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sephirthoughts · 10 months ago

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Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH 14: Deepground Flashback, a big fight happens, Rosso collects a baby duck, special cameo appearance by everyone's favorite good, good boy.

RATING: mature for a non-explicit sex scene

WARNINGS: hojo, canon-typical violence, scarlet being a creep to sixteen-year-old Weiss

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everyone's best friend Zack

“What did I tell you,” Hojo said smugly, to Lazard, who was looking understandably ill-at-ease.

“I don’t listen to half of the deranged shit you say,” Lazard answered irritably. He pressed the intercom button, that linked them to the training arena, where Weiss was pulling Genesis to his feet, after having thrashed him soundly, for the third time in a row. “Genesis. Report.”

Genesis tossed the camera a jaunty salute. “As you’ve certainly deduced, by now, I deem this candidate fit to participate in a sparring contest, with my fellow SOLDIER First Class, Sephiroth.”

“But how are you? Are you injured?”

“You know what they say,” Genesis replied, with a rueful laugh. “Nothing bruised but my pride and internal organs.”

“Alright, then,” Lazard sighed. “It looks like you’ll have your fight, Hojo. I’ll give the green light to the Marketing Department, and set things rolling.”

“Stay close, when you fight him,” Genesis advised Weiss, back in the boys’ quarters. “He’s a skilled spellcaster, and you are best at close range, so don’t let him use his long-range advantage. He’s the most dangerous at mid-range, because of that huge sword, though, so hem him in tightly, if you can. Don’t give him room to use it effectively. Most importantly…keep your eyes open, little brother. I have an uneasy feeling about all of this.”

“I will,” Weiss nodded dutifully.

“Good,” Genesis smiled, laying an affectionate hand on his cheek. “I’ll be cheering for you.”

“Will you be there, to see the fight?” Nero asked, tugging Genesis’ other hand.

“I’m afraid not. I ship back out to the frontlines tomorrow. But I’ll be watching the live satellite feed. Unless there’s enemy activity, then I’ll have to watch the recording, later.”

“When will you come see us, again, big-brother?”

“I won’t make any promises as to when, because I can’t say what things will be like at the front, but it will be the soonest that I can. I’m going to look into our blood connection, too. Hopefully I’ll have some answers, by then.”

Nero’s crimson eyes were large and round, in his pale face, and he was still clinging to Genesis’ hand with both of his. Moved by his childlike earnestness, Genesis took the smaller boy in his arms and pressed kisses to his silky, black hair.

“Worry not, little one. Though the morrow be barren of promises, nothing shall forestall my return.”

Within an hour of the famous SOLDIER’s departure, personnel were sent to restore and repair all of the destroyed surveillance equipment in Weiss and Nero’s room. This mattered very little to the two boys, who were indifferent to being observed, and communicated silently, anyway.

After all that, months passed, before anything progressed regarding the planned duel with Sephiroth. During that time, rumors began to reach Deepground that something big had happened, in SOLDIER. People were even saying that some top-level people had betrayed Shinra and defected. Nero couldn’t reach Genesis through the darkness link at a distance, like he could with Weiss, so they wouldn’t be able to ask him about it, till he visited again.

Meanwhile, they continued training and living pretty much as normal. Hojo went away to do whatever he did. The girls he’d brought for Weiss were still there, but one had broken away from the main pack and begun hanging around wherever Rosso was. Rosso responded much like Weiss had, when she started following him around, which was to ignore the girl and go about her business, but make no objection to her presence.

As per their usual, Weiss and Nero didn’t care even a little bit, and so the new girl gradually became part of the Deepground group. She was always muttering to herself and making notes and sketches in her little notebook, but otherwise, she was generally inoffensive.

At long last, Hojo called to say that the fight with Sephiroth had been scheduled, and was to take place a week hence. There was to be a huge live audience, including the entire Shinra board of directors. He assured Weiss that Sephiroth was aware of their purpose, and wouldn’t embarrass him.

Later that evening, Nero lay splayed out in the tumble of white sheets, black marks writhing and dancing all over his slender body, while Weiss’ hot tongue coaxed and teased him open, sometimes gentle and patient, sometimes urgent and demanding, but always an act of abject worship, a zealot before his god, demonstrating his fanatic devotion on his hands and knees.

Nero bit deep into his brother’s neck, coiling his legs tightly around his waist, as he pushed himself inside. Their souls connected as their bodies moved together, slick with sweat, giving and receiving, fucking and being fucked, joined at the white-hot nexus of pleasure, merging deeper and deeper into one another.

