin sleeveless turtleneck that exposed her
toned stomach, and small khaki shorts, with most of her pale skin
visible but for the crafted armour of polished bone that shielded
her entire left arm. Her short black hair had been tied back by a
green bandanna, leaving only a few stray locks of fringe on either
side of her round face.
“Man, I can’t believe I lost.” she moaned petulantly, wriggling to
free herself. “You spiky-headed jerk! One more time…let’s go one
more time!”
“Not interested.” Cloud answered bluntly, releasing his hold on
her, gesturing to the others that he had the situation under
control. “If I let you up, do you promise not to attack?”
“Huh?” the girl squawked in surprise as she leapt to her feet,
frowning as her gaze passed suspiciously from Cloud to the
group, and back. “You thinkin’ of runnin’ away or somethin’?”
“I told you, I’m not interested.”
“C’mon, fight me.” she teased, her hands on her hips. “What’s
the matter? You scared of me?”
“Petrified.” he retorted sarcastically, his impatience growing.
“Just as I thought.” she shrugged. “What do you expect with my
skills? Well, if you’re feelin’ lucky, we can go another round later.
There’s no Materia here anyway. So…um…I’ll be off now. See
ya!”
“Wait a second.” Cloud demanded, snatching her arm as she
spun on her heels.
“What?”
“So, that’s it?”
“What’s it?”
“You ambush us for no reason, then just leave?”
“Did you want somethin’ more?” the girl quipped.
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“At least tell me why you did it.”
“Well, you’re a SOLDIER, ain’t ya?’ she scowled, her grey eyes
flitting derisively over his dark blue outfit and crested belt. “Don’t
think I can’t tell from your uniform!”
“I…”
“What’s up with this broad?” shouted Barret as the party crossed
the clearing towards them, interrupting Cloud before he could
explain himself.
“Cloud, do you know her?” Tifa asked as they approached,
looking the adolescent Ninja up and down with distaste.
“Shut up, Boobs!” she sneered ungraciously, pulling free of
Cloud’s grip and massaging her wrist. “As if I’d have anythin’ to
do with you punks.”
“Hey, don’t speak to her that way!” scolded Aerith, appalled at
the outburst.
“Or else what?” the girl snickered insolently.
“What’s your name, kid?” Cloud intervened before Aerith could
respond, her mouth twisted in disbelief at the show of arrogance.
“My name?” she called over her shoulder, scuttling to retrieve
her shuriken. Brushing the brittle bark from her precious
weapon, she quickly examined the intricate markings of the four
pointed blades for damage. Slotting it into the casing on her
spine, she peered undecidedly back at the company, pausing for a
moment. “What’s it to you?”
“How about telling us what you’re doing out here, then?” probed
Cloud, folding his arms.
“Nope,” she cackled, giving a mock salute, “I’m really just gonna
leave.”
“Yeah, so?” snapped Tifa, still seething from her earlier jibe. “Do
whatever you want.”
“Go ahead…” Cloud added indifferently, refusing to tolerate the
mind games.
“I’m not kidding!”
“Quit wasting our time.” growled Tifa. “Stupid kid…”
“Make fun of me, will ya?” the young girl jeered, reaching under
the straps of her armour and proudly holding up a small leather
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coin purse. “Now, I’m really mad! But, I gotcha, an’ it serves y’all
right…”
“Hey!” roared Cloud, groping the pockets of his braces only to
discover they had been emptied during the skirmish. “My
money!”
“You pissed me off an’ it’s cost you!” she goaded, stuffing the
pouch back under the shield. In the blink of an eye, she had
sprang up on a neighbouring stump and vaulted stylishly onto a
branch almost twenty feet above the dell. A smug expression
betrayed the otherwise-impressive feat and, with one final
taunting holler, the Ninja disappeared into the forest. “Later!”
“She’s gone.” Aerith shook her head, dumbfounded, staring at
the spot as if anticipating the trees to toss her back. “What was all
that about?”
“Ain’t we gonna go after her?” hissed Barret, undoubtedly
agitated by the affair.
“No…” Cloud said quietly, carefully considering his reaction. “It
was only two-hundred gil.”
“The amount don’t matter!” he argued, his voice shriller than
usual. “She just stole from you, man.”
“Be patient,” replied the leader as he bent down to reclaim his
sword, “I have a feeling we haven’t seen the last of her.”
“Greed…” sighed Red XIII with disgust, turning and retracing
his steps towards the Materia Pillar as the first drops of rain fell
upon the ancient site. “A perfect example of human nature. But,
what does it prove? I wonder if this is why the Planet is so close
to demise…?”
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CHAPTER X
Beneath the Armoured City
The glorious hue of a crimson sun fell gracefully upon Aerith’s
pale complexion, bathing her petite figure in warm radiance and
sparkling in her jade-coloured eyes as evening fast approached.
Her shadow spread long and thin over the tall grass of the moor,
dancing playfully as the reeds swayed back and forth in the gentle
breeze. She was at peace; cloaked by a serenity she had not
known in the dark bowels of Capparwire Forest. The whispering
torment of the Planet had subsided, and a sense of normality had
resumed for the Geomancer, but the experience was one that
would linger in her mind until she could bring solace to its soul.
The party had been on the road from Fort Condor for almost
exactly a week by the time they arrived at the prairie hills that
bordered the Continent’s western coastline. The uplands there
enjoyed the last fertile soil before the Mako-drained environs of
Junon, the green fields declining into the same desolate terrain as
that of every Reactor site. Leaving the strange encounter with the
mysterious Ninja behind them, they had followed Cripshay’s
directions as far as the twin tracks of the old coal railroad, the
expedition thereafter proving relatively uneventful as they
emerged unscathed from the woodland and continued towards
the ocean.
During the heyday of the coal industry, Port Junon was a
bustling hub of distribution as it shipped the fuel to dozens of
destinations around the Planet. Loaded freight trains came and
went between the harbour and the immense refineries several
times each day, bearing the riches of the network of mines that
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tunnelled deep beneath the Midgar Mountains. The coastal town
had thrived for decades, evolving into a city unlike any other, and
for a time hosted the headquarters of the Shinra Electric Power
Company. Thanks to Shinra, Inc.’s prosperity regarding the
Mako boom of the [µ]-εγλ 1970s and their investments in the
growing metropolis, particularly military, Junon’s economy did
not suffer as its inland counterparts had in the collapse of
commercial coal.
The Corporation had taken additional advantage of the regional
transition in energy consumption by offering the services of their
private army to the coal businesses so as to defend their transport
routes from bandits and the escalating population of monsters.
Little did these companies realise, however, that it was the
presence of the Mako Reactors that had caused the creatures’
mutation and aggression in the first place. Outposts were
stationed along the railway to house the infantrymen assigned to
the cargo’s protection but, with the ultimate closure of the
factories, these were abandoned and subsequently garrisoned by
mechanised Shinra weapons.
Cloud and the others had stumbled upon one such base
approximately ninety miles east of Junon, hoping that it may
provide adequate shelter for the night. From afar, it seemed void
of activity and neglected to the point of ruin but, as they
approached the perimeter fence of the two-storey concrete
facility, the weary travellers were fired upon by a custom sweeper
which had been waiting idly by the generator shed. Slashing
through the barrier and skilfully deflecting the hail of rapid-fire
bullets, Cloud was quick to dispatch the clunky roboguard,
cleaving its painted shark-like head from the front of its main
body to disable the dual machine-guns mounted on its arms.
Considering the outpost too risky, they had chosen instead to
camp within a dense cluster of nearby trees, keeping a distance
from the watchful eyes of the railroad.
Thus, their eventual descent into the wastelands that encircled
Junon was accompanied by an anticipation of sorts to return to
civilisation after so long wandering the wilderness of the
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Continent. The eagerness of the group was almost tangible as
they hastened down the haggard dirt trails, their voices sanguine,
sharing old jokes and anecdotes with a chorus of raucous
laughter. Cloud alone bore a troubled frown; his thoughts, as
always, besieged by Sephiroth.
We’ll find out soon enough if the Turks were right, and he
really did come this way…
The city itself was concealed against the sheer and mighty cliffs
of Cape Formula, visible only from sea or a few neighbouring
shores. It had been originally settled more than a century before
by fishermen who had come to appreciate the plentiful bounties
that could be found in the natural harbour of Bottomswell Bay.
The community was soon engulfed by the industrial revolution,
and its shallow anchorages were swiftly expanded and replaced
by the hulking wharves of Port Junon, capable of supplying huge
cargo steamships and welcoming a plethora of commodities and
people from foreign lands.
By the [µ]-εγλ 1950s, Junon had laid claim to the title of the
‘Planet’s Capital’. The-then modern metropolis had developed
remarkably over the decades, its broad residential and
commercial boulevards layered above one another as they rose up
from the harbour to scale the peninsula’s vast bluffs. Enormous
contemporary tenement blocks of pallid golden sandstone
sprawled along these thoroughfares, the eight levels connected by
a complex arrangement of internal passageways, and later the
world’s first monorail system. From almost anywhere in the city,
its citizens were guaranteed a spellbinding elevated view of the
bay and the glorious sunsets on the oceanic horizon, making
Junon one of the most desirable locations on the Planet.
However, after Midgar-based Shinra Manufacturing Works
discovered Mako energy in [µ]-εγλ 1959, the industry was
transformed. The Company used their wealth to seize political
and economic control of Junon, erecting their sky-scraping
headquarters at the very pinnacle of the municipality, the only
building to surpass the crest of Cape Formula. It was the success
of this construct that encouraged billionaire President Shinra in
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[µ]-εγλ 1976 to lay the foundations of what would eventually
become Midgar’s Plate and the world’s most populous city.
In [µ]-εγλ 1992, a global conflict erupted when the Wutai
Empire declared war on Shinra, Inc. for unlawfully attempting to
create a Mako Reactor on sacred grounds. The Corporation had
by this time relocated most of its offices to Midgar, but direction
of its Navy and Air Force remained at Junon. As the geographic
setting of Midgar, not to mention its stewardship by the Army
and SOLDIER, was considered an impractical target for any
Wusheng military offensive, the business turned its attention to
the protection of its coastal assets at Bottomswell Bay,
particularly its state-of-the-art but vulnerable Underwater
Reactor.
While the War raged on, Junon’s structural shape was heavily
reinforced by great armoured edifices and sloping bastions able
to withstand significant bombardment. Both the naval and
merchant dockyards were enclosed by tall concrete water breaks
mounted with grandpanzer artillery, and entry restricted to a
single gateway. To accommodate the exponential increase in
military airships, Shinra built an ultramodern airbase over the
archaic fishing village that had come to be known as ‘Old Junon’,
casting the settlement in permanent shadow. The landing strip
was suspended approximately five-hundred feet above the bay,
held aloft by a framework of fortified scaffolding, and wholly
isolated the community from the upper-city.
Even with such a prominent façade, Junon’s most distinguishing
feature was undoubtedly the colossal Mako Cannon that
protruded from its core, extending far beyond the harbour like an
ominous sentinel. The behemoth had been designed by Director
Scarlet, now Head of the Weapons Development Department, to
further defend the municipal from enemy forces, and officially
named the ‘Sister Ray’. With a barrel more than fifty feet in
diameter and powered by the phenomenal energy sucked from
the Underwater Reactor, the Cannon had an accurate range of
over one-hundred miles, capable of obliterating anything in its
path.
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The intricate segments of its mechanised and manoeuvrable
exterior bore the tell-tale signs of discolouration and corrosion;
years of exposure to the salty air and being almost-completely
disused since the declaration of peace at the end of the last era
impacting on this uncompromising custodian. To gaze upon the
extraordinary gun for the first time was an experience in itself,
one which Cloud recalled from past assignments, and one which
some of his comrades could enjoy as they negotiated their way
around the arid grades of Cape Formula.
“Holy shit…” Tifa had gasped as the Mako Cannon came into
view over the turquoise shoreline, pausing in her stride to admire
the awe-inspiring sight.
“Impressive.” acknowledged Red XIII. “Truly impressive.”
Old Junon was situated at the foot of the incline in a rocky inlet
known as Dolphin Cove, dwarfed by the impregnable concrete
foundations of the fortress city above. Monumental support
pillars loomed at regular intervals along the towering cliffside,
bearing the weight of the airstrip overhead, their bland grey faces
adorned by tangles of barbed wire and illuminated signs warning
of the lethal voltage levels present in the scaffolding. The gloomy
village was not unlike the Slums of Midgar; robbed of natural
daylight and swamped by external pollution.
The worn cobbled road into the hamlet was notably deserted, its
periphery marked only by a withered picket fence and detached
timber house which jutted out over the craggy beach, the
lamplight from inside spilling over the path. An elderly woman
loitered in the doorway of the home, her hands behind her back,
clothed in a scruffy purple frock and cardigan, her wrinkled eyes
scrutinising the five as they passed.
“What happened to this place?” Aerith whimpered
disconsolately as they entered the settlement’s boundaries,
offering a polite nod to the lady. “It’s so run-down…”
Several quaint buildings of similar fashion lined the broken
pavement as it wound along the shore, the proportions varying
only slightly, their appearance unlikely to have altered since the
days of its pioneering forefathers. Wisps of white smoke drifted
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lazily from redbrick chimneys atop the lofty slanted roofs, aromas
of evening meals being prepared reaching their nostrils, the hum
of private Mako generators the only disturbance. The houses
were not, however, arranged on an even plain as much of the
overhanging precipices had been too unstable to reshape.
Subsequently, some were lodged in the wide recesses, while
others had been constructed a short distance uphill, buttressed
by an assortment of wooden stilts, often with their own decked
terraces
The group soon came to what seemed to be the town square, a
broad dusty concourse ornamented by a quartet of decorative
cast-iron streetlamps and bordered by the Bottomswell General
Store. An outdated public well lay on one side of the court, its
antique pump broken and watering hole sealed by a thick slab of
sheet metal, now a suitable resting spot for one of the local
mongrels. Directly opposite was a tall pole with a makeshift
pulley at its height, and from the rope draped the decaying
skeleton of a huge fish. A frail old man in a bunnet stood beneath
the bones, his arms clasped behind his back as he gazed dreamily
upon them. As the five approached, he gingerly turned to greet
them.
“Hello there,” he called in a tentative voice, pulling his
spectacles from the pocket of his brown waistcoat, “can I help you
folks?”
“We…uh…we’re looking for a man in a black cloak.” replied
Cloud, glancing apprehensively at the others. “Have you seen
anyone dressed like that around here recently?”
“Hmm…” he deliberated for a moment before shaking his head,
“sorry, but I haven’t seen that fella. We almost never have
anyone other than the Shinra people visit this village. Even you
being here is rare.”
“Really?” asked Barret, an uncertain expression borne on his
face as he studied the derelict landscape. “What kinda place was
this?”
“We used to be a proud fishing community.” the man sighed,
motioning over his shoulder at the hanging skeleton. “That there
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was a blugu. For generations, we hunted them to feed our
families and sell to the markets in the city. Everything we ever
needed could be found in Dolphin Cove. This used to be a busy
marina but, ever since Shinra rebuilt parts of Junon during the
War, the sun stopped shining here and there’s been no fish in the
water. It got so polluted that they either died out or migrated.
There’s nothing here now. We leave those bones there to remind
us of our heritage…”
“So sad…” Aerith said sympathetically.
“Yeah, well, I guess you could say we’re used to it.” he muttered,
anger creeping into his weary tone. “For the past few decades, the
only thing we’ve been hearing about is the damn Shinra. I miss
the times when we would only talk about fish. I don’t think I’ll
live to see things beautiful again…”
“We need to get to Upper Junon.” Cloud explained, seizing the
moment as the old sailor trailed off. “Can you help us?”
“That’s a tough one, lad.” he answered, his focus sweeping from
the travellers towards the scaling bastion wall that rose from the
northern-most point of the village and disappeared into the
labyrinthine underside of the airport. “Only way up’s the public
elevator.”
From his position, Cloud could make out a giant Shinra
Diamond above a grand archway, the painted red emblem with
its gold writing crusted and peeling. A pair of Security Division
privates from Shinra’s Department of Public Safety Maintenance
patrolled the hulking mechanical doors, marching up and down
the wide stone steps that led to the shaft’s entrance. They were
clad in the usual royal blue soldier uniforms of armoured chest
plates and masked helmets, equipped with automatic rifles and
accompanied by a lone guard hound.
“You serious?” grunted Barret.
“Couldn’t be more serious.” the fisherman scoffed, waving an
arm dismissively in the direction of the infantrymen. “You need
clearance to access it, and the Shinra don’t like people snooping
around. They got all kinds of fancy I.D. checks. You folks’re
outta luck if you thought you could just walk into Junon…”
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“You mean there’s no other way?” Tifa frowned pensively.
“Not unless you take a boat.” he shrugged, peering shiftily
around him as he spoke. “You’ll find a couple still seaworthy at
the beach. But, you didn’t hear that from me.”
“Got it.” nodded Cloud. “Thanks for the advice.”