The primary goal of their sexual unions was not orgasm, though they enjoyed that part, too, but rather the relief of the ache of emptiness, that would grow and grow, the longer they weren’t fully merged, until it became a howling void of agony and need.

Their psychic connection provided some relief, and slowed the process, but eventually, they would have to be united again, or the pain would become maddening and unbearable, and much like the pain of a phantom limb, without any remedy, other than the re-attaching of the missing part. Fortunately, they were also a couple of hormonal teenagers, and so the necessity of merging their being accorded well with their biological drive to be constantly fucking.

“I’m sorry they won’t let you go with me,” Wiess sighed, when Nero lay in his arms, after their amorous activities.

“We’ll be watching, here,” Nero said, nestling more securely into his brother’s broad chest. “If you need me, just use the darkness. I look forward to witnessing your victory.”

“Genesis doesn’t think I’ll win.”

“You only used half your strength to fight him. Of course he doesn’t.”

Weiss laughed and pressed a kiss to Nero’s forehead. “I couldn’t tip my hand to Lazard and Hojo. Besides, don’t you think he’ll be surprised, when he sees me kill Shinra’s big hero, on live television?”

“We don’t even know where he is. He might not be somewhere that he can watch it, live. If he doesn’t, he’ll certainly get word of what happened, before he sees it, and it’ll ruin your surprise.”

“I think he’ll still be surprised.”

On the morning of the fight, they transported Wiess like a max-security prisoner, in a fully closed capsule reminiscent of a coffin. Thus, when he stepped out into the massive stadium, from the locker-room staging area, it was the first time he had ever laid eyes upon the sky.

What he could see of it, through the halfway open stadium roof, he found to be rather disappointing, overall. Just a dull, grey dome, not too unlike the ceiling in Deepground, only a lot bigger and higher up.

Back in Deepground, everyone was gathered around different video screens, all watching the live broadcast. Nero was with Rosso, who was visibly anxious, and the other girl, who was doodling in her notebook. After a lot of unnecessary music and chatter from the presenters, the feed finally cut to Weiss, entering the stadium.

“He’s so beautiful,” Nero murmured, with an adoring sigh.

He did cut a rather imposing figure, both from afar, and on the huge screens, with his handsome face, wild, white hair, and tall, broad frame. The long, white jacket they’d given him billowed and blew in the wind, while he strode confidently out to his position, in the football-field sized ring.

He wore no armor, so the sum total of his equipment, aside from the jacket, amounted to his usual white dojo pants, black boots, modeled after a samurai’s kegutsu, with a flexible, rubber shaft, and metal knee guard, and a pair of agile katanas.

When he threw off the jacket to strap the katanas to his bare back, exposing his heavily muscled torso, there was scattered whistling and catcalling, amongst the gigantic crowd. He was a total unknown, however, here to challenge the greatest and most beloved hero in the world, so most of the positive reaction was drowned out by the voluble booing.

“Why are they booing him?” Rosso demanded, indignantly. “He should slaughter all of them, for their impudence.”

A moment later, the crowd went absolutely roaring mad, further offending her, as Sephiroth dropped into the arena, from some concealed platform high above. He landed lightly on his feet, black coat and silver hair flowing majestically about him. His nearly seven-foot height made Weiss look less impressive, by comparison, especially bulked up as Sephiroth’s silhouette was, by those huge pauldrons.

“He is very big,” Rosso remarked, apprehensively. “Bigger even than Commander Weiss.”

“His size won’t matter,” Nero assured her. “Weiss is stronger. He’ll win.”

The presenters were making some effusive, overblown introduction of the great war hero, and gushing about his merits and achievements, but Weiss heard none of it. He was a hunting lion, that had sighted prey, and he neither heard nor saw anything but his opponent, from that moment on.

They stepped forward and clasped hands, after the manner of warriors, then returned to their positions. There was a long and breathless moment, during which the crowd fell nearly silent, then the starting bell sounded and both men simply vanished.

That is to say, they both moved faster than the human eye could perceive, and clashed like a burst of fireworks, sparks flying as swords collided, the ringing clangs as rapid and staccato as machinegun fire, their movements an incomprehensible blur, till they leapt apart. Gazes locked, they circled one another, like a pair of wolves.

Weiss saw Sephiroth’s catlike pupil slits, rapidly dilating and contracting, as he reassessed his opponent, and laughed. “Hojo told you to go easy on me, right? Well, consider this a gentleman’s warning. You had better use your full strength to fight me. Because I am here to kill you.”