“Anytime, son.” the man tipped his cap, slowly shuffling past the
party and across the square. “Gotta stick it to those bullies any
chance you get.”
“I like that guy.” Barret grinned approvingly, observing him as
he vanished from sight before following Cloud down the adjacent
lane to the shore.
The beach was set a number of feet below the cliffside,
accessible by a crooked staircase beyond the waterfront cabins,
and spread from the hamlet out into the cove. A great lattice of
pastel rocks and stagnant pools weaved together like organic
mesh, their surfaces smeared with colourful traces of oily scum,
the otherwise-wonderful spectrum reflecting the embers of dusk.
Turquoise surf lapped beneath the rusting monolithic framework,
casting a series of elaborate silhouettes against a magenta skyline
whose sporadic clouds blazed a brilliant shade of tangerine as the
sun plunged into the ocean.
Just as the elderly sailor had suggested, a handful of neglected
rowing boats and even a schooner bobbed quietly in the shallow
depths, their hulls also stained by toxins, many of them tied
together and anchored to the marina’s seabed. A young darkhaired girl about ten years old in a yellow bathing suit played
nearby, skipping over the greasy rocks as she sang gaily to
herself. Her squeaky voice floated on the breeze like a lullaby,
bringing with it a light-heartedness that the company seldom
enjoyed.
“Mr. Dolphin?” she chirped, bouncing from one boulder to the
next, pausing at a nook between two of the more rotund ones to
blow on the tiny seashell whistle around her neck. “Hey, Mr.
Dolphin?”
Suddenly, a small distance into the bay, a silvery animal shot
from the water, soaring astonishingly close to the elevated
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barricades of the high-voltage tower. The dolphin’s graceful body
arced into the shape of a crescent moon to hurdle the raised steel
beams of the structure, froth spraying off its dorsal fin as it
cruised effortlessly through the air. Aiming its elongated nose
once again at the lagoon, it dove like a missile below the peaceful
surface, causing a fountain to erupt at the spot, much to the
delight of the child.
“Mr. Dolphin!” she giggled as her aquatic friend reappeared
near her recess, its round forehead poking from the water.
Clapping its flippers together as it oscillated on the waves, the
dolphin splashed spiritedly, emitting a sequence of excited clicks.
“My name is Priscilla. Pri-scil-la. Now, you say it…”
“Look at that.” Tifa exhaled in amazement.
“Ain’t it somethin’…?” boomed Barret, his hand on his waist as
he admired the animal. “I ain’t never seen no dolphin jump like
that.”
“Hey!” cried the girl, spinning from her position and gawking at
the strangers in a mixture of startled panic and revulsion.
Priscilla’s large hazel eyes passed accusingly over the five, her
freckled button nose twitching anxiously. “Who…who are you
guys? Where did you come from? Are you Shinra?”
“Stay calm.” Aerith replied warmly, bowing a little. “We have
nothing to do with the Shinra.”
“I don’t believe you!” she snapped tenaciously, pointing
uncompromisingly towards the village. “Get out of here!”
“Now, just you watch your mouth, young lady.” scolded Tifa,
affronted by the girl’s tantrum.
“Be careful, Mr. Dolphin!” Priscilla yelled, flapping frantically.
“The Shinra people’re coming for you.”
“Great...” muttered Cloud with an unamused sigh. “Does
everybody think…?”
The girl’s frightened scream cut the sentence short, floundering
as she slipped from the boulder and crashed into the lagoon.
Through the crag in the rocks, they could see her tiny figure slam
against the water, moving sluggishly to regain her bearings.
Expecting her to fully resurface, the tension of the moment
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intensified as they realised her half-submerged body was not
under her control, but instead swaying in unison with the gentle
waves.
“Priscilla?” called Aerith, exchanging a concerned glance with
Tifa when no response came.
“Hold on!” shouted Barret as he began towards the site, hopping
over the beach’s sunken pools, driven by his paternal nature.
“We’re coming.”
Breaking into a hurried jog, he was quickly overtaken by Red
XIII whose large bounds carried him across the cove within
seconds. As he sprang onto the boulders, the beast immediately
let out a restless growl that betrayed his typically-serene
composure, launching himself into the water and causing the
terrified dolphin to flee. Paddling around in the surf, he gripped
the girl’s shoulder firmly but tenderly in his fangs, dragging her
limp form ashore. As the others arrived, Red XIII set Priscilla
carefully down on a smooth rock, a thin line of blood trickling
from her temple. Tifa knelt by her side, pressing an ear to her
petite chest.
“She’s not breathing.” she gulped, looking desperately up at her
friends, her face drained of colour.
“This is bad.” Barret frowned. “You don’t think she’s dead, do
you?”
“Priscilla?” screeched Tifa, massaging the child’s heart.
“Priscilla?”
“We have to perform CPR.” Red XIII said in a matter-of-fact
tone, wringing his sodden coat as the flame on his tail began to
glow again.
“Of course.” Aerith agreed eagerly. “Cloud, you do it…”
“Mouth-to-mouth?” he stammered. “Why me?”
“You were in the military, right?” snapped Tifa, her lips
trembling. “So, you must know first aid.”
“Yeah, but…” Cloud hesitated, “she’s just a girl…”
“C’mon, man!” spat Barret. “Show some Godsdamn heart for
once.”
“You know I can’t.” added Red XIII.
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“What are you waiting for?” Aerith urged, pushing him towards
Priscilla. “Hurry up and do it!”
Guess I gotta do it…
Joining Tifa next to the young child, Cloud brushed the matted
strands of hair from her cheeks, placing his interlocked palms on
her breast. Cautiously, he began to perform hastened chest
compressions, making sure his weight did not harm her. After
around two dozen, he pinched her nose and tilted her chin back,
slowly breathing into her mouth for a few seconds to inflate her
lungs. He could feel her chest expand beneath him, then collapse
as the air escaped back up her throat. Cloud shook his head as
Priscilla remained perfectly still, repeating the respiration
procedure. Hope was rapidly sapping from the party as they
watched on in silence, the mild sloshing sounds of the bay
growing increasingly-ominous.
“It’s not working…” he panted when there was no movement
after the fourth attempt.
“That ain’t enough.” insisted Barret. “You gotta keep goin’.”
“Then, why don’t you do it yourself?” Cloud retorted, again
leaning over Priscilla. As he returned to compressing her chest,
the girl stirred, spluttering painfully as she vomited water to a
cacophony of relieved whimpers.
“Are you alright?” Tifa asked softly as she put her hand behind
Priscilla’s neck and helped her into the recovery position.
“Ugh…” she groaned absently, her entire body shivering.
“Priscilla!”
The five turned to see the old fisherman scrambling across the
cove, his weak bow-legs carrying him much faster than would
have been expected. He clasped his bunnet in one hand, and the
buttons of his waistcoat in the other, his motion stunted
somewhat as he navigated the rough terrain. Genuine dread was
etched on his gaunt features, his eyes wide and trained on the
child.
“She’s okay.” called Aerith as he approached, covering the girl in
her red denim jacket for warmth. “She’s alive.”
“What happened?” the man probed, his voice quivering.
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“It was an accident…” answered Tifa timidly, stepping back to
allow him access.
“We can worry about the details later.” he nodded distractedly,
wrapping his arms around Priscilla. “Right now, we have to get
my granddaughter back to the village…”
*
*
*
Elena was met by a thin haze of cigarette smoke as she strode
into the Turtle’s Paradise bar of Junon’s Level L-3, grimacing
with disgust at the familiar stench. Only a few patrons sat at the
round tables of the cramped saloon, nursing cheap bottled beers
and tumblers of rum. The pallid walls were illuminated by neon
blue lamps, the retro jukebox and selection of kegs casting
bizarre shadows across the polished timber floor. A handful of
newsletters were pinned to a large billboard on her right,
detailing various competitions and forthcoming events at the
original flagship store in Wutai, each of them stamped with the
image of an aquatic critter.
One of the fashionable newer establishments in the popular
worldwide chain, this Turtle’s Paradise did not reveal much in the
way of its Wusheng heritage. Contrary to the oriental décor that
could usually be found in such a franchise, the tavern was
distinctly generic, with only some kanji writing on the menus and
an abstract painting of an adamantaimai to show otherwise.
Elena, a former barmaid in Midgar during her studies at Shinra
Academy, disliked this significantly more than her impassive
façade would imply.
Her Investigation Division superiors stood opposite the
entrance at the pinewood counter of the saloon, their backs
turned as they engaged in hushed discussion. Marching towards
Tseng and Reno, she straightened her black Turks suit, ignoring
the drone of the barely-mobile ceiling fans. As she drew near, she
noticed a tall, lean man at the end of the bar, a fleeting hint of
recognition grabbing her. His sleek ginger hair and sideburns
complimented the flowery summer shirt he wore, his white
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snakeskin boots gleaming in the radiant overhead lighting. He
gazed at her through stylish sunglasses, smiling wryly as he
puffed on his cigar; a smile that suggested his intentions were far
from pure.
“Elena.” said Tseng in acknowledgement of her presence,
lowering his drink from his handsome face to address her fully.
“Do you have anything to report?”
“Yes, sir.” she answered. “I’ve been following up the leads like
you asked.”
“And?”
“Based on the intelligence gathered,” she paused nervously, “it
would appear that Sephiroth is still in the city.”
“Bullshit.” snorted Reno, chuckling to himself. As always, his
formal uniform was untidily presented, his ribs visible beneath
his unfastened collar. The locks of his spiky red hair had been
tied in a short ponytail, a pair of thick-rimmed goggles keeping
his bangs from his sharp jaw. Taking a swig of alcohol, he
challenged her with piercing blue eyes. “If he was here, we
would’ve found him, yo.”
Reno had only just joined the assignment to apprehend the
former Captain of SOLDIER on the charge of having murdered
President Shinra. A senior Turk, he had been seriously injured
while battling AVALANCHE at the Sector7 Pillar, and spent most
of the previous month recovering in the infirmary at Shinra
Headquarters. This had been the catalyst for her own promotion
to the General Affairs Department, as the organisation’s depleted
numbers were ill-equipped to compete with the unparalleled skill
of Sephiroth.
Chief Tseng had explained that the events surrounding the
disappearance of Elena’s sister, Rosalind, and her colleagues in
the wake of the old AVALANCHE’s demise had very nearly also
seen the Turks shut down. It had been Rufus Shinra who had
saved them, providing his father with evidence contradicting that
of General Heidegger and Director Scarlet to show the unit had
remained loyal to the Company. As such, their allegiance
undoubtedly lay with the new President.
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X
“With respect, sir,” contended Elena, “why aren’t you taking this
more seriously? I thought we were on Priority S alert?”
“We are taking this very seriously.” Tseng responded frankly,
glowering at Reno. “What are the details of your assessment?”
“According to the soldiers at the barracks,” she said, “a man in
black matching Sephiroth’s description killed two privates less
than forty-eight hours ago.”
“It’s true.” conceded Tseng, quietening his voice. “He was in
Junon, but Heidegger doesn’t want to start a panic before the
parade.”
“But, won’t that compromise the President’s safety?” Elena
spluttered, aghast.
“The President’s safety is secure because we’re here.” smirked
Reno.
“Heidegger’s a fool…” scoffed the ginger-haired man at the end
of the bar, tapping his cigar against the souvenir turtle shell
ashtray.
“Stay out of this.” Tseng snarled, glaring fiercely at him.
“Whatever you say, old boy…” he chortled sardonically, raising
his hands in mock surrender before signalling for the waitress by
waving his empty glass.
“President Rufus has made it perfectly clear that we are to
proceed as planned.” continued Tseng, regaining his composure
and sipping his drink. “He believes Sephiroth has already crossed
the ocean, and intends to fly to his Costa del Sol estate aboard
one of the Gelnikas as soon as it has been prepared. Although,
from what I hear, his inspection of the airbase last month was so
damning that almost every plane in the fleet is currently out of
service.”
“Then, what do we do about Sephiroth?” Elena queried, puzzled
by their indifferent attitude.
“Nothin’.” shrugged Reno. “Like I said, rookie, he ain’t here, yo.”
“Is there anything else?” asked Tseng.
“No, Chief.”
“Then, you are dismissed.”
163
“Yes, sir.” she nodded, turning on her heels, but hesitating as
she began across the saloon. “Oh, and Reno, where’s your
partner?”
“Probably in some back alley dive, losing at poker.” he mused
flippantly. “Why?”
“No reason…” Elena shook her blonde head, muttering under
her breath as she stormed towards the doorway of Turtle’s
Paradise. “The minute you think this job’s boring, you guys start
messing around…”
164
CHAPTER XI
Fragmented Memories
The narrow street guided them north through the town, the
ground gradually inclining as they walked between houses of
limestone and timber. The old oak shutters of windows and
doors had been bolted closed on many of the homes, their hinges
clattering in the whispering wind, the resonance broken only by
the eerie chimes of swaying bells. Had it not been for the ghostly
chimney smoke drifting from each of the buildings, they may
have considered Nibelheim abandoned.
They were brought after a while to the wide clearing of the town
square, wispy mists of dust swirling nonchalantly at their feet as
it was blown to and fro in the mild draught. The water tower at
the centre of the concourse was as Cloud remembered it; the
shanty wooden frame that encased the well’s pump holding solid
despite decades of rot, the small turbine at its height rotating
hesitantly. Various stores and traditional shops marked the
circumference of the area, their signage grimy and tattered as if
they had remained unkempt for a great length of time. To their
immediate left, there stood the grand building of Gramps’ Inn. It
had become a local legend in previous years for the splendour of
the three-bedroom annex that extended out over the main
doorway, somewhat spectacular amongst the duplication of the
neighbouring structures.
“The place is oddly quiet.” Cloud concluded, surveying the
deserted square.
“Too quiet.” agreed Sephiroth.
165
“Everyone must be staying in their houses, afraid to come out
because of the monsters.”
“Maybe it’s us they’re afraid of.” muttered Sephiroth, his nose
twitching. “The stench of Mako is pretty bad here.”
Crossing the short distance to the inn, they came suddenly to a
halt as the twin doors of the tavern swung open, both SOLDIERs
hastily drawing their weapons. A female Turk strode from the
entrance, her straight brown hair bouncing in a ponytail behind
her as she approached the party. She was small in stature, the
black suit jacket of her uniform taut around her petite figure.
With a smile and flicker of her sparkling hazel eyes, she holstered
the automatic shotgun she carried, and quickly saluted Sephiroth.
“Samantha?” Cloud laughed in astonishment.
“Hey, Cloud.” beamed the girl. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” he said. “And you? It’s been a while.”
“A long while.” added the young soldier, his voice tinny through
his mask.
“Huh?” stammered Cloud, gazing confusedly between his friend
and the Turk. “You two know each other, too?”
“We’ve worked together once before.” Samantha recalled. “Still
using that rifle, I see?”
“Enough of this.” snapped Sephiroth, angrily slamming the
Masamune back into its scabbard. “Have you anything new to
report?”
“No, sir.” answered Samantha, unfazed by his impatience.
“Nothing has changed in the last three days. Everything has been
arranged as planned.”
“Good.” nodded Sephiroth. “Then, we leave for the Reactor at
dawn. We’ll be spending a lot of time on foot tomorrow, so make
sure you get to sleep early.”
“What do you want us to do until then, sir?” asked the young
Shinra soldier.
“We only need one lookout for the moment, so you can come
with me just now.” he instructed.
“And me?” said Cloud.
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XI
“You have permission to visit your family and friends, if you so
wish.” granted Sephiroth, turning and making a fleeting final
inspection of his surroundings as he started towards the doorway
of Gramps’ Inn. “The other is on guard duty for the next four
hours.”
“Visit your family?” Samantha gawked in disbelief, watching as
Sephiroth and the young soldier disappeared inside.
“Cloud…you’re from Nibelheim?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Then it must be you.”
“Samantha, what are you talking about?” he frowned.
“I met a girl here named Tifa.” she said excitedly.
“You know Tifa?”
“I found her on the mountain after I got lost.” said Samantha.
“She was up there chasing her cat. We helped each other out.”
“What did she say?”
“When I told her I was from Shinra, she mentioned that she had
a childhood friend called Cloud who left this town two years ago
to become a SOLDIER. She asked about you.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I said I didn’t know.” shrugged Samantha. “I couldn’t be sure
just by the name if it was the same Cloud. It seems the Planet is a
smaller place than I thought.”
“Not small enough for me to have seen her since I joined the
Army.” grumbled Cloud.
“You’ll meet her again tomorrow.”
“Huh?”
“I asked her to be our guide for the Reactor investigation.”
“You did what?” spluttered Cloud. “So…she’ll be travelling with
us on the mountain?”
“That’s generally what a guide does.” Samantha stuck her
tongue out sarcastically. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t talk about it
right now. Tseng is already breathing down my neck because I
involved a civilian…”
“What did you expect?”
167
“Look, I…uh…I have to go.” she said hurriedly, failing to
acknowledge the remark. “I…um…still have a lot of work to do.
I’ll see you around.”
“Samantha, wait!” he called as she jogged off, pulling her
portable terminal from the breast pocket of her suit.
“What is it?”
“Can you do me a favour?”
“It depends what it is.” she folded her arms.
“If you see Tifa, don’t tell her I’m back.”
*
*
*
‘That reminds me…’ whispered the haunting voice, echoing deep
within his thoughts.
“You again?” snarled Cloud. “Tell me who you are!”
‘The answers are coming.’ it deflected, reluctant to ease his
torment. ‘But, more importantly, five years ago…’
“Five years ago?” he muttered. “Nibelheim…?”
‘The day you climbed Mount Nibel…the day you visited the old
Mako Reactor there…Tifa was your guide, right?’
“Yeah…I was surprised. She’d been hired by the Turks.”
‘But, where was she other than that…?’
“I dunno…”
‘It was a great chance for the two of you to meet up again.’
“I asked the Turks to keep my presence a secret.”
‘What about when Sephiroth vanished?’ probed the voice. ‘He
was gone for more than a week, wasn’t he?’
“Yeah…you’re right.”
‘Why couldn’t you have seen each other alone then?’
“I…I don’t know…” Cloud stammered, his mind racing. “I can’t
remember clearly…”
‘Why don’t you try asking Tifa?’
“Yeah…”
‘Then, get up!’ it demanded. ‘Wake up, Cloud!’
*
* *
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“Hey, sleepy head,” he heard Tifa chime as she shook him
gently, “wake up!”
Slowly coming to, Cloud rolled over on the soft mattress, gazing
groggily up at her from beneath the floral-patterned feather
duvet. Brushing her long, dark fringe from her face, she smiled
warmly, her radiant beauty amplified in the golden rays of early
morning light that poured through the windows. Her large
brown eyes bore a mischievous look as she dragged the covers
from the bed, dumping them in a heap on the carpet.
“Tifa…” he moaned, burying his nose in the pillow, still gripped
by tiredness in the aftermath of the previous day’s events.
The party had spent the night at the residence of Priscilla’s
grandparents, having been invited to stay following their rescue
of the girl. Nana and Papa Dudley lived at the edge of the village,
far enough from the commotion, in the detached timber building
they had noticed as they entered Old Junon. Preparing a supper
of beef stew for the guests, the elderly couple had granted them
tenancy while they tended to Priscilla at her home near the heart
of the hamlet, and the company had gratefully accepted.
“C’mon, lazy bones!” Tifa teased again, tossing Cloud his
clothes.
“Tifa?” he croaked.
“Uh huh?”
“When Sephiroth and I came to Nibelheim,” Cloud asked
tentatively, “where were you?”
“We…uh…” she hesitated, the words catching in her throat as
she clumsily picked up his boots from beside the smouldering
redbrick fireplace. “We saw each other, right?”
“Other than when we were on the mountain…”
“Cloud, I…” gulped Tifa, her voice quivering as she stood with
her back to him. “No…it was too long ago. I don’t remember.”
“But…”
“We can discuss it another time.” she urged, hastily crossing the
bedroom. “There’s something strange going on outside. You’d
better come quick. Hurry up and get dressed.”
169
Without waiting for a response, she scurried out into the first
floor hallway towards the staircase, the walls reverberating as she
slammed the front door of the house moments later. Sitting up,
Cloud grabbed his sleeveless poloneck and pulled it down over
his head, blinking heavily as he tried to shield himself from the
blinding sunrise. His focus instead passed over the framed
painting of the River Nerosuferoth; the elemental religious icon
girl atop the mantelpiece; the blurred photograph of a blonde
teenage, already-noted as Mireille’s other granddaughter, Kyrie;
all the while replaying Tifa’s curious shift in behaviour.
Why did she leave so suddenly? Why hadn’t she answered his
question? Was she hiding something…or was the suffering of
her father’s murder simply still too fresh? I guess I’ll know soon
enough…
With a lasting yawn, he dismissed the musings and shuffled out
of bed, gathering the rest of his outfit from the rug. When he was
ready, he trudged downstairs into the open-plan lounge and
dining area. A round oak table dominated the centre of the
space, flanked by a striped green sofa and glass cabinet
respectively, and cleared of the dishes from the evening’s meal
which had since been piled in the kitchen sink. The repetitive
ticking of the aged grandfather clock resonated around the room
as he made for the portico entrance, drowned-out immediately as
he stepped outside.
Cloud stopped dead in his tracks, the blaring parade music
reaching his ears for the first time. The unending composition of
an unseen marching band enveloped the cove, played through the
speakers that hung from the towering concrete support columns
along the cliffside, the din of trumpets and bass drums at such an
early hour rapidly aggravating him. Many of Old Junon’s
denizens had congregated on the main street, awed by the brass
music, conversing animatedly as they enjoyed the merry
atmosphere. With purposeful strides, Cloud made his way down
the cobbled road that led to the town square, the looming shadow
of the upper-city engulfing the shoreline, ignoring the activity
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XI
outside the antiquated homes or the curious stares that observed
the illegal greatsword slotted to his back.
He found the others, as expected, by the paved quad, huddled
beneath the synthetic glow of a vintage lamppost near the
northwest corner of the Bottomswell General Store. They were
accompanied by Mireille Dudley and her husband, as well as a
moustached man who was lean in stature and well-presented,
carrying a formal briefcase. Behind the building was a narrow
lane leading to a flight of wooden steps which, in turn, ascended
to one of the hillside houses whose veranda overlooked the
sloping roof of the shop. Noticing his approach, Tifa glanced
away nervously, bringing her discussion with Aerith to an abrupt
halt.
“What the hell?” Cloud raised the volume of his voice over the
ruckus as he joined the group. “What’s with all the parade
music?”
“It sounds like they’re rehearsing the reception for the new
President of Shinra, Inc.” responded Mireille, still dressed in her
purple frock, peering absently at the underside of the airbase.
“The Junon Army have been organising it for almost three weeks
now.”
“Maybe we should go pay our respects?” Barret grunted
sardonically. “Definitely somethin’ big goin’ on up there.”
“Everything just got so loud all of a sudden.” added Aerith. “It’s
kinda giving me a headache. Poor Priscilla won’t get much rest
with all this noise…”
“How is she?” Cloud asked, turning towards Nana and Papa
Dudley. The pair had acted calm and composed around the party
the previous evening, but they had undoubtedly been distressed
by the situation, and their weary faces now bore the remnants of
a sleepless night. It was, however, the moustached man who
answered instead.
“She has regained consciousness, and is quite stable.” he said
eloquently, holding out a hand for Cloud to shake. “I’m Dr.
Eugene Dimitri, the town physician. I heard what happened.
You’ve done so much for Priscilla.”
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“I…uh…” he stammered. “Okay.”
“That girl can be a bit feisty when she wants,” continued Dr.
Eugene, his tone sincere, “but she is very much loved by this
community. We owe you our thanks.”
“Sure.”
“She was asking for you, you know.” he grinned.
“Huh?”
“She wanted to know if her blonde knight was going to come and
visit.” the doctor elaborated, sharing an amused recollection with
Mireille. “Between you and me, I think she has her heart set on
marrying you one day.”
“Aw, that’s sweet.” sniggered Aerith. “You’ll make a lovely
couple.”
“Not interested…”
“Ahem!”
The crowd spun to see Priscilla standing on the decked terrace
of her elevated home, her hands pressed impatiently on her hips
as she awaited their attention. Though her complexion remained
unhealthily pale, the young girl’s desire to investigate the
commotion was a positive sign; one recognised and not restricted
by Dr. Eugene. Before anyone had the chance to stop her, she
darted down the stairs towards the concourse, her clementine
sarong dancing about her tiny legs as she ran. Bursting past her
grandparents, she threw her arms around Cloud’s waist and
hugged him.
“Woah…” he mumbled hesitantly, uncertain of how to react, “are
you alright?”
“Yup.” she sighed affectionately, not letting go. “Thanks
for…um…helping me…”
“Don’t sweat it, kid.” said Barret, cringing as Tifa elbowed him
in the stomach.
“And…I…” Priscilla lowered her head, her cheeks a brilliant
shade of scarlet, withdrawing to the security of her grandparents’
embrace, “I’m sorry…”
“Sorry for what?” queried Aerith.
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“I mistook you all for members of the Shinra.” she replied shyly,
kicking sheepishly at the dirt below her sandaled feet.
“That’s alright.” Aerith chuckled reassuringly. “You’re not the
first.”
“Nana and papa told me the beach was so beautiful when they
were small.” explained Priscilla. “You could swim here, and whole
dolphin pods came to play in the water. But, after the War, Old
Junon was just abandoned.
My family…everybody I
know…they’ve had to live such hard lives. I was raised on that
story and hate the Shinra so much I could...I could die!”
“But, this parade…why now?” Cloud frowned. With a whirlwind
of flashing mental images, he considered the events of the night
Sephiroth had slain the President while he and his comrades
slept in the prison cells of Shinra Headquarters’ Science
Department. He remembered the butchered guard; the theft of
the headless Jenova specimen; the sword that skewered the aged
world leader; his own brief duel with Rufus before he escaped the
building by helicopter. “Why is the Company having it today?
Why here?”
“Accordin’ to the media, it’s a show of respect for the people o’
Midgar.” shrugged Papa Dudley. “The city’s in a terrible state
after what happened to Sector7, an’ a lot of people are afraid
there’ll be more terrorist attacks if President Rufus’ inauguration
ceremony takes place there. On top o’ that, it’d probably be
insensitive to have a celebration so soon.”
“Shinra owns the newspapers.” growled Barret. “We can’t trust
anythin’ those bastards print.”
“I agree.” the old fisherman nodded. “I think they’re doing it in
Junon because so many employees an’ their families were
relocated here after the AVALANCHE attacks.”
“No,” Cloud refuted pensively, “there must be another reason.”
“Rumour has it,” proposed Dr. Eugene, “President Rufus plans
to cross the ocean from here.”
“Does that mean Sephiroth has already left the city?” asked
Aerith, recoiling as Cloud shot her a fierce and silencing gaze.
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“We gotta get to Upper Junon.” Barret quickly changed the
subject, motioning with his gun-arm towards the steel framework
that soared from the bay. “Usin’ the public elevator’s out ‘cause of
the I.D. checkpoints, but what if we climbed one o’ them towers?”
“No!” screamed Priscilla, startling everyone as she waved her
arms wildly. Instantly realising her overreaction, she blushed
again. “Sorry, but that’s way too dangerous. There’s a highvoltage current running through the fences at the bottom. Shinra
don’t want anyone sneaking into the city so they put electric
barriers and warning signs everywhere. You shouldn’t get too
close.”
“So, that’s it?” Tifa shook her head. “There’s no other way?”
“There’s always a way, my dear.” smiled Papa Dudley, the same
devious expression as before crossing his frail face while he
adjusted his bunnet. As he spoke, the rhythm of the brass music
altered, quietening slightly, leaving the assembly to their own
thoughts.
“Wait a minute!” Priscilla suddenly exclaimed, breaking the lull
in conversation. “I think I have an idea!”
“What is it?” said Cloud.
“No time to talk.” she squealed, dodging past him and ducking
below the hanging blugu skeleton as she sprinted in the direction
of the beach. “Hurry up! Follow me!”
“On that note, I shall bid you all farewell.” bowed Dr. Eugene.
“That girl will be right as rain.”
“Of course,” Mireille replied gratefully as he departed, “thank
you for your kindness.”
“My pleasure.”
“And you lot should probably go after Priscilla.” she urged with a
smirk as her husband wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“She won’t be impressed if you don’t keep up…”
Rolling his eyes and exhaling, but acknowledging that their
options were limited, Cloud trudged after the Dudleys’
granddaughter, the others dawdling behind. The infantrymen
defending the grand archway on the colossal bastion wall stood
on either side of the mechanical gates, rifles drawn, but displayed
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no suspicion of the five as they crossed the dusty square. Passing
the smaller waterfront cottages, they wound down the crooked
steps and onto the derelict marina, cautiously navigating the rock
pools and jagged, slippery terrain.
The cove appeared much darker now as the morning sun had yet
to arc above the armoured city, meaning most of Bottomswell
Bay still basked in the shade of Cape Formula’s high bluffs. The
ebbing tide of the lagoon had lost its wondrous glimmer, instead
revealing the erosive oily pollution within. Far out to sea, almost
a mile beyond the scaling skeletal structures that held the airstrip
aloft, the long shadow of the Mako Cannon caressed the waves, a
stark reminder of mankind’s desolation of the Planet’s
landscapes.
Priscilla waited by the water’s edge, her seashell whistle lodged
between her lips, gesturing for them to hasten their advancement
over the beach. As they neared, she gave a single sharp toot on
the whistle, stepping back for them to admire the acrobatic
demonstration. Like before, the silvery dolphin launched itself
from the deeper depths, vaulting the electrified barricades of the
scaffolding, and landed elegantly once again a short distance
from the shore.
“I could watch that all day…” Barret murmured to himself.
“Pretty cool, huh?” beamed Priscilla, applauding the aquatic
animal. “When I blow on this, Mr. Dolphin jumps for me.”
“It’s really somethin’…” agreed Barret.
“Here,” said Priscilla, prancing over the rocks, taking the object
from around her neck and holding it out in her palm, “this is for
you, Cloud.”
“Huh?” he raised an eyebrow, perplexed. “What am I supposed
to do with it?”
“Well, you can’t get to the top of the tower by climbing, right?”
Priscilla enlightened him with a scoff and dumbfounded façade,
speaking as if her plan was so simple that it did not require an
explanation. “But, you might be able to if Mr. Dolphin helps.”
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“You mean you want me to use that dolphin to jump over the
high-voltage barriers?” spluttered Cloud, gaping at the others in
disbelief.
“Sounds tricky.” Tifa shrugged, tapping her chin. “I guess only
you could do it.”
“What?”
“Yeah,” giggled Aerith, “better leave it to the ex-SOLDIER.
Aren’t you guys trained for these types of situations?”
“Hey!” he snapped, turning to Barret and Red XIII.
“Don’t look at us.” dismissed the former, pointing from his
gatling-gun to the deadpan beast. “We ain’t exactly blessed with
the bodies for somethin’ like this.”
“Don’t worry.” Priscilla insisted, pushing Cloud with all her
might towards the lagoon. “Just go into the water, blow the
whistle, and Mr. Dolphin will take you to the top of the pole.”
“But…”
“Don’t be such a baby.” she scolded irritably. “If you get it just
right, you can reach the airport using one of the ladders.”
As the surf and a string of drifting seaweed lapped against his
ankles, soaking his boots and khakis, Cloud stopped, causing the
girl to slam into him from behind. Casting an apprehensive
glance up at the steel girders that criss-crossed fifty feet
overhead, he calculated the projection he would need to clear the
supposed danger zone. He hung his head, concluding that this
may very well be his only opportunity of accessing Upper Junon.
“Have you done this before?” he asked Priscilla.
“You kiddin’?” she snorted. “I’m not tryin’ that.”
This is insane…
“Alright.” Cloud conceded, unstrapping the brown leather
braces buckled across his chest. Lumbering back out of the
water, he handed the braces, his spiked shoulder pauldron, the
Buster Sword, and his crested SOLDIER belt to Barret. “Take
care of these for me, will you? The PHS will break if it gets wet,
and the rest of the stuff will draw too much attention from the
military.”
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“Good luck.” he nodded, clasping the handle of the blade and
stuffing the accessories under his arm. “If ya make it, we’ll find a
way to follow. Rendezvous at the docks.”
“Be careful not to drown.” Priscilla called with misguided
encouragement as Cloud waded out into the bay.
The water was much colder than he had anticipated, biting at his
skin and seizing his muscles more with every step into the toxic
basin, battling to conquer him as he became almost fully
submerged. The dolphin bobbed without concern alongside the
rusting foundations of the structure, chattering excitedly as he
swam nearer, its long snout splashing on the waves. Through the
murkiness beneath him, Cloud could make out an entire network
of metal piping on the seabed, running back and forth between
several plinths and leaking bubbles of harmful gases which
slurped as they breached the surface.
Arriving at the spot he felt represented his best chance of
success, he gulped hard and readied himself, then let out a
resounding screech on the whistle. The dolphin dived at once, its
thick tail crashing against the tide as it vanished from sight.
Cloud stared into the misty depths, expecting to catch a glimpse
of its magnificent blue form gliding underneath but, when a
number of seconds had elapsed without any activity, he
sluggishly wheeled around to face the shore.
“Nothing’s happening.” he shouted, treading water. “What…”
His sentence was cut short as there came a great upward force
from between his legs, thrusting him into the air. He gasped in
shock and terrible discomfort, the powerful creature’s dorsal fin
jammed against his groin as it lifted him over the deadly currents
of the support tower. Azure sparks of electricity fizzed as foam
sprayed across the wired fencing, but Cloud kept his eyes firmly
locked on the fast-approaching girders, hearing the cheers of his
colleagues somewhere far below. As the dolphin reached the
apex of its flight, he threw his arms out and grasped one of the
hulking beams, feeling its silky body slide away as he remained
suspended high above the marina. With one final effort, he
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hauled himself onto the steel frame, and lay on his stomach,
panting.