By way of reply, Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, and dropped into his fighting stance.

Blades sang as they clashed again, and this time, Weiss locked Masamune in a blocking hold, with his dual blades. His silver-blue eyes were alight with the joy of battle, and literally illuminated by the bright-gold rings that were beginning to glow faintly, around his pupils.

“What are you?” Sephiroth demanded, as they grappled.

Weiss bared his teeth, in a savage grin. “I’m you, but better.”

Sephiroth gave a roar and threw him off, and they were back in the fray, flying around the arena, trading rapid bursts of blows, in blurred flashes of white and silver light, that could only be properly deciphered when they were instant-replayed in slow motion on the big screens, for the benefit of the spectators, and those watching at home.

Sephiroth’s usual expression of casual indifference had given way to a look of grim concentration, which was proof enough of how he was faring in this fight. Weiss, on the other hand, seemed to be growing more energetic and elated, his laughter rolling like thunder in the vast arena, as the two performed their bloodthirsty dance.

Sephiroth did manage to put distance between them, a few times, and threw fire and thunder spells at Weiss, which slowed him down, as he had to block or evade them, but he always managed to close the distance again, too quickly for it to become a real issue.

“Range, he needs range. That is the sword’s major weakness,” Rosso’s little acolyte muttered to herself, as she hurriedly scribbled something in her notebook. Rosso and Nero ignored her.

The tension and excitement in the crowd was nearing its peak, as it became increasingly clear how closely matched the two opponents actually were. They collided once again, in an explosion of blows. The shriek of metal on metal rang out, where the blades met, sliding along each other, throwing off a shower of sparks, then a sudden spray of crimson, as both leapt back, landing on their feet many meters apart.

When the cameras caught up, and their images reappeared on the big screens, the crowd gave a collective cry of dismay. Blood ran along the edge of a gleaming blade, held aloft for all to see. The blade in Weiss’ hand.

To the horrified disbelief of the spectators, a corresponding bloody slash had appeared across Sephiroth’s chest, from which the crossed leather straps had been severed and now hung loose. Sephiroth! The greatest hero in the world! How could he be wounded? How strong must this other man be, to have wounded him? Many of them began to look at this interloper with new eyes.

“So you can bleed,” Weiss said, with a deranged smile.

In full view of the cameras, while his image was still up on the big screens, he drew his sword along his tongue, licking Sephiroth’s blood off the flat of the blade. The crowd rumbled disapprovingly and some of them booed about it, but Weiss had no interest in their opinions. He was here for one reason, and one reason, alone.

“What’s the meaning of this, Hojo?” Heidegger demanded, from his seat behind President Shinra, in the executive box. “Have you set your boy up to be beaten?”

“I’m all for you embarrassing yourself in public,” Scarlet chimed in, “but it’s Shinra that loses face, if Sephiroth looks like a fool.”

“Is Sephiroth really hurt? Is he in danger?” asked Reeve, the only one who looked genuinely concerned for the young warrior.

“I’ve got a big bet riding on that boy, Hojo,” Palmer cut in angrily. “You’d better tell me if I’m about to take a bath!”

“I wonder, I wonder,” Hojo said, cackling gleefully to himself.

It is important to note, however, that President Shinra neither joined the others in questioning the Director of his Science and Research Division, nor did he appear particularly perturbed by Sephiroth’s struggling in the fight.

Back in Deepground, Rosso was over the moon, and even Nero had a bloodthirsty smile on his face. It seemed that his brother’s victory and Sephiroth’s death were imminent.

Out in the ring, Sephiroth ignored the crowd, the taunt from Weiss, and the wound on his chest, and readied Masamune again. Weiss knew that the time had come to press his advantage. If he hesitated now, he may never have another chance to kill Sephiroth.

They locked blades again, and this time he forced Sephiroth backward, until he dug his heels in, and pushed back. Weiss pressed on, gritting his teeth, pushing Masamune closer and closer to Sephiroth’s face.

Suddenly, he felt a strange sensation of heat, at the base of his skull. At the same time, his arms went weak, like the blood had been drained out of them. His stance sagged, as he found himself having to exert many times the effort, to hold off Sephiroth’s blade.

“What…what did you do to me! What’s happening to my body!” Weiss snarled, through his clenched teeth, his muscles shaking with the strain of resisting the now-advancing Sephiroth.

Their blades ground together, faces so close they could have kissed. There was a look of eerie calm in Sephiroth’s brilliant green eyes, and a slight smile tugged up the corners of his lips.