“Yo, Cloud, you okay, man?” yelled Barret.
“Never better.” he answered sarcastically, offering a strained
thumbs-up. With a groan, his midriff aching, he clambered
gradually to his knees, crawling gingerly towards the main
construct. At the end of the girder, a technician’s ladder nestled
amid the complex arrangement of the scaffolding, its joints
labelled with an assortment of designated identity codes. Taking
hold of the thin greasy rungs, Cloud signalled to the others that
he was secure enough to begin his ascent. “Later, then.”
The soles of his sodden boots slid on the sturdy rails as he
climbed the reinforced ladder, his gloved fingers clinging to the
corroded metal just as his dripping clothes did to his legs and
torso. In the sprawling shade of the hillside, there was little heat
to dry him, his mind becoming numbed by the severe drop in
temperature and the continuous band compositions that boomed
all around. He could see the underside of the airfield’s runway
more than four-hundred feet above him, clenching his jaw with
determination as he strove towards it.
As he rose inch by inch, the swirling winds transformed from an
eerie whisper in his frozen ears to the wail of a howling banshee,
stroking his shivering skin, luring him malevolently from his
tight grasp. Not once did he dare steal an aerial view of Dolphin
Cove as it stretched beneath him, his concentration set on
evading any risk of vertigo. At long last, his arms heavy and
burdened by fatigue, Cloud dragged himself up the last few rungs
at the summit of the tower, his breath catching in his throat as he
absorbed the grand spectacle.
The enormous Transcontinental Navigation Craft hovered over
the tarmac of Junon Airport’s landing strip, the metallic panels
that covered most of its exterior shimmering as they reflected the
glorious colours of a fading dawn. Hypnotic red and blue hazard
LEDs blinked systematically beneath its massive shell as it
oscillated slowly on the strong gusts, anchored to the ground by a
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trio of linked iron chains. It was the Highwind, the flagship of
Shinra, Inc.’s Air Force, and one which was steeped history.
During the Wutai War, the Shinra Corporation funded the
creation of an entire Sky Fleet that was capable of long-range
assault missions against the Wusheng. The most famous of these
high-speed airships was named after the man who designed and
built it, Captain Cid Highwind, a young but highly-decorated
pilot and the Company’s chief aeronautical engineer. The largest
and fastest of the fleet when it came into service, the Highwind
contributed significantly to Shinra’s eventual victory in the
conflict, and was one of only a handful not to be decommissioned
afterwards.
At a recorded length of two-hundred-and-thirty-seven metres
from the aerodynamic nose of the front engine room to the tip of
the twin navigational arms protruding from its rear, the pair
themselves boasting half the craft’s span, it was astonishing to
behold. Void of any notable wings, it was kept airborne by two
huge rotary blades powered by customised 16s-Ge Mako engines
that were housed inside the radial pods on either side of the
central fuel chambers, while its propulsion propellers could be
found on the mast extending from the lower stern.
Located in a smaller gondola, suspended directly below the
rotors, were the bridge and crew quarters, isolated from the main
bulk of the Highwind. Cloud could see through the bulbous glass
panels into the spacious layout of the deck, but no staff appeared
to be on duty. The spotlights that lined the runway blazed
brightly upon the great airship, focusing by chance on the
provocative painting of a bikini-clad redhead on the outer casing
of the fuselage, apparently a personal touch from the reputedlyeccentric Captain Cid.
He began across the empty strip, towards the sun as it crept
between the clouds and the summit of Cape Formula, conscious
of how badly he was exposed. Several sealed hangers of varying
sizes dominated the eastern boundary of the base, hollowed from
the cliff or embedded inside the fortress walls, the most
prominent of which were marked respectively by a numerical ‘27’
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and ‘28’. Three of the Air Force’s Gelnikas were stationed
outside, the transport hydroplanes garnished in the same
combination of dark and pale brown desert-camouflage he had
witnessed before, but the models were of a newer generation.
Wary of being spotted, Cloud jogged alongside the meshed fence
in the direction of the airport control tower and the adjacent
sandstone buildings that contained the office blocks and
passenger lounges, using the piled crates and barrels of the cargo
enclosures to conceal himself. In the distance, Shinra’s Branch
Headquarters loomed at the pinnacle of the city, countless ruby
banners draped from its arcing windows. The marching band
music had reached an almost-deafening volume, resonating from
the very bowels of Junon, suggesting that the parade would soon
commence.
Ducking low and scampering over the helipad, he came to a
broad goods elevator driven by mechanised pneumatics.
Operating the pressure switches, the lift creakily descended into
the sunken forecourt of the depot, juddering violently as it drew
to a halt. He leaped the barrier onto the commuter gangway,
skulking towards the two-storey terminal buildings, and through
the double-doors beyond the porch entrance sheltered by
corrugated iron slats.
This brought Cloud to a vacant departure area, and the generic
white plastic décor and grainy linoleum floor of an adjoining
corridor. A scant selection of billboards and military recruitment
posters marred the otherwise-bland walls, supplemented
occasionally by signage that indicated he was on Level 6 of Upper
Junon, south of the Mako Cannon, denoted by the characters ‘R6’. Following the connecting hallways as they ventured deeper
into citadel, he suddenly heard the scurrying of anxious footsteps
farther ahead, accompanied by panicked voices.
Taking cover behind a soda vending machine, he afforded a
sneaking glance around the corner as troops sped hurriedly past.
He remained motionless for a moment, squatting in the shadows,
but felt a great dizziness begin to smother him, his thoughts
becoming an entanglement of flashing recollections.
He
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struggled to stay coherent but, in one last desperate attempt to
quell the escalating ringing in his ears, he was engulfed by
blackness.
*
*
*
“How you guys holding up?” Cloud called as he approached the
pair of Third Classes, their ashen turquoise uniforms charred by
what appeared to have been a close-range shell explosion from
another of the martial tank ambushes. They spun around and
immediately stood to attention, sheathing their Hardedge swords
and saluting their superior. Gesturing for them to be at ease, he
scanned their masked features, unable to recognise either
beneath their metallic helmet visors.
“We’re still alive, sir.” replied one of the SOLDIERs. “But, things
are kinda getting out of hand.”
“What about the rest of your unit?” Cloud frowned.
“Everyone seems to be okay.” said the second, nodding towards
an infantryman leaning against a nearby wall. “Can’t really say
the same for that grunt over there. Looks like he got motion
sickness from the chopper ride. Here we are facing a catastrophe,
and he gets airsick. That’s just great…”
“I’ll check it out.” he acknowledged, trotting in the direction of
the hulking security gateway below which the private was
hunched. “Maybe he just can’t handle the nerves…”
As he crossed the Central Tunnel, there came a terrible blast
somewhere on the levels above, causing the entire passageway to
quake. The wail of machine-gun fire and scream of missiles
echoed in the distance as the battle raged on, the haywire
roboguards bombarding the tenement blocks of the residential
district. Dust cascaded from the concrete ceiling of the vast
channel, smothering the infantryman as he gagged once more.
“Hey, are you alright?” asked Cloud, folding his arms as he
stopped behind the boy.
“Y…yeah…” he panted, his breathing hampered as he slowly
turned. “On the helicopter…I got a little nauseous…”
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“Why don’t…?” began Cloud, gasping as he peered at the
soldier’s face. “Hey, it’s you!”
“Huh?” mumbled the young man, glancing up, his eyes suddenly
filling with appreciation. “Wow, you remembered me?”
“Of course I remember.” chuckled Cloud, playfully slapping his
friend on the back, instantly apologising when it made him baulk.
“It’s been a while since Modeoheim. I’m happy to be working
with you again.”
“Yeah…” the boy agreed quietly, his cheeks ghostly pale,
“although my work is a little dull.”
“What are you talking about?” Cloud scoffed with
encouragement, putting his hands on his hips. “Rescue work is an
important task. Anyway, as soon as we’re finished here, let’s go
grab a bite to eat. My treat.”
“Really?” he smiled gratefully. “That would be great. Once I’m
in better shape, I’d love to go. But, right now…just thinking
about food is making me…”
With an awkward heave, the young infantryman vomited onto
the path, staggering as he fought to regain his balance. Cloud
leapt clear as his friend slumped against the electronic control
panels, clutching his stomach and groaning pitifully. Reaching
into the pouch of his leather braces, he pulled out a tissue and
offered it to the soldier.
“Woah!” he grimaced. “That was pretty bad.”
“I…I’m sorry, Cloud…” wheezed the boy, timidly accepting the
gift, “I’m just…no good. Riding in vehicles has always made me
sick…”
“Don’t worry about it.” he answered sincerely. “Hope you feel
better soon.”
*
*
*
Cloud woke with a start, breathless, the daydream snatched
mercilessly from him. Even in his distant and agitated state, he
could sense the presence of a figure standing over him, making
no effort to assist him from his collapsed position at the base of
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the vending machine. As his bleary eyes focused, they fell upon
polished military boots, lethargically rising to reveal formal
trousers and a buttoned claret tunic. The stocky officer of the
Shinra Army glared at him with an expression of combined
loathing and twisted pleasure as he considered the punishment
he could soon bestow.
“Well, well, well,” he snarled, crunching his knuckles, “what
have we here…?”
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CHAPTER XII
The Inaugural Parade
“What is the meaning of this?”
“Huh…?” Cloud faltered, scrambling to his feet as he fought to
regain his bearings in the insipid access corridor.
“Why are you still dressed liked that, rookie?” shouted the
officer furiously, slamming his fist against the wall next to his
head. “The whole Junon Army’s supposed to be on show in the
President’s parade, and you look like a godsdamn civilian!”
“I…”
“Your captain’ll be hearing about this.” he snarled. “What unit
are you from?”
“Um…”
“Godsdammit, private, can’t you hear me?”
“The…uh…the 86th Squadron, sir.” mumbled Cloud, thinking
quickly, adopting a military salute.
“That’s more like it!” barked the stocky man, his red tunic taut
over his muscular chest. As he spoke, Cloud fleetingly noticed his
name and rank embroidered on the padded material at his breast,
identifying him as Officer Mutten Kylegate. “Now, come with
me…”
Turning on his heels, he marched down the passage towards the
nearby junction, his polished boots clicking on the grey linoleum
with each purposeful step. Cloud followed close behind, his mind
recovering its composure as the ringing in his ears finally
subsided, cursing under his breath for finding himself in such a
potentially-volatile predicament. Mimicking the commander’s
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stride, he obediently fell into line, rapidly recalling his training so
as to maintain the charade.
Taking a right at the intersection, the duo ignored the signpost
directing them to the business district’s boulevards of Level R-6,
instead traipsing deeper within the great southern bastion wall of
Upper Junon. They soon came to an isolated ingress off the
principal interior hallway, inside of which an electronic doorway
was located. Officer Mutten paused at the entrance, keying in the
numerical code on the adjacent panel, then gestured impatiently
for Cloud to proceed.
“What are you waiting for?” he spat. “Get in the room!”
“Sorry…”
Beyond was a cramped changing area, lined on two sides by
rows of tall and slender lockers, and opposite them a designated
washing space containing mildew-laden sinks and mirrors etched
with graffiti. Empty cardboard boxes and random items were
scattered around the compartment, some piled atop the
cupboards while others were strewn beneath the dishevelled steel
benches. The stale stench of sweat lingered in the poorlyventilated chamber, an odour he remembered all too well.
“Today is a big day for us.” boomed the commander from his
position, stuffing his cap under his arm to expose a shaven crewcut. “We can’t afford any more mistakes. Hurry up and get
changed, rookie. There should be a spare uniform in there
somewhere.”
“Yes, sir.” responded Cloud, hastily scanning the selection of
lockers.
Spotting an unlocked unit in the corner, he crossed the room,
and yanked open the already-ajar door. A royal blue Security
Division ensemble hung inside, complete with armoured tunic
and combat trousers, accessorised by the standard brown leather
utility belt and twin shoulder pauldrons. On the shelf above sat a
robust metallic helmet with a golden visor, next to which was a
‘1/35’ model soldier; a rare collectable. Grabbing the outfit from
the peg, he swiftly pulled the clothes on over his own, grimacing
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as the cushioned but weighty headgear matted his blonde locks to
his face.
Brings back a lot of memories…I was so proud the first time I
wore this…
“Good, it fits you well.” said Mutten. “And where’s your
weapon?”
“I…uh…I dunno, sir…” Cloud shrugged awkwardly, his brain
racing to invent an explanation.
“For the love of…” fumed the officer, storming towards the
heavy safe that adjoined the cabinets. Inserting a master key into
the slot, he opened it to reveal a small arsenal of SR-80e
automatic rifles, more commonly referred to by the infantry as
‘Quicksilvers’. Lifting a gun from its holder, he tossed it irately to
Cloud, slamming the door shut in the same motion as his
subordinate intuitively shouldered the firearm. “Quit fooling
around! We need to get down to Level 5.”
Vacating the changing room, the pair retraced their steps to the
junction on the airport path, progressing in the direction of the
business district as the corridor began to decline. Parade music
continued to filter from the streets below, muffled by the thick
walls of the citadel, echoing in the narrow passages that branched
from the primary walkway. As they descended, Cloud could see
windows of tinted auburn glass up ahead, illuminating the bland
décor of the channel with natural light and awarding an
expansive panorama of the city.
The enormous mile-long barrel of the elevated Mako Cannon
dominated the skyline as it extended from the summit of Upper
Junon, out over the harbour and calm waters of Bottomswell Bay.
The so-called Sister Ray itself was set at its default horizontal
placement, its manoeuvring mechanisms and shock absorbers
compressed inside the monolithic pedestal that rose from the
heart of the metropolis. But for the blinking air traffic warning
beacons that cascaded the vast and countless rusting reinforced
components of its body, the gargantuan warden was lifeless, now
nothing more than a wartime monument.
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As they passed alongside the windows, the soaring ramparts of
seemingly-endless tenement blocks came into view, spanning the
great length of Level 6’s broad thoroughfare towards the Central
Tunnel at Junon’s spine. Constructed in golden sandstone and
scaling the bluffs of Cape Formula, the city’s stacked Levels 3 to 8
comprised of more than one-hundred duplicated and
individually-numbered six-storey apartment buildings, once
celebrated during the [µ]-εγλ 1950s for their contemporary
architecture and efficient use of living space.
While the majority of these were classed as residential, those of
Level 6 were home to the workplaces of the private sector. In
addition, Level 8 held the Shinra, Inc.-controlled political offices
and barracks of the Armed Forces, and was thus a restricted zone,
while Levels 1 and 2 incorporated the shipyards and industrial
warehouses. The sprawling faces of the tenements were today
festooned by the same ruby banners that Cloud had noted earlier
on the Corporation’s sky-scraping regional headquarters, with
two hanging from the rooftops of each block. The velvet drapes’
red cloth bore Rufus’ enlarged signature as its primary focus,
accompanied by the text ‘President of Shinra’ and ‘New Age’, very
much representing the attitude the man had shown when
AVALANCHE had confronted him on the night his father was
murdered.
The concourse immediately beneath the hallway was deserted,
littered by discarded paper flags and trash, but hordes of
spectators were visible a few hundred meters away, gathering by
the stone barriers to obtain a glimpse of the inauguration
procession as it advanced along the boulevard below. Mutten
quickened his pace when he saw this, clicking his fingers for
Cloud to keep up, mumbling incoherently to himself as he
glanced anxiously at his watch. Arriving at the lofty security gate
that accessed the street, they discovered a pair of flustered
infantrymen under the shadow of the grand portico, arguing
between themselves.
“Why are you here, you fools?” demanded the commander as the
duo stood to attention.
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“We’re too late, sir…” whimpered the shorter soldier, his helmet
somewhat lopsided.
“The Welcome March has already started.” added the other,
clearly quivering.
“Godsdammit!” roared Mutten, glaring fiercely at Cloud. “This is
all your fault, rookie!”
“What are we gonna do, sir?” gulped the first private.
“We’ll have to take a short cut.” he replied thoughtfully,
scratching his chin. “All of the emergency elevators will be out of
service, but we can still use the public stairwells.”
“Good idea, sir.”
“This isn’t the time for flattery.” growled Mutten, barging past
the grunt. “Don’t make me madder than I already am.”
As he led the others out onto the road, a silver B1-β Shinra News
helicopter swooped low overhead, the deafening whir of its
blades momentarily drowning out the brass bands. The film
relayed by the cameraman from the craft’s custom rig
simultaneously appeared on the television monitors beaming
from the windows of the coffee shops located on the ground floor
of building ‘21’, partially obscured by the constant stream of
vapour spilling from the sewage vents. The image of the military
parade caught Cloud’s eye as he trailed the men across the
thoroughfare, his jaw clenching when the footage fixed on the
President, waving nonchalantly to the assembled audience who
applauded him gratuitously. This was swiftly replaced by a
studio discussion between two media commentators, joking
about awarding the soldiers prizes for their performance based
on the ratings.
The four hurried along the tarmac of Level R-6, deliberately
sweeping behind the adulating citizens who had congregated by
the slanted blockades lining the street’s perimeter, hoping for a
better angle to observe. Temporary notices of inactivity covered
the Junon Metro transit stops, offering a tedious apology for
bringing the entire city to a standstill. After several minutes of
hastened jogging, drawing forever closer to the Central Tunnel
and the colossal structure that supported the immeasurable
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weight of the Mako Cannon’s control terminal, Mutten slowed,
pointing to a darkened alley between buildings ‘26’ and ‘27’.
“Alright.” ordered the commander. “Get over here. It’s this
way.”
Dashing into the lane, they passed the unkempt entrance of an
unsavoury saloon, Bar ΣΠΟΤ, and the mangy dog that guarded it.
Dim and flickering lampposts buzzed above, lighting the
otherwise-murky conduit as it ventured towards the internal
public steps. Towering six-storey walls flanked the passage,
rising to form a distant black ceiling; the underside of Level 7.
Located approximately one-hundred metres back from the
sidewalk were two steeply-inclined staircases hollowed from the
concrete foundations, one ascending into the hillside and one
descending beneath the alleyway.
Scampering down the wide stone steps, the quartet made for
Level 5, the disorderly patter of their boots resonating loudly
around the curving grey walls. Sporadic clusters of spray-painted
graffiti could be seen as they raced downwards, some of them
imaginative illustrations of the artists’ names or local monster
species, while others were basic variations of the slogan ‘Down
with Shinra’ or even lines from the classic theatre production,
‘Loveless’. The scrawls were far less radical than those he had
witnessed in the Slums of Midgar, though this was a far less
derelict community.
Bursting from the underpass behind building ‘47’, they scurried
in the direction of Level R-5’s main boulevard, almost skidding to
a halt as the rotund figure of General Heidegger plodded past the
lane’s opening. The Director of Shinra, Inc.’s Department of
Public Safety Maintenance was at the head of the procession, an
emerald green blazer stretched over his obese body, his eyes
scowling behind an extensive bushy beard. Diligently following
him were pre-organised squads of ten; a single red-uniformed
captain and nine privates marching three-by-three, their strides
long but paced.
Among the subsequent detachments was President Rufus,
standing at the rear of an elegant beige pA-86 coupe, his
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handsome young face forcing a smile as he waved to the crowds
that bordered the route. Slim in stature with golden hair combed
to one side, he wore a white trench coat over a business suit and,
for a man in his mid-twenties, his piercing eyes revealed wisdom
beyond his age.
Officer Mutten went rigid as the motorcade emerged on the
street before them, vigorously saluting his leader, but the
President’s car soon vanished from sight, and the roar of
handclapping gradually faded in tandem. He remained there as
several more units came and went, eventually turning back
towards his subordinates with an odd smirk on his face. Catching
his reflection in the glass display of the adjacent item shop, the
commander straightened his tunic in an obvious attempt to quell
his tizzy of excitement, and gestured for the trio to huddle around
him.
“Now, listen up!” he asserted, clearing his throat. “This parade’s
gonna be broadcast live on Shinra TV around the world. If you
look bad, the whole Junon Army will look bad, so remember that
and be sure not to disgrace yourselves.”
“Sir, how’re we gonna do this?” gulped the shorter infantryman,
glancing edgily at the advancing cavalcade.
“Well, there’s three of you, isn’t there?” he answered snidely.
“Just sneak in from the back of a detachment when you see an
opportunity and create your own row. And, no matter what you
do, don’t try to go in from the front. The news chopper will be
tracking the President, so if we wait until the end, no-one will
notice.”
“Shouldn’t we practice first?” squeaked his colleague.
“Is that a joke?” barked Mutten, causing him to cower. “No
break for you! I ain’t got time to teach you runts anything. Just
keep in step with the person next to you, and march smoothly.
Once you’re in rhythm, don’t forget to present arms. Got it?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Alright then,” he bade them, “it’s showtime. When I give the
signal, you better get out there…”
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A great murmur arose among the nearby denizens as the group
shuffled from the alley and through them to the verge of the
sidewalk, peering confusedly at the stray soldiers. His mind
focused as he watched a squadron approach, their arms swinging
in unison while their heels slammed against the asphalt, Cloud
felt a push from behind. Without thinking, he stepped out from
the mob, intuitively matching the troops’ movement as he shifted
his feet and cocked the Quicksilver rifle to assume the
demonstration position.
Left, right, left, right, exhibit weapon, angle weapon, shoulder
weapon, left, right…
The speed at which he had sub-consciously recalled his training
was a strange sensation, realising that despite his amnesia, there
were elements of his past that still lingered in his memory.
However, the familiarity of the scenario was unnerving, and
something he did not wish to treasure; his days in the Shinra
Army were truly finished. Through the corner of his visor, he
could see the other privates alongside him, having succeeded in
sneaking into the inaugural parade without raising too much
alarm. The silver B1-β helicopter hovered in the distance,
decelerating to change course as the exterior of the Mako Cannon
bore down on the craft, its attention fixed on the Presidential
convoy as it pulled up by the iconic monorail carriage.
The procession continued, trampling the confetti into the
grooves of the road as the spectators cheered and flapped their
paper flags, some leaning from the myriad of shuttered windows
on the apartment blocks not obstructed by the cascading velvet
banners. As the music repeated its incessant tune, becoming
steadily quieter, the units crept ever forward, time and again
lifting and adjusting their rifles in near-perfect harmony. The
proud captains of each detachment conducted the pace with their
leather-bound batons, their capped heads bobbing in front.
At last, Cloud’s adopted squad entered the shadow of the Mako
Cannon, its dark underside repelling much of the late morning
sunlight. The segmented breech of its titanic barrel hung in the
air approximately two-hundred feet above the concourse, with
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three of the six hulking Mako stabiliser capsules visible at its
height, as was the cascabel for loading the ammunition. Directly
ahead was the security gate to the Central Tunnel which lay
within the immense column holding the breech aloft, the great
shaft now swarming with military personnel who had completed
their part and dispersed.
As of tenement building ‘50’, the northern-most of Level R-5,
the general public were penned behind makeshift steel barriers
patrolled by gun-wielding soldiers. The thoroughfare thereafter
became somewhat decongested, occupied instead by highranking politicians and influential businessmen who had
gathered in a temporary seated area to listen to the new
President’s first official speech. Cloud noted Mayors Domino and
Hutt, the elected representatives of Midgar and Junon
respectively, among the audience, as were elite members of the
Shinra Executive such as Director Reeve of Urban Development,
Director Scarlet of Weapons Development, and Director Palmer
of Space Exploration.
Rufus’ address was already underway, his articulate voice
resounding from the speakers on either side of the elaborate
podium that had been erected at the edge of the boulevard,
replacing the din of the now-ceased marching band. The stage,
garnished in the same ‘New Age’ slogan as the drapes and fringed
by camera crews, was set against a spectacular backdrop of the
shimmering azure ocean, and strategically situated by the
walkway to the R-Junon monorail station.
The bulky, antiquated 21G tram waited patiently at the platform,
steam pumping from the funnels atop the isolated operator’s
cabin. Most of its tarnished shell was armour-plated steel added
during the Wutai War era, marred by thousands of unattractive
bolts, the train’s half-century of perpetual use unmistakable.
Tseng of the Turks stood on the open-top roof of the car, his
vigilant gaze scrutinising the scene as his sleek hair fluttered at
his spine, oblivious to Cloud’s presence.
Suddenly, as they drew parallel with the dais from the opposite
end of the seated section, the captain of his unit stopped and
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motioned for the troops to about-turn ninety degrees. Almost
barging into the infantryman in front, Cloud mimicked the others
as they pivoted, fumbling his Quicksilver but hastily returning it
to his shoulder. As he composed himself, he looked up and could
not help but emit a startled cough, for Rufus was staring right at
him.
“…so, please believe me when I say that I am no stranger to the
severe financial pressure faced by the governing bodies of this
great city.” the President’s speech continued as his eyes moved
elsewhere, allowing Cloud to relax. “My father did not put enough
trust in Junon the way that I intend, and the comparatively-poor
annual budget will not endure.
Junon has encountered
hardships as has much of the Planet but, when I visited here not
one month ago as Corporate Officer of the Shinra Electric Power
Company, I promised a swift and detailed resolution. I may have
taken over as President now, but I do not wish to postpone the
implementation of these proposals any longer than necessary…”
“Phew, we made it.” whispered the private next to him, a note of
relief in his tone.
“Made it for what?” Cloud queried mutedly.
“The send-off, of course.”
“Shut up at the back!” hissed the captain, glancing fiercely at the
pair.
“…to conclude,” Rufus boomed through the microphones, “I
imagine many of you would be expecting a eulogy of some sort to
my late father. He and I were not close, but what I will say is that
it would be fair to assume he was a materialistic man. As a child
growing up, he would often show his affection through superficial
or extravagant means rather than genuine displays of love. For
example, my eighteenth birthday present was to receive a plaque
which honoured my promotion to Vice President and Corporate
Officer. While you may think such a comment petty, the point is
that he did not once consider whether or not this was the career I
desired.
“Preserving the Company was of utmost importance to him. He
took it from a small arms manufacturing firm to the most
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influential organisation in the world within a single generation.
My old man, the President, was a remarkably-capable manager,
and excelled in the art of predicting human nature and guiding
public attitudes. It was his cherished theory that he could control
the Planet by enticing the population’s hearts with money and
promising a better lifestyle. That is why he perceived the
professional opinion of his own son, an economist and realist, to
be dangerous…and took measures to ensure that it was kept from
his Company’s affairs.
“There are two kinds of people in this world; those who give
orders, and those who take orders. When categorising an
individual, it is not a question of one’s heart, but more a question
of one’s abilities and foresight. It is my belief that after the War,
my father lost just that, instead indulging in his lavish and oftenoutrageous fantasies unopposed. We must only recall the
financial and publicity catastrophe that was the failed rocket
launch of planned space mission, YA-79. Such meaningless
ventures are wasteful of taxpayers’ money. I assure you that my
interests lie exclusively on the ground, as should the
Corporation’s.
“If I may, I would like to end on a story; a memory from my
childhood.” Rufus paused with a snort of amusement, a bitter
smile forming on the corner of his lips. “One evening, many years
ago, I discovered my old man in his study, brooding over a set of
blueprints. The architect’s drawings were for a Presidential
Office on the top floor of Midgar’s Shinra Headquarters. When I
asked my father where his planned escape route might be, he
simply laughed, and told me that he would never use such a
facility. Supreme confidence and fearlessness towards his
enemies were two his virtues but, as we all know, everything
comes at a price. I recognise that these personality traits were
accompanied by ignorance, and it has proven fatal, for he was
murdered on his own throne. I will not make the same mistake.
“It is my intention as President of Shinra, Inc. to win back the
trust in the Company that has been compromised by repeated
conflict with terrorist organisations. I will strive to bring stability
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to the Planet once more, and improve this already-great
institution to remind the world of our strength and power…”
With that, Rufus stepped down from the podium and, running
his fingers through his hair, made his way sharply towards the
monorail station as the rabble of journalists shouted questions
and photographers battled for the best picture. Rising quickly to
his feet from his spot in the first row, General Heidegger
stumbled after him, swatting the media staff aside. As he
approached the carriage doorway, Heidegger hesitated, spinning
to face the remnants of the procession and punching the air
frantically, his bearded features flushed and agitated.
“Junon Army send-off…” bellowed the captain of Cloud’s squad
as he acknowledged the signal, his baton held upward, “begin!”
As instructed, the soldiers commenced their practiced routine,
uniformly presenting their automatic rifles while the spectators
turned to watch in awe, Cloud expertly anticipating their every
movement. A cacophony of clicks reverberated around the street
as the men cocked their weapons, then saluted the President as
he disappeared aboard the train, Heidegger at his tail.
A shrill whistle screamed as the dated engine of the transport
rumbled to life, polluting fumes spluttering from the protruding
exhaust pipes on its wings. With an almighty jerk, the massive
car began to trundle up the broad railway track in the direction of
the Shinra Branch Offices, both driven by Mako energy and
hauled by the wires of a supplementary pulley system. There
came a horrendous screech as the wheels ground on the line,
finally dissipating as the behemoth ascended from view.
“Squad…about-turn!” roared the captain, resuming command as
his troops swivelled again towards the Central Tunnel.
“And…advance!”
Progressing below the monorail, they soon traded the boisterous
atmosphere of Level R-5 for the uncomfortable mood of the vast
channel, the filament lights of the concrete ceiling swathing the
remaining soldiers in a synthetic glow. An infectious murmur
had spread around the passage like wildfire, the tension palpable,
dozens of groups deep in discussion.
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“Squad…halt!” the captain called as he eventually came to a
standstill. “At ease, men.”
“What a disaster…” muttered the grunt closest to Cloud, shaking
his head.
“Heidegger’s furious this time.” said another, folding his arms.
“It’s probably gonna come outta our paycheck. He’s such an
asshole.”
“What’s going on?” Cloud asked cautiously.
“Didn’t you hear the briefing this mornin’?” replied the first with
a hint of surprise. “The President pretty much blamed the state of
the Air Force on the General. He said he was disgusted that none
of the Airships are fit to fly.”
“Heidegger’s kinda had it comin’, though.” nodded the second.
“Not to mention he’s been really pissed since Hojo went AWOL.”
“You mean Professor Hojo?” gasped Cloud. “From the Science
Department?”
“Geez, dude, where’ve you been?” he scoffed. “They discovered
Hojo’s letter of resignation last week but he’s been missing ever
since.”
“Heidegger’s been forced to take care of that investigation, too.”
added the other.
“I reckon he’s just assigned the Turks to it.” the private
shrugged. “He’s been putting all of his effort into finding the man
in the black cloak.”
“Black cloak…?” stammered Cloud, his mind racing as it
absorbed the information, wary of their growing suspicion.
He’s been here…
“Y’know, the maniac that’s been roaming the city?” answered
the first infantryman with derision. “He showed up two or three
days ago and killed a few sentries from the Security Division,
then just vanished. No-one’s seen him so I’d bet he’s halfway to
the Western Continent by now. There’s a rumour goin’ around
that it was Sephiroth…”
“Hey!” the captain shushed him, appearing at his back. “Shut up
about that! You don’t know who might be listening. Alright,
dismissed!”
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“Yes, sir.” the three responded with a salute.
“Not you.” he growled, pointing accusingly at Cloud. The
captain was an older man, with tufts of grey hair poking out
beneath his cap, but his jaw was firm and uncompromising. As
he strode forward, his posture grand, Cloud felt his muscles flex,
his eyes darting around the Central Tunnel as he devised a
potential escape.
“Me…sir?”
“You think I didn’t notice you?” he spat, standing so near that
Cloud could smell his pungent breath.
“I…I don’t understand, sir.”
“I saw you sneak into the parade.” he said fiercely. “You’re not
from my unit. What were you doing there?”
“I overslept, sir…”
“Not good enough! What are your orders, private?”
“I…I have none, sir.”
“Then you are to descend to the docks and relieve the duty
officer there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take the monorail from L-Junon and proceed with your
assignment immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are lazy, soldier.” snarled the captain, barging past him.
“Your future looks pretty bleak to me. If you want to mess with
the Army, you’re in for a nasty shock.”
The tension in Cloud’s body subsided along with the risk of
exposure, his pounding chest pumping adrenaline through his
veins. The encounter had been too close for comfort and, without
the Buster Sword, negotiating his way from a concrete conduit
swarming with Shinra military personnel would be tricky.
However, his deployment to the harbour was a stroke of luck,
granting him ample excuse for making his way to rendezvous
with his comrades.
Shouldering the Quicksilver once again, he hurried down the
wide shaft, beyond the clusters of lingering troops. To his left, he
spotted a smaller perpendicular corridor leading farther into the
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confines of the Mako Cannon’s support structure, guarded by two
Navy lieutenants in beige uniforms. An adjacent signpost
detailed the restricted areas that could be accessed from the
elevators therein, including the Cannon Control Room, the
Submarine Dock and the Underwater Reactor.
Emerging from the Central Tunnel’s security gate several
minutes later onto Level L-5 of Upper Junon, Cloud crossed the
street towards the second monorail station. Ahead, there was
little activity around tenements ‘51’ to ‘60’, with only a handful of
citizens and their dogs meandering the mostly-vacant boulevard,
and yonder the great northern bastion of the armoured city.
Steam filtering from the sewer vents floated about the brightly-lit
doorways of the closes, its ghostly slivers seeping through the
shuttered windows of upstairs homes.
Climbing the steps to the platform, he was greeted by a
sprawling view of Bottomswell Bay and Port Junon at the depths
of the metropolis. While the heyday of the coal industry was long
gone, taking with it the relentless commotion of the dockyards,
the harbour had not lost its role as a global distribution hub. The
extensive wharves of Lower Junon’s Level 1 were a stretch of
commonly-utilised freight space, though large sections remained
idle, the depressing grey strip etched with abandoned railway
sidings. Standalone storage facilities or customs buildings were
dotted throughout the loading zones, surrounded by countless
shipping containers awaiting delivery to foreign lands.