He spoke for his opponent’s ears only, far too softly for even the most sensitive microphones to pick up. “You may possess more brute strength, but all means of achieving victory are valid. Including deception and betrayal.”

Weiss lost the struggle and stumbled back, his legs heavy and clumsy, as if he was wading in wet concrete. With that, the fight became a rout, Sephiroth tossing Weiss around the arena, toying with him, as he strove desperately to fend off the relentless storm of attacks, with his suddenly lax and unresponsive body.

He felt a surge of support come from the darkness, across the void. It comforted him, but had no effect on whatever was happening to his body. Weiss was still Weiss, however, and his mental fortitude hadn’t deserted him, with his physical strength. No matter what the odds, or how certain his death, so long as he had breath in his body, he would never give up. He would keep fighting, to the bitter end, despite knowing the contest was lost.

At long last, battered, bruised, and bleeding from the nose and mouth, as well as sword wounds all over his body, he collapsed, unable to even lift his arms, let alone get back to his feet. His swords, one broken off halfway down the blade, and one chipped and blunted, clattered to the ground, beside him.

The bell sounded, the match was called for Sephiroth, and the crowd went wild, whooping and cheering for their beloved hero, while many among them booed and taunted the arrogant upstart, who had dared think himself a worthy challenger to the great and mighty Sephiroth.

Sephiroth gave a low bow, in the direction of the Shinra executives’ box, then waved and smiled for the crowd, before he hauled Weiss to his feet, supporting him with Weiss’ arm hooked over his shoulders, as if they were friends. About a hundred camera drones swarmed them, clamoring for a statement.

“My opponent fought well and honorably,” said the beautiful, silver-haired hero, who wasn’t sweating or disheveled, after the prolonged, energetic fight. “I believe Weiss is the most skilled fighter I have ever faced. I’ve learned a lot, from our match today, and I look forward to testing my skill against him again. But let’s not trouble him to make a statement, at the moment. I think he’s a little fatigued.”

The crowd roared with laughter, as if that were the cleverest joke they’d ever heard, and then burst into applause, moved by their hero’s generosity and humility in victory.

Weiss couldn’t have spoken if his life depended on it. He was too stupefied to even be certain what was happening was real. His head lolled to the side, and his limbs had turned to stone. His eyes felt gritty, like they were full of sand, and his vision was blurred.

Sephiroth half-supported, half-carried him from the arena, through the heavily guarded doors, into what was essentially the backstage area. The moment the doors slid shut behind them, he let go of Weiss, who reeled to the side, staggered a few steps, then sat down hard on the floor, leaning heavily against the metal lockers.

“You fucking coward,” he sneered, struggling to focus his eyes on Sephiroth. “You have…you have no honor.”

“I am a soldier, not a dancing puppet!” Sephiroth exploded, shoving away the bottle of water someone was trying to hand him, and striding over to look down at Weiss, green cat-eyes ablaze with wrath. “I was called back from an active operation, to have this farce of a contest with you! That is enough of an insult to me, already! Was I also to lose the fight, and destroy the morale of all the hundreds of thousands of Shinra troops who look to me, for hope?”

“Fuck your false hope,” Weiss slurred out. “They all think you’re a god. They should know you’re just a f—a fucking cheater.”

“Warfare isn’t a game! Do you not understand that? On the battlefield, no one cares about honor! Honor doesn’t blunt blades or stop bullets! The only rule is do not let your opponent win, because if they win, you die! No one cares if you fought fairly, when you’re dead!”

“Sephiroth, stop!” a voice called out, as booted footsteps approached.

“Zack,” Sephiroth said, his demeanor instantly softening. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d gone, already.”

Another tall, blurry figure appeared, looming over Weiss. “Mission got delayed. Waiting on the Turks to get their shit together. Why don’t you come have lunch with me.”

“I’m not done, here,” Sephiroth said, turning back to Weiss.

“Come on, man,” Zack interposed. “You already beat the shit out of the kid, just leave it at that.”

“Not a fucking kid,” Weiss protested, all inebriated indignation. “I’m sixt…sixteen.”

Sephiroth looked startled, then disgusted. “Hmph. I should’ve known. You may look like a grown man, but only a child would’ve fallen for a double-cross so simple. Here’s a piece of advice, that may aid you in the future: never try to beat an old snake at his own game. You’ll only wind up humiliated, or dead.”

“You’re wasting your breath,” Zack said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Can’t you see he’s completely out of it? Come on, let’s hit the road, before the execs catch up.”