The merchant quays at the northeast quadrant were bound by
the fortified water breaks at the base of the sloping bastion wall,
defended by mounted grandpanzer artillery, and there a single
cargo frigate was anchored. The cranes atop the vessel’s deck
were hard at work manoeuvring its heavy consignment, while the
crew bustled about the vehicle ramp at its stern, carrying
individual items or operating forklift trucks. A number of smaller
schooners were moored nearby, their skippers transferring their
wares ashore.
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A piercing whistle followed by a terrible wail of grinding metal
reached Cloud’s ears, returning his attention to the tramway as
the car began its decline from the Level L-6 station a short
distance above. He watched the train slowly approach, drawing
alongside the platform with a violent shudder, its brakes
shrieking as Mako fumes erupted from the exhaust. Allowing a
few suited Shinra employees to alight, he boarded the carriage,
taking an unoccupied seat by the windows in the corner.
The respective monorail tracks of L-Junon and R-Junon
themselves spanned the entire height of the city, both with
terminuses at the port and Shinra regional headquarters, and
stops on every level in between. As the monstrous tram crept
downhill, dragged by gravity and pulley wires, Cloud absorbed
the sights. The residential districts of Levels 3 and 4 were almost
mirror images of 5 and 6, while Level 2 displayed a very different
façade. Instead of tenement blocks, the street was flanked by the
porticos of industrial warehouses and factories whose clandestine
confines sank deep into the cliffs of Cape Formula, while winchcapped scaffolding towered from stone plinths in designated bays
to buttress the assortment of casually-placed crates.
Arriving at the waterfront, Cloud disembarked, immediately
seeking cover from prying eyes behind a row of detached harbour
master offices. Skulking in the direction of the merchant
wharves, he snaked among the immense stacks of shipping
containers as the dock workers went about their business, none
giving him a second glance amid the surrounding hubbub. The
noise was at a virtually-intolerable decibel, worsened by the
regularly-blaring horns and the vehicle indicators as they whizzed
around the pathways.
Turning onto the main straight of the quay, he saw a trio of
deckhands scurrying hastily towards him, their physique and
movements familiar. They wore matching outfits, clad in white
sailor suits with blue-jean collars and bell-bottomed trousers,
their faces hidden beneath naval caps. The tallest of the three
was a dark-skinned giant, bearing a coffin-shaped trunk on his
powerful shoulders, though the sleeve on his right arm dangled
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loosely as if the lower part of his limb was missing. Each of them
ogled Cloud worriedly as he waited by the neighbouring jetty,
staring at them from behind his helmet visor.
“Hey!” he hissed as they passed, causing the party to freeze.
“A…aye, sir…?” Barret faltered, looking nervously at him while
the girls cowered at his side.
“It’s me, you morons.”
“Cloud!” gasped Tifa with a relieved grin. “Why are you dressed
like that?”
“I was about to ask you lot the same thing.” he retorted.
“Where’s Red?”
“Here.” a muffled voice replied from inside the casket.
“And my things?”
“In here, too.”
“It’s a long story…” frowned Barret, peering around to ensure
they were alone. “So, what now?”
“Sephiroth’s definitely been here.” Cloud informed them,
gritting his teeth at the very mention of his name. “But,
something tells me he’s already crossed the ocean. I was thinking
we could hitch a ride on the cargo ship.”
“We’d better hurry, then.” grunted Barret, nodding towards the
frigate. “It’s leavin’ for Costa del Sol in ten minutes.”
“Don’t you think we seem a bit suspicious?” Aerith gulped
dubiously.
“Not if you have a soldier escorting you.” said Cloud, holding out
his rifle.
“Alright…let’s do this!” boomed Barret, shifting the weight of the
trunk on his back, and urgently gesturing them forward. As the
others took off with pace, Cloud paused for a moment, gazing out
to sea with determination.
We’ll set sail for the Western Continent…even if we are wearing
Shinra uniforms…
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CHAPTER XIII
Ghost Ship
Scraping his boots along the dry floor, Cloud ritually wandered
the span of the cave, weaving among the rock formations,
eventually pressing a prying ear to the ancient door. All was still
inside, silent but for the low hum of overhead electricity. In the
days that he had been coming and going from the basement,
there had always been some form of movement or sound from
within the room, and lack thereof struck him as unusual, even in
the late evening hour. Something’s different…
Knocking once, there came no answer. Pausing to gather his
puzzled thoughts, he slowly nudged the door open, shading his
eyes from the burning light. The area was as it had been on his
previous visit, the outdated machines remaining as deathly
serene as ever, but an unexpected sight met him as he turned
towards the library corridor. Cloud gasped as his stunned stare
passed over the bare pinewood bookshelves, traces of slow decay
evident on their lofty ledges, their bases cluttered with heaps of
discarded books and documents. Sephiroth, it seemed, had left
none untouched.
A cruel cackle came from the study as Cloud stumbled into the
room, floating through the arid air like an old record. It sent a
chill down his spine; reminding him of the wicked faces of past
foes. Cautiously, he edged down the passage towards the golden
lamplight and the source of the laughter, careful not to tread on
the sprawled pages beneath him, coming at last to the small
library.
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The space was more cramped than the laboratory, its square
walls furnished on all sides by recently-emptied shelves. A
mahogany reading desk was situated atop a large warm-coloured
rug at the centre of the study, at which sat Sephiroth in the grand
armchair, his head bowed in his hands. He did not stir as Cloud
approached, waiting instead until his inferior stood over him at
the table before lifting his gaze. His lean face had become grey
and twisted, an unforgiving blackness surrounding his deep eyes.
“Ah, if it isn’t the traitor?” sneered Sephiroth, his pallid features
laden with disgust.
“Traitor?” stammered Cloud, stepping warily back from the
desk as Sephiroth rose dauntingly from his seat, his impressive
physique distinguishing his immeasurable presence. “What are
you talking about?”
“You ignorant traitor!” spat Sephiroth, pointing accusingly at
him. “I’ll tell you exactly what I’m talking about. Millennia ago,
this Planet belonged to a people known as the Cetra. The Cetra
were a nomadic race; wandering across mountains, through
valleys, to every corner of the Planet…as was their calling. They
would migrate in, speak with and settle the Planet, then move on.
As stated in the Chronicles of Yore, at the end of their long, harsh
journey, the Cetran people would find the Promised Land, and
supreme happiness.
“But, those who disliked the journey appeared. The ones who
stopped the migrations, built shelters, and elected to lead an
easier life. They ceased their communication with the Planet,
turning their back on their calling. They took all which the Planet
and the Cetra had created and nurtured, unwilling to give
anything in return. They…they are your ancestors!”
“Sephiroth, I don’t understand…”
“Long ago, disaster struck this world.” he persisted, his snarling
voice encasing the frozen Cloud. “A meteorite collided with the
Planet, wounding it so much that it required a mass of energy to
heal itself. The Planet reached out, summoned the lives of its
people to return to it. Your ancestors escaped; they survived
because they hid in fear from the ferocious storms and
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earthquakes that ensued. Eventually, the Planet was saved from
certain doom by sacrificing the Cetra, and your ancestors began
to grow in numbers. They bred, multiplied, and assumed control
of the Planet as if nothing had happened. Now, after many
centuries, all that remains of the Cetra is what is written in the
pages of history.”
“But, what does this have to do with you?” croaked Cloud.
“Don’t you get it?” scorned Sephiroth, a fleeting smile forming
sardonically at the corner of his lips. “The body of an Ancient was
found trapped in the cliffside of the Northern Crater, and
eventually brought to Nibelheim for studying. Professor Gast
named the Ancient ‘Jenova’. When I was old enough, he secretly
told me that my mother’s name was Jenova, but that she had died
in childbirth. He strictly warned me never to ask questions about
her. As a result, nobody at the Company knew that I was aware
of the name. That’s why they let me come here. That’s why they
allowed me to stand before her storage chamber at the Mako
Reactor without a flicker of worry. Those ignorant fools.
“Upon learning the results of the testing on the Ancient,
President Shinra ordered the Ancients Project. The Company
wanted to mass produce a race of humans with abilities
comparable to the Cetra. The primary objective of this research
was to utilise these people to significantly reduce costs and boost
the efficiency of Mako extraction. Project Jenova was just one
part of the overall plan. It’s all here in these reports. I am the
one that was produced.”
“P…produced…?” gulped Cloud, his head spinning as he
absorbed the words.
“Yes.” Sephiroth replied coldly. “Professor Gast, scientific genius
and leader of the Jenova Project, produced me. I was the perfect
creation after so many failures. Just look at what those two
became…but, not me. Now I understand why Genesis accused
me of stealing the fame that he believed was rightfully his. In my
veins courses the blood of the Ancients. I am one of the rightful
heirs to this Planet.”
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“Sephiroth…that’s crazy!” argued Cloud, blocking his path as he
drifted almost weightlessly around the table, snatching the
Masamune without expression from its place against the mantel.
“How did he…how did…?”
Sephiroth was on him with the swiftest of movements, reducing
the gap between them with a single motion. Cloud felt his head
smash hard against the stone wall, thrust back by the violent
strength of Sephiroth’s arm, and his world became a slow
rotation as his body sank to the floor. The setting of the study
began to wane before his dizzying eyes, the darkness swallowing
him as the tall figure eclipsed the golden lamplight above him.
“Out of my way, traitor.” jeered Sephiroth, his voice distant,
stepping callously over him. “I’m going to see my mother…”
*
*
*
Cloud awoke to the sharp shriek of F-59 Fahrenheit’s whistle,
the shrill sound slicing through his nightmare like an arrow, and
groaned. He was propped against the entanglement of rusted
pipes that cascaded vertically down one wall of the cramped
storage compartment, his neck and spine protesting against his
awkward position. The thick fumes of machine oil from the
boiler area below burned his mouth, its greasy stench irritating
his nostrils. Sluggishly, he raised his hand to rub his nose, the
sensation unbearable, and banged his fist against the hard plastic
visor of the Security Division helmet.
“Godsdammit.” grumbled Cloud, lifting the armoured mask off,
his heavy eyes blurring from the hazy vapours that drifted
tauntingly about him. He yawned and stretched his aching arms
into the air, glancing around the confined room as his vision
slowly adjusted.
The floor space of the hold was minute in comparison to what
other locations he had fleetingly glimpsed aboard the cargo ship,
though seemed to scale almost its entire height, numerous Mako
pipes knotting carelessly above. Tell-tale signs of early corrosion
were evident on the stained walls, the many gases clinging to
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their surface and feasting on the slender steel panels. A single
bulb fizzed overhead, swaying gently with the motion of the
vessel, casting the chamber in dim synthetic light that crept back
and forth across the stack of empty boxes. Cloud stared
hypnotically at it for a long while, his mind mesmerised by its
weak but warming glow.
The Fahrenheit had been at sea for more than two days since
disembarking from Port Junon. Conscious of his distinct
appearance, emphasised now that he was clad in the taut sailor’s
uniform, Barret had insisted that the party keep as low a profile
as possible. Skulking through the corridors as the Merchant
Navy crew made their final preparations for departure, they had
stumbled upon the disused storeroom on B-level, electing to
inhabit it for the duration of the voyage.
The embellished cupboard was unmanned and bare of freight
but for the trunk Barret had carried, large enough for the five to
dwell, albeit snugly. It was monitored by a single technician, the
young worker inspecting it from time to time as part of his duties.
He seemed uncaring of the stowaways’ presence as if it were a
regular occurrence, and had taken to simply asking if everything
was in order before moving on with his rounds.
Humouring Cloud’s inquisition, Barret had revealed a detailed
account of how he and the others had snuck into Lower Junon on
board a schooner belonging to one of Papa Dudley’s fellow
fishermen. While the man had distracted customs officials at the
docks with the specifics of his catch and intention to sell, they
had hauled his supposed ware ashore, including the crate that
concealed Red XIII and Cloud’s illegal weapon among other
items. The group had been fortunate enough to quickly discover
a vacant deckhand shed, and so borrowed the naval outfits in
which they were now dressed so as to reduce suspicion.
Now, as he gazed absently at the swinging lamp, the magnificent
fiery beast stirred at his feet, snorting as he slept. It seemed he
alone had been disturbed by the whistle, the rumble of Barret’s
snoring reaching his ears for the first time. Around him, all was
at peace, his comrades’ bodies huddled together on the dusty
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floor. Resting his head on one of his padded shoulder pauldrons,
unwilling to press it against the crusty coating of the pipes again,
he placed the silver helmet by his side. He could feel the
movement of the ocean beneath him, becoming one with the ship
as it skipped effortlessly through the waves. The soothing
oscillation lured his weariness, and Cloud did nothing to prevent
himself descending into a long and dreamless slumber.
*
*
*
“You hungry?” asked Barret, hunched over the open casket as he
rummaged through its contents, shifting the backpacks around
like toys, his weight supported solely by the prosthetic socket that
usually bore his gatling-gun.
“I could eat.” Cloud responded groggily, sitting up as he
surveyed the hold. He noted Red XIII was curled up in the far
corner, his flaming tail and huge paws tucked beneath his torso,
but the girls had gone. “What do we have left?”
“Not much.” Barret frowned. “Our rations’re runnin’ low. We’d
best stock up when we get to Costa del Sol.”
He tossed a small pouch of raisins onto Cloud’s lap, one of the
few things from Fort Condor yet to be consumed. Only a handful
of the dried fruit remained in the clear bag and, tipping them into
his palm, he swallowed them in a single mouthful. Cloud had
found his eating habits to have grown erratic since leaving
Midgar, his military-trained ignorance of hunger causing
fluctuations in his energy levels, but he could not deny the
satisfaction of the food as he gulped it down.
“How long ‘til we dock?” he said, slowly dragging himself to his
feet. “I overheard one of the crew say it’s a three-day journey.’
“I guess we’ll be there by mornin’, then.” Barret nodded,
replacing the lid of the trunk. “It’s gettin’ late. I think it’s after
midnight, but don’t count on it; calculations ain’t exactly my
area.”
“Where are Aerith and Tifa?”
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“Dunno.” he shrugged distractedly, investigating a button that
had become unfastened at his muscular gut. “Said they was goin’
for some fresh air.”
“Is it safe?” deliberated Cloud, glancing towards the low fortified
doorway. “What if they get stopped by someone?”
“What you worried ‘bout?” Barret dismissed with a chuckle.
“The security ‘round here’s awful. You’ve seen what those Navy
guys are like…an’ the sailors don’t give a damn as long as we ain’t
causin’ trouble.”
“I suppose...”
“When the others return,” yawned Red XIII, rousing from his
meditative state, “I should very much like to go up on deck. My
need to escape this cell is escalating by the minute.”
“Not a chance, old timer.” Barret shook his head, turning to
Cloud for backing. “The crew’s a bit casual, but they ain’t blind.
You’d only attract attention.”
“Not at all.” disputed the beast, his eloquent voice firm with a
hint of agitation. “I could wear one of the uniforms and walk
around on my hind legs.”
“Wouldn’t you stumble all over the place?”
“On the contrary, I’d say I make a fine human being.” Red XIII
asserted, rearing up to demonstrate his sturdiness on two feet. “I
always wanted to be like the people of my village; to be able to
move upright, so I used to practice when I was a cub. I’m a little
woozy, but I shouldn’t get caught. Humans only look at
appearances anyway.’
“Red, I’m sorry,” sighed Cloud, watching as the great feline
dropped back to the ground, “but I agree with Barret. I realise it’s
unfair, but it would be unwise for you to leave the room, even
now. The last thing we need is someone recognising us.”
“If you insist.” Red XIII nodded dejectedly. “Perhaps had you
spent as many months as I did imprisoned in Hojo’s laboratory,
you may understand.”
“I...’ Cloud cut off as there came a dull knock on the sealed hatch
behind them, the clang resonating about the chamber as he
fumbled for the standard-issue baton of his uniform.
207
“Who is it?” called Barret gruffly.
“It’s us.” came Tifa’s muffled answer from the corridor. Barret
slumped from his position against the wall and stepped over
Cloud to spin the stiff watertight lock.
“Geez, Louise, what are you three so happy about?” Aerith
chirped sarcastically as the two entered, grinding the heavy door
across the floor. They were still dressed in identical white
deckhand attire, Tifa’s curvaceous figure and long legs carrying
her a short height above her more petite and spritely friend.
“Anything to report?” asked Cloud, cautiously scouring the
hallway outside.
“No, sir!” Aerith gave him a mock salute. “Everything quiet, sir!”
“Me an’ Cloud’re gonna head up top soon.” mumbled Barret,
moving aside to let them pass. “We was just waitin’ for y’all to get
back.”
“Okay,” Tifa acknowledged, “but there isn’t much to see.”
“Most of the crew are in their bunks.” added Aerith as she
removed her ensign’s cap, playfully dropping it between Red
XIII’s pointed ears, careful not to disturb his gold barrette and
plume of eagle feathers. “It’s weird to think they consider us one
of them. I kind of like it, though...y’know, all this uniform stuff. I
think I could have fun with this.”
“Are you serious?” Tifa gasped with disgust. “I really hate having
to wear this thing. Uniforms, soldiers, war...I hate ‘em. They
take away all the things and people you love. I wish they’d just
disappear. Right, Cloud?”
“I don’t know…” he said softly. “I used to be part of this,
remember?”
“Wearing those clothes seems to have changed you a little.” she
scowled, her lips trembling, turning her back to him. “I hope it’s
not because they remind you of being in SOLDIER…”
“Tifa, I didn’t mean...” he trailed off, his mind numbed by a
drone of subconscious thoughts.
What had he meant? Those things didn’t bother him as much
as they did her. But, why not? He had been affected by them,
too. He had lost his parents just as she had. He had seen his
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hometown burned to the ground. The only difference was that
Cloud had chosen a life of conflict with Shinra, Inc. Not that it
mattered anymore; all he cared about was Sephiroth. All he
wanted was to find the man in the black cloak; to find him and
to kill him...
“I think me an’ you’d better get outta here.” Barret suggested,
his features contorted in a strange grimace, picking up the
Security Division helmet and stuffing it into Cloud’s chest.
“Now.”
“We’ll be back soon.” he said, pulling the mask down over his
face as he stood.
“Take your time.” Tifa muttered under her breath.
Keen to abandon the unpleasant atmosphere, the duo stepped
hastily out into the tapered corridor, sealing the hatch valve
firmly behind them. The passage was void of personnel, but
crowded by the rising steam that seeped through the grated floor.
Thick pipes trailed the low ceiling in both directions, their
exterior brown with decay, blemishing the steel-plated walls
around them. Beginning left, Barret strode down the corridor,
Cloud at his heels, until it brought them to a narrow, spiralling
staircase located within a tight ingress. They ascended through
the lower levels ‘B’ to ‘E’, finally arriving at the opening of the
cargo hold.
The bay was great in size and accounted for more than half of
the Fahrenheit’s interior, its high roof spanning all the way to the
frigate’s stern, complete with twin rails for mobile winches. The
vehicle ramp had been drawn up to enclose the area’s rear, its
dark square outline and painted hazard markings still visible in
the faint light, resonating loudly as the spray outside crashed
against it.
Assorted crates and containers were piled in
designated zones around the vast room, only a handful without
order, forming temporary avenues between the tall stacks. Most
of the freight bore the Shinra Diamond, the Company’s red and
gold insignia stamped indistinctively onto their rough casing, but
the contents otherwise remained a secret.
209
Against the starboard side, a wide stairwell was held aloft by
badly-rusting frame, reaching towards the ceiling and the open
sky. Wavering moonlight trickled down a few steps at its apex,
luring the men out into the fresh sea air like the spellbinding
song of the Siren. A small band of sailors were gathered around
an old oil drum nearby, each with a cigarette in their mouth and
their card hand by their chest, their game played under a single
gas lamp.
Crossing the hold as discreetly as possible, winding among the
shadowy rows of containers, Cloud and Barret swiftly climbed the
stairs, marching determinedly to avoid suspicion. The clang of
grilled metal beneath their boots echoed throughout the cargo
chamber, its sound reverberating above the everlasting hum of
the ship’s Mako engine. A couple of the ensigns glanced up, but
immediately returned to their game, uninterested by the two.
Cloud felt the strong ocean gust whirl about him as he emerged
onto the deck, its icy fingers piercing the layers of his outfit like
one-thousand needles. The heavens were overcast, breached only
by the penetrating white moonbeams that reflected beautifully on
the turbulent seas in the distance. Bullying waves battered
against the hull, causing surf to soar far into the air, the force of
each rocking the ship somewhat. He paused as Barret strolled
past him, using his prosthetic socket to hold down the cap on his
head, searching his breast pocket with his good hand. Stopping
below the mast at the vessel’s stern, the gargantuan man
calculated the direction of the wind, moving behind it to shelter
himself.
“What’re you doin’?” Cloud hissed, quickly peering around to
make sure they were alone. A single lamp shone from the
windows of the wooden observation platform that loomed atop
the stern, but there seemed to be little activity.
“I fancied a smoke.” shrugged Barret, holding up a lean
unopened packet of cigars. He tore the seal with his teeth and
placed one of the thin brown rolls between his lips. “Get over ‘ere
an’ help me light this thing.”
“Where’d you get those?” Cloud queried as he joined him.
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XIII
“Found ‘em in one of my pockets.” he replied. “Almost makes it
worth wearin’ this stupid costume. You want one?’”
“I’ll pass.”
Cloud took the lighter from him and held the flame to the tip of
the cigar. Barret inhaled at once, his breath long and deep,
puffing out a steady stream of smoke. The glow of the
smouldering cigar illuminated his bristly face, an expression of
satisfaction washing over it as he sat on the nearest of the
upturned crates. But for the rumble of machinery within the
Fahrenheit’s bowels and the constant slapping of water on the
keel, all was silent as the pair settled beneath the freight crane
which hung between two support arms.
“Damn, that’s the stuff.” he sighed contentedly. “Nothin’ beats a
good smoke.”
“Whatever…”
“Somethin’ wrong, Spiky?” asked Barret, a rare note of concern
in his tone.
“I dunno...” Cloud frowned, gazing cautiously about him. “I feel
exposed. Y’know, like I’m bein’ watched...”
“By someone on board?”
“No...by him. It’s been bothering me ever since we set sail.”
“Man, you really are screwed up.” chuckled Barret, teasingly
pounding his comrade’s back. “You’ve seen the ship, ain’t ya?
You know he’s not here.”
“But still…” Cloud lowered his head, reflecting on the
nightmares that haunted him.
“We’ll be dockin’ in a few hours,” said Barret, “an’ when we do,
you can leave that crazy imagination o’ yours behind. As for me,
I’m gonna head up front. Been a long time since I enjoyed a
smoke with the wind in my face.”
“Sure…whatever…” Cloud grunted indifferently, his tense body
pressed against the bulky mast, staring out over the dancing
water as the enormous sailor disappeared across the deck and
beyond the crane support towards the bridge.
The line of the horizon was barely visible in the early morning,
parting the dark clouds from the colourless ocean, oscillating as
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the easterly gale thrust the waves in its direction. As anxiety
flooded his veins, he regressed to his old SOLDIER habit of
performing squats, his arms swinging by his side as his knees
bent to touch his abdomen. He felt weary, his energy slowly
sapping as he tried to assemble the fragments of his broken
thoughts. He looked out through his visor, the image of the space
before him fading to a distant blur, and closed his eyes again.
Sephiroth…where are you…?
*
*
*
*
*
*
‘Cloud...’
“Sephiroth?” he croaked, gasping for oxygen.
All was eerily still; the whistle on the air had died, and the
swaying motion of the ship had ceased. Cloud gawked numbly at
his surroundings; the towering mast overhead; the windows of
the captain’s quarters situated below the observation deck; the
collection of weather-beaten barrels pinning down the rolls of
nets; the lifeboats tied by knotted ropes to the inward-arcing
walls of the hull. Nothing stirred but for the ghostly vapours
drifting from the open vents on the floor.
Sephiroth…?
“What’sh wrong, kid?”
The slurred voice came from behind, causing him to jump. He
spun sharply, his fists clenched, and found himself glaring at a
young black-haired crewman as he descended the last of the
rungs to the crow’s nest. The boy’s scrawny cheeks were rosy and
his heavy breath laden with the stench of whiskey, the dregs of
one such bottle clutched in his hand. He erupted with laughter,
giggling gleefully to himself as he saw Cloud’s defensive stance,
staggering towards the mast.
“What’s so funny?” Cloud demanded, easing his posture but not
his vigilance.
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“Shorry, I didn’t mean to shtartle you.” the lieutenant
apologised, offering a drunken smile. “I jusht thought you were in
shome short of trance…talkin’ to yourshelf an’ that. I was jusht
checkin’ you wash okay.”
“I’m fine.” he growled.
“C’mon, my friend, what’sh the matter?” pried the boy as he
attempted to put an arm around Cloud’s shoulders, instead
striking the side of his helmet. “Don’t wanna be sheen shleepin’
on duty. Doubt the shkipper’ll be too happy. If he shees you
shlackin’, he’ll busht you one!’
“I’m tired, that’s all.”
“You know what your problem ish?” he continued loudly,
oblivious to the unwelcoming undertone. “You got no pep.”
“What?” snarled Cloud.
“No pep. A sheaman’s gotta have shome oomph in him.”
“Huh?”
“I got the perfect thing.” he murmured excitedly, hiccupping as
he pulled a small flask from his belt. “Invisible Alpha...a shuper
drink for sheamen. Jusht one shwig’ll rejuvenate you. It’sh a
necesshity for Merchant Navy shailors.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“What ‘bout a Phoenix Down?” insisted the crewman. “You got a
hangover? Thish shtuff’ll bring you back to life.”
“Not interested...” Cloud dismissed, pushing him away.
“Shuit yourshelf.” he scoffed, raising his hands in mock
surrender. “You’re awfully shtingy, Mr. Sholdier.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Shure.” the sailor hiccupped again as he slowly retreated,
stumbling across the deck towards the cargo hold staircase,
barely maintaining his balance. “Oh man, we’re almost at Coshta
del Shol. I’m gonna take a long overdue vacation. Maybe get a
tan. Hope thish weather shtays calm. Gotta pray to Ramuh for
shafe passage without shtorms. Or ish it Typhon? I can never
remember…”
As the inaudible ramblings dissolved into the night, Cloud hung
his head again, overcome by his fatigued state and the bizarre
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encounter. The bitter chill clung to his skin through his clothing,
and the condensation on his visor fogged his sight, signalling that
it may be time to return to the storage compartment. Trudging
towards the bow, tracing Barret’s footsteps over the black and
yellow hazard markers, he passed a long row of tinted office
windows, the workstations and control panels inside alive but
idle. The frigate’s bridge rose above the block, its lamps dimmed
at this late hour, with the radar apparatus spinning atop its roof
in a soothing hum.
The muscular figure of Barret stood by the railings near the
bend in the walkway, staring broodingly out to sea as the
Fahrenheit ploughed through the choppy waters. Wisps of blue
smoke pranced from his mouth as he drew the last of the tobacco
from his cigar, flicking the smouldering stub over the side and
into the churning depths. He did not react as Cloud approached,
his pensive mood failing even to acknowledge his comrade’s
initial proposal.
“It’s getting cold.” said Cloud, rubbing his arms. “We should
head below…”
“D’you think those three’ll ever forgive me?” he responded after
a number of seconds.
“What three?”
“Damn, man,” Barret snapped, his emotions fragile,
“Biggs…Wedge…Jessie...”
“Oh…”
“At times like this I wonder if they can still see us.” his voice
softened, clenching his jaw as he battled the torment of guilt. “I
promised ‘em we’d get outta Midgar after the mission to destroy
Reactor5. I promised ‘em we’d all go to Cosmo Canyon to lay low
an’ celebrate. But, when things went wrong…”
“Barret…”
“We all fought with AVALANCHE ‘cause we all believed in
somethin’.” he persisted, his eyes glazed. “‘Protectors of the
Planet’…that’s what we called ourselves. We knew we’d have to
make sacrifices to stop the Shinra, but what happened to ‘em on
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XIII
that Pillar…Godsdammit, it makes my blood boil! Them three
kids died, but we lived. That ain’t fair, man…
“That day, Shinra did somethin’ unforgiveable. They murdered
thousands just to get us. If it hadn’t been for Biggs, Wedge an’
Jessie fightin’ to save Sector7, I dunno how many more woulda
died. They’re heroes. If they’d just run, then…Marlene…shit, I
don’t even wanna think ‘bout it…”
As his words trailed off, there came an explosive sound around
them, the scream of klaxons resounding from all over the boat.
Barret turned from the barrier, his troubled expression instantly
shifting to confusion as the wail of the alarm escalated to a
almost-deafening level. There was a crackle of static above them,
the small silver loudspeaker buzzing to life.
“Emergency alert!” boomed a sharp female recording.
“Suspicious character sighted. Those not on detail, search the
ship. Report when apprehended. I repeat...”
“What the hell?” Barret shouted over the blaring siren, shielding
his ears. “Did they find us?”
“Don’t think so.” Cloud shook his head as his eyes darted back
and forth across the shadowy deck. “It didn’t sound like us. Tifa
and the others maybe...?”
“Well, shit!” roared Barret, charging past him and taking off in
the direction of the cargo bay access. “Get off your spiky ass and
let’s go!”
Cloud followed rapidly, sprinting across the sodden surface, his
army boots slipping and screeching. They reached the arched
opening within seconds, and began careering down the steps, the
entire rickety structure shuddering underfoot. The tenacious
alarm shrieked inside the hold, the entire area plunged into a
deep flashing red, casting wild silhouettes of the container stacks
onto the interior walls of the hull as they bore down on the duo
like a scaling enclosure.
Cloud’s mind was racing, the
announcement’s wording replaying over and over.
Suspicious character? It can’t be...
The possibility plagued him, but he forced the notion from his
head. He launched himself down the remaining stairs and
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galloped between the crates towards the adjacent hallway, Barret
at his tail, dodging the other sailors as they hurried across the
alleys. Down the spiralling flight he ran, his legs pumping, his
ears numbed by the unrelenting klaxons. The corridor of the Blevel was empty, but a speaker at the opposite end continued to
repeat the disturbing message.
The main filament lights
overhead had shut off and been replaced with small crimson
bulbs, their blinking a constant cycle, melting the dimensions of
the passage into a mesmeric distortion. The two burst inside the
hatch of the storage room moments later, finding it unlocked as
Cloud spun the clumsy valve handle.
“Everyone alright?” yelled Barret as they stumbled inside,
frantically searching the chamber.
“We’re okay.” Tifa nodded anxiously, springing from the corner
where she, Aerith, and Red XIII had gathered and embracing
him. “You?”
“Never been better.” grunted Cloud, slamming the watertight
door behind him. “What’s goin’ on? Have you guys been seen?”
“It’s not us.” insisted Aerith, her voice unusually apprehensive.
“We were worried it was you, but the technician came in just after
the alarm went off. He told us someone had been spotted in the
engine room and that he was on his way to check it out. He said
we should stay hidden.”
“Engine room...” Cloud mumbled to himself, his thoughts still
reeling.
“You don’t think the suspicious character is…?” gulped Tifa as
he brushed past.
Cloud crossed the short space and sat on the crate at the back
wall, lifting the helmet from his head and letting it fall it to the
floor. The padded base let out a dull thunk as it hit the ground,
bouncing once and rolling into the outstretched paws of Red XIII.
He slumped against the jagged pipes, his eyes closed, listening
without concentration to the drone of the incessant alerts. Barret
and Tifa were talking close by, but he cared not for what they
were saying; it was meaningless as the paranoid blackness
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XIII
overwhelmed him. He felt his nightmares take hold, the shrill
ringing in his brain growing louder.
…the intensity of the flames...the anger of betrayal...
*
*
*
‘”Yo, Cloud, you still alive?” Barret’s deep accent flooded his
subconscious as he felt a strong hand shaking him by the
shoulder.
“Huh?” stammered Cloud, glancing up at him in annoyance,
swiping Barret’s mighty arm away. “What you talkin’ about?”
“You passed out, man.” he replied grimly. “Another one o’ your
episodes.”
“I was just closing my…” Cloud paused as his advanced senses
absorbed the surroundings; he was lying on the floor, the features
of others conveying concern as they stood over him. The sirens
had stopped, and all that resonated around him now was a
reduced vibration from the frigate’s engine.
How long was I out…?
“The alarm ended a few minutes ago.” Barret informed him,
reading Cloud’s perplexed expression. “Not heard anythin’ since.
We should be dockin’ soon, but…somethin’ don’t feel right…”
“Yeah…” he agreed, groaning as he straightened upright. “I’m
gonna check it out.”
“Now?” spluttered Tifa in dispute, her brows furrowing. “We’ll
be off this floating hellhole in no time. You can’t go risking
yourself just because you have a hunch!”
“I need to know.” he answered flatly, kneeling to open the crate.
“Is this absolutely necessary?” posed Red XIII as Cloud heaved
the Buster Sword from within, momentarily inspecting the long
blade in the dim light before recovering his other accessories.
“We have to be prepared for the worst.” he affirmed, strapping
his leather braces down over the infantry uniform, and sliding the
great weapon onto the magnetic holder at his spine. “For all we
know, we could be in danger.”
“I’m goin’ too.” said Barret.
217
“Fine.” Cloud conceded, stepping aside. “Then, tool up. The rest
of you stay here ‘til we get back.”