Weiss was hazily aware of the two towering figures departing. Then there was some kind of commotion, and all the other blurry background figures scattered, scurrying out of the immediate area as fast as they could. He could hear lot of footsteps approaching. Heavy boot-treads, from a large group of guards, lighter taps, from men’s formal shoes, and even some clacks from high-heels.

Two soldier-colored blobs darted ahead of the approaching group and grabbed Weiss by the arms, intending to haul him to his feet, which, as it turned out, was quite ill-advised. Even in his severely weakened and half-conscious state, he swatted them away like flies, sending them sprawling across the slick, tile floor.

“You call that under control?” a stocky, bearded blob thundered. “You said the President would be safe!”

“Oh, he’s perfectly safe,” Hojo’s weaselly voice replied, with a chuckle. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

A weird, all-black blob stepped out of the group blob, and Weiss felt that hot tingling on the back of his neck again. Immediately, his vision cleared and the heavy, drunken feeling dissipated. But as he leapt to his feet, the black-cloaked and helmeted figure barked, “Down, dog! Do not move or speak until you’re ordered to!”

To Weiss’ shock and revulsion, his body obeyed, dropping him to his knees, where he remained, red-eyed with rage, but unable to move or make a sound.

“Ooh, now, that is interesting,” Scarlet crooned, sauntering over to look down at him, with unconcealed lust. “What an amusing toy he is. Make him strip, I want to see the rest.”

“Scarlet, what the hell are you doing?” Reeve exclaimed. “He’s a person, not a toy!”

“Oh, please, Reeve, get off your high-horse,” she scoffed, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “He’s not a person, he’s a SOLDIER, which makes him a weapon. As Director of Advanced Weaponry, I want to inspect the product thoroughly, before I form a conclusive opinion.”

“Strip!” the black-cloaked figure barked at Weiss.

Weiss strained against the compulsion with all his will, but that barely slowed his fingers, which were already unbuckling his knee guards and pulling off his boots. His chest was heaving with ragged breaths, from the effort he was making to resist, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, as his body got to his feet, and his hands went to his waist, to untie his belt.

“That’s enough,” President Shinra cut in. “I’m convinced.”

“Stop,” the black-clad man commanded. “Dress yourself and await orders.”

Weiss left off fighting, which he now knew was only a waste of energy, and let his body mechanically pull his boots back on, and refasten his knee guards. The sensation was bizarre and disturbing.

“As I promised, Mr. President, the perfect SOLDIER,” Hojo announced, with a grand flourish in Weiss’ direction. “Not only is he at least as strong as the successful S-type specimen, he is perfectly compliant and controllable. I imagine—especially in light of recent, embarrassing incidents—you would appreciate never having to doubt the obedience or loyalty of your SOLDIERs. With sufficient funding, I can create a whole army just like him, in Deepground. A second, superior SOLDIER unit, to report only to yourself, through the Restrictor, who is linked directly to the control chip, via—”

“Enough ballyhoo, Hojo, I said I was convinced,” President Shinra interrupted, impatiently. “Consider your project funded, at your discretion. Whatever you need, to get this up and running. But I want full functionality in six months.”

“Hm, hm, such a tight deadline,” Hojo said, pretending to deliberate. “But…if I’m not interfered with, I believe I can make that work.”

“Good. See that you do.”

While they talked, Scarlet had come over and was tracing her crimson-nailed fingertips over the flawlessly sculpted muscles of Weiss’ bare chest and abdomen. He couldn’t move to do anything about it, so he ignored her and focused on running some calculations in his head.

“You know, he only looks like an adult,” Hojo said aridly, to Scarlet, who had hooked her finger into Weiss’ waistband, and pulled it out, to peer down inside. “He’s sixteen years old.”

“Sixteen is an adult. Or have you already forgotten the measures we pushed into law, so you and Heidegger could get younger conscripts.” Scarlet arched her eyebrow at the impressive view she’d treated herself to, before she let the waistband snap back into place. “I think I’ll come visit Deepground sometime, soon. Just to see how things are developing down there.”

Weiss had been engrossed in his thoughts, and aware of none of what was happening around him. He had analyzed the situation, and extrapolated all the potential results, but no matter how he approached it, he kept arriving at the same solution: Deepground was fucked. And it was his fault.

“Nero. I’m sorry,” he whispered to the darkness. “I’m so sorry. I ruined everything. Please, forgive me. ”

He felt Nero’s confusion and anguished worry, and also his comforting aura, reaching out to coil around him, across the void.

“It will be alright, my love,” came the answer. “Whatever is coming, we can face it, together.”

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