As he began towards the doorway, he heard Barret snatch his
gatling-gun from the trunk and slot it into the adapter of his
prosthesis. Adjusting his ‘partner’ and locking it into place, he
fed a segment of his bandolier into the ammunition chamber, the
thirty-five millimetre bullets folding layer upon layer. With a
decisive click, he completed the reload, striding after Cloud as he
rotated the latch and entered the B-level corridor.
The air of the hallway was warm and sticky, drifting like a
deathly haze in the gloom. Cloud turned right and advanced
down the vaporous passage, wiping moisture from his forehead
as it trickled from his temple, matting the strands of his hair to
his cheek. It brought them to a narrow stairwell, the grated steps
disappearing into the obscurities of the lower A-level. The pair
descended with caution, the metal reverberating beneath their
weight.
At the foot of the stairs was a perpendicular junction, a decaying
sign on the wall before them revealing the engine room to be on
the starboard side of the vessel. They followed the dark walkway,
moving warily through the cramped tunnel as it edged gradually
towards the aft of the ship. After a short distance, they arrived at
a single hatch, sealed shut by a circular handle. Cloud carefully
spun the wheel and pushed the door open, its hinges moaning as
it scraped across the floor.
The engine room was oblong and spacious in size, set below the
ingress, its lofty walls plated with the same panels of corroding
steel that decorated the rest of the ship. A collection of hulking
and dated propulsion machinery buzzed from around the area,
with twin Mako generators in the corners opposite emitting a
smooth, undisturbed whir as the gases inside each drove the
endlessly-rotating turbines.
A grilled inspection balcony spanned the length of three walls
above them, the ladders to which were set on the left of the
doorway, greasy and splattered with oil. Directly before the duo,
the machinery’s controls and cooling system rested between the
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XIII
robust engines, the monitors and diodes of which showed slowlyfluctuating pressure levels. A senior officer of the Shinra Navy
stood there in silence, his back to the two, his body abnormally
rigid.
“What the hell?” whispered Barret, uncertainty crawling into his
manner as he squinted at the man.
The major remained perfectly still despite the words carrying
around the room, the maroon tunic of his uniform appearing
discoloured at his waist. His standard-issue automatic rifle had
been strewn on the ground by his military boots, its safety catch
released, but there was no indication that it had been discharged.
“Something’s definitely not right.” breathed Cloud, prudently
drawing the Buster Sword as he crept down the few steps to the
main grid, and started across the bay.
He cleared his throat as he approached the man, his blade held
out in front, but still there came no response. Hesitantly, he
reached out and placed a hand on the officer’s shoulder, but
staggered backwards in horror as the lifeless figure collapsed and
toppled to the floor. A sensation of dread enveloped him as he
stared into the dead man’s fearful eyes, gulping hard as he saw
the ferocious burn marks on his torso. He had been slain by Dark
Fira magic, his whole front blackened as if scorched by the very
Hellfires of Ifrit. Cloud hastily brandished his weapon again as a
low, menacing voice suddenly filled the engine room, echoing all
around them.
“After a long sleep...” it growled, surreal as its unnerving
coldness filtered through the murmur of activity. Cloud closed
his eyes; his heart stopping; a bottomless swell opening within
his stomach as sickening recognition sank in. “Time...the time
has come...”
“Cloud!” shouted Barret, his face screwing in disbelief, a
trembling arm pointing towards the control system.
Cloud spun, retreating as he watched him rise from the floor
where the official had been. Sephiroth floated up, almost
ghostlike, hovering above the terminals, the sinister gaze of his
pale green eyes piercing their souls. He was as Cloud had
219
foreseen; tall and broad, clad in a sweeping black mantle, the
bangs of his silver hair falling on either side of a lean face
shrouded beneath his draping hood. He gracefully lifted his arms
aloft, extending them as if to welcome himself in their presence.
His cloak hung limply behind, the dark leather shimmering,
unmistakeably airborne and free of support. Cloud let out a
muffled gasp as he stumbled to where Barret had remained,
clasping aimlessly at railings and pipes.
“Se…Sephiroth?” he faltered timidly, unable to accept the
extraordinary sight. “You’re...you’re alive...”
“Who are you?” the former Captain of SOLDIER sneered
maliciously.
“Don’t you remember me?” he stuttered, frozen to the spot.
“I...I’m Cloud…”
“Cloud...” repeated Sephiroth, a wicked grin crossing his lips as
his fierce stare met his adversary’s. After a few moments, he
raised his eyes to the ceiling, mouthing a soundless incantation.
A spherical bubble pulsed out from around him, encircling his
suspended form, waves of translucent power rippling in every
direction.
“Sephiroth!” Cloud screamed, shielding his face as the sphere
blazed a blinding white. “What are you thinking? What are you
doing?”
“The time...is now...”
“Sephiroth!”
The ball of energy exploded, the tremendous surge of magic
ripping Cloud from his feet. He landed hard against one of the
smaller generators, the Buster Sword thrown from his grasp,
clattering on the floor at the centre of the engine room. He cried
out as he fell to the ground, a wild pain shooting through his
body. He groaned, gingerly pulling himself up, and glanced
around; Sephiroth had vanished, leaving no trace in the air above
the control panels. Barret lay crumpled in the doorway, a line of
blood trickling down his face. He sat up in a daze, vigorously
shaking his head as he scanned the area for Cloud.
220
XIII
“The hell just happened?” he whined, grimacing as he touched
his temple. “Sephiroth…he…”
“That’s not the Sephiroth I used to know.” Cloud interrupted
distractedly as he marched across the room to reclaim his
weapon. “He’s far stronger. I…I don’t know what he’s become...”
Cloud stopped dead, paralysed. On the grid a number of feet
before him, separating him from the greatsword, there lay a
humanoid arm. The frail skin was pallid blue in colour, covered
by sores oozing globules of puss, the sinewy muscle inside visible
through its ragged flesh. There was a smear of red, dark and
unnatural, materialising beneath the limb, a thin pool taking
shape. Cloud felt his heartbeat quicken, stepping back as the
long, elegant fingers on its hand started to twitch. He tripped, his
boot catching on the jutting edge of a pipe, and tumbled to the
floor.
“What is it?” called Barret, his voice still shaken.
“I don’t...” Cloud hesitated, his throat becoming dry. “It can’t
be!”
The arm began to transform, increasing in girth at an alarming
rate, the flesh bubbling and slurping as it expanded. The hand
snapped open to form an enormous claw, sharp spikes tearing
from under the skin of each finger. The limb throbbed and
convulsed, the muscles and tendons merging and growing,
moulding a head; a body of its own. The cerulean shade of the
flesh changed and became a deep purple, the abdomen of the
emerging creature a soft pink. Large tentacles, each as thick as
tree trunks, whipped out from its back as the monster hauled
itself upright, climbing almost twenty feet towards the scaling
ceiling. The talons now stretched from the right shoulder of the
abomination, its razor fingers scraping the eroding roof as it let
out a furious bellow.
“Holy shit!” roared Barret. “Cloud, move!”
Cloud rolled and lunged out of the way as the creature’s tail
came crashing down upon him, the metal plates screeching as
they buckled under the impact. He looked up, his messy hair
briefly obscuring his sight, and saw its grinning skeletal face, a
221
glowing red eye leering at him as it brought down its thunderous
appendage a second time, forcing him to dive for cover again. It
shrieked in anger; a high, shrill sound, flailing its tentacles
irately. Cloud scrambled to his feet and sprinted towards the
door.
“Get down!”
He hurled himself to the ground as the hail of bullets whizzed
over his head. The horrifying brute screamed again as Barret’s
shots tore through its torso, shreds of gooey pulp cascading
readily from its midriff. Turning progressively from Cloud, it
began to slither forward, the mound of flesh at its base gliding
strenuously across the grilled floor with a nauseating sucking
sound. Barret let out a venomous war cry, the six barrels of his
gun-arm rotating in an explosive blur, his huge legs the only
support against chain-gun’s violent thrust. The monstrosity
drove at him without recoil, its tentacles smashing against the
walls, knocking the inspection walkway from its frame.
“Die, you ugly mothafucker!” he barked, his face twisted in
revulsion.
The fiend pushed Cloud aside, its attention fixed on Barret. He
could see the underside of its scythe-like claw as it moved, the
huge spikes passing high above his head. As it slipped beyond
him, he leapt to his feet and raced to retrieve the Buster Sword,
clutching its handle as he yanked it up. He spun on his heels,
hearing Barret cry out as the creature slammed him against the
hatch with the largest of its arms, the barrage of bullets
ricocheting over the machinery and instantly ceasing.
Cloud sprang forward, his instinctual wrath taking hold, and
drove the Buster Sword into the monster’s side. It squealed in
agony, its swollen upper-body writhing savagely. He withdrew
the weapon, ducking as one of the tentacles lashed out viciously,
and brought it up, hacking at the enormous limb as it thrashed
overhead. The blade sliced easily through the tissue, leaving only
a haemorrhaging stump at the beast’s waist. The detached arm
bounced once as it landed, becoming nothing more than flaccid
muscle.
222
XIII
The creature shrieked again, a howl of intense rage rather than
pain, and circled suddenly to meet him, manoeuvring its entire
bulk at lightning speed. It bore down upon Cloud, its lowersection emitting a loud squelching echo as it propelled itself
toward its prey. Its underbelly pulsated as it lurched across the
engine room, the slender female abdomen at its core an obvious
weak point. The fiend reared up, its shoulders drawing back,
hanging its talons over Cloud as it prepared to strike. Without
thinking, he darted forward, and launched himself at the foe, the
Buster Sword slicing effortlessly through its waist.
It fell, the weight of the claw dragging the severed upper-body
backwards. It wailed a final time, its jagged spine crashing
against the ground, its long neck crunching sickeningly as the
vertebrae snapped.
The tentacles shrank, shrivelling into
wrinkled flesh as it died. Cloud stood over the withering
abomination, emotionless as he glared into the hollow black
sockets on its evil face until all that lingered was a small gurgling
mass of grotesque organic matter.
For a while he was silent and motionless, the aftermath of his
adrenaline slackening his thoughts. He allowed the rocking of
the Fahrenheit to ease his heaving chest, its constant pounding
an aggravation now that the battle was won. His focus did not
shift; the place where the creature’s hideous head had once been
locked in his retina. After a time, he let his eyes wander; passing
it over the generators; the broken walls; the deceased officer.
Eventually, Barret appeared by his side, the gash on his forehead
wide and bloody. With a concerted grunt, he kicked the fleshy
pile across the chamber.
“You know what that was, don’t you?” he tested, his tone
ominous, almost accusing.
“Yes.” Cloud answered quietly, inhaling deeply. “It was part of
Jenova.”
“Jenova?” gasped Barret. “You mean…Sephiroth’s mother?”
“Yeah...” Cloud sighed, his hands trembling as he attached his
sword to its holder. “It seems he’s been carrying her remains
around ever since he took them from Shinra Headquarters.”
223
“That warped bastard.” he swore. “What’s he plannin’?
Somethin’ ‘bout ‘the time is now’.”
“‘Time is...now’...” recalled Cloud, the words puzzling him.
Five years ago, Sephiroth told me he wanted to find the
Promised Land after he discovered the truth about his past. He
planned to go there with his surrogate mother, Jenova, a
preserved Cetra and research specimen of Shinra, Inc.. He
believed that, given his heritage, he had been destined to rule
this Planet. But, after the events at Nibelheim, he disappeared...
Then, two months ago, he came back to kill President Shinra
and claim his mother’s mummified relics. Since that night, he’s
been roaming the Continent, only to cross the ocean. But, why
now? Why has he returned? What is the purpose of all this? Is
it for revenge…or for something much bigger? It doesn’t make
any sense…
“No use thinkin’ ‘bout it right now.” urged Barret, drawing
Cloud from his musings. “We gotta get back to the others...tell
‘em what’s happened. An’ I definitely don’t wanna be here when
the guards discover this place.”
“Yeah...” agreed Cloud. “Let’s just get outta here.”
With a gesture of acknowledgement, Barret turned, his large
strides taking him to the exit within seconds. Cloud loitered a
minute longer, replaying the events in his mind. It grew harder
to accept the more he considered the scenario; Sephiroth with the
ability to fly; to pass through walls; to evaporate completely. It
created an omen like no other Cloud had conceived, but also
hatred; a greater lust for his nemesis’ death than ever before. He
walked dazedly up the steps to the doorway and halted, peering
back towards the spot where the man in the black cloak had
revealed himself to them.
Sephiroth is alive, he pondered gravely, an unshakable sense of
dread seeping into his very being. The Promised Land...does it
really exist…?
224
EPILOGUE
Riddles on the Sunshine Coast
Rufus Shinra felt the familiar wall of intense warmth slam
against his face as he stepped from the air-conditioned cabin of
the Gelnika, descending the mobile stairs towards the runway.
Tucking his white trench coat under his arm, he strode
purposefully across the tarmac to where General Heidegger
waited alongside a helmeted SOLDIER and a handful of
infantrymen, the ferocious gusts generated by the aeroplane’s
wing-top propellers blowing his blonde locks over his face. The
men all stood to attention as he approached, clicking their boots
together and adopting their respective salutes.
The low rumble of an s-510 saloon car’s engine drew his focus
momentarily from the subordinates, tracing the beige sedan’s
motion with his narrowed gaze as it sped towards them. He
allowed himself a sardonic grin, acknowledging that the obese
weasel had finally done something right; this model was so new it
had not yet been placed on display at the showroom of
Headquarters. The vehicle cast long shadows across the remote
Company-owned airfield, its fresh paintwork gleaming in the
burning sun, and its wheels a blur amid the quivering heat waves
as they bounced off the asphalt.
“What a long ride that was.” Heidegger broke the silence, his
coarse voice muffled through his thick and greasy beard as he
attempted polite small talk. Rufus stared at him blankly before
turning to address the SOLDIER.
“What’s your name, boy?”
225
“SOLDIER First Class Luxiere, Mr. President.” he answered
formally, completing the saluting ritual once more. “At your
service.”
“Luxiere,” Rufus nodded thoughtfully, “please take your men
and create a perimeter around the aircraft. I wish to speak with
the General alone.”
“Yes, sir.” affirmed Luxiere immediately, clicking his fingers to
spark the privates into action. “Right away, sir.”
“And hurry up!” spat Heidegger.
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you, and good work everyone…” Rufus added as the
soldiers divided to take up their new posts, his tone oozing anger,
only continuing once they had passed from earshot, “except you.”
“M…me?” gulped the hulking Director of Public Safety
Maintenance.
“You know exactly why, don’t you?” growled the President, his
jaw clenched.
“The Fahrenheit cargo frigate…?” Heidegger mumbled, almost
inaudibly.
“It’s been reported that Sephiroth was on board!” snapped
Rufus, struggling to retain his composure.
“Yes…”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
“A Navy officer and three lieutenants were murdered.” he
snarled. “What do you have to say about that?”
“I ordered the ship’s captain to communicate directly with
myself.” Heidegger puffed out his mammoth chest. “He has been
instructed to mislead his crew regarding the matter.”
“So, the truth about Sephiroth’s appearance has been
contained?”
“For now…”
“And, am I right that you also ordered a postponement on
outbound activity for the freight carriers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you aware of the economic consequences of this?”
226
Epilogue
“Yes…sir.” he stammered, shrinking again.
“Well, on top of all that, it would appear that AVALANCHE was
involved too.”
“Once we locate them,” boomed Heidegger, “we’ll crush them.”
“They all slipped through.” sighed Rufus, shaking his head in
disgust. “The congestion at the port is a disaster. You messed up
big this time, Heidegger.”
“I’m ashamed of myself.” he said, pressing one hand against the
rank-decorated breast of his emerald green suit jacket.
“Is that all you can do?” the President bellowed, overwhelmed
by abhorrence, unflinching as the military escorts each gawked
upon him with surprise. “Give generic answers and apologise for
everything? Even Dark Nation is more useful than you.”
“Your guard hound?”
“Remember, you impudent fool,” he hissed through gritted
teeth, “things are different from when my father was in charge.
You only get one mistake. Next time something like this
happens, you might soon find yourself wearing work duds,
scrubbing toilets in the Slums. Director of your department is
only one position, but there are many who could fill it. Looks to
me like you need some more practice at your Godsdamn job!
With things running as badly as they are, you better be prepared
for pay cuts…”
“Leave it to me, sir.” Heidegger insisted doggedly, emitting a
raspy guffaw as he watched the s-510 sedan slow and glide to a
halt close by, tapping his foot tensely. “I’ll address the Sephiroth
and AVALANCHE situations personally. We won’t let them get
in our way.”
“I thought I told you to stop that stupid horse laugh…?”
“Ready for departure, sir.” called the driver as he emerged from
the car, shouting above the residual drone of the Gelnika’s
quadruple engines. Rufus responded with a wave, and barged
past Heidegger, pausing briefly aside the passenger door of the
saloon.
“Do something!” he barked, glaring furiously into his aide’s eyes,
his expression severe. “I’ll be expecting results…”
227
To be continued in…
Volume VIII:
PART TWO

PART ONE M. J. Gallagher Volume VIII

Transcription

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