#restrictor ff7

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH 17:

Back at the Valentine Household Where Things are a Little Too Quiet

prev. chap here

RATING: teen and up for some swears, PG-rated physical affection, and references to mature topics, such as household management

WARNINGS: a baby's wet diaper is changed onscreen. proceed with appropriate caution/approved safety equipment

Summary:

not the longest chapter but there was not a less awkward place to cut it and i didn't want it to be like 3 usual-chapters long

LOOK AT HIM. LOOK HOW SAD AND BEAUTIFUL HE IS. FORGIVE HIM FOR EVERYTHING YOU GUYS DON'T BE MEAN

“Seph.”

“Mm?”

Ollie was napping, Cid and Vincent were out in the workshop with Reeve, and Nero was upstairs, probably starting an emo band or something. Sephiroth and Cloud were lying on the living room sofa, taking advantage of a rare lull in family activity, to enjoy some (admittedly PG-rated) physical affection.

Cloud lifted his head from his beloved’s broad chest to look into his face. “I was thinking. Since you’re here all the time, anyway, wouldn’t it be nice if, say, you had a space of your own? With like, four walls and, I don’t know…a door. Oh, maybe even a bed.” He frowned and tapped his bottom lip thoughtfully. “I feel like there’s a word for that…what was it?”

Sephiroth sighed. “Bedroom.”

“Bedroom! That was it! You need a bedroom. And, as it so happens, there are three empty bedrooms, in this house. Which means…”

“It isn’t my house.”

“It’s your dad’s house, though. Do you really think Vincent would have a problem with you borrowing a spare room? I think you should ask him about it.”

“I know what you think. You’ve been dropping not-so-subtle hints, all week.”

“Then why haven’t you done anything about it?”

Sephiroth looked away, shifting uneasily. “There’s not been a good opportunity to bring it up. Besides, if he wanted me to have a bedroom here, he would have offered.”

“Sephiroth. He’s your father,” Cloud said sternly. “He’s likely just as dense and socially maladjusted as you. He probably assumes you have your own place, since you’ve never mentioned anything about wanting to stay here. If you don’t bring it up, how is he supposed to know?”

“My father has had enough on his plate, since Nero arrived,” Sephiroth hedged. “I don’t want to overload him by making such a presumptuous request.”

“Overload him? You’ve taken a huge burden off him, by doing half the cooking and taking care of your sister, all the time. This household wouldn’t function without you. You at least deserve temporary accommodation.”

“I don’t do those things hoping to be rewarded.”

“Ok babe, listen. I didn’t want to do this, but I’m putting my foot down,” Cloud said, as he pushed himself up from the sofa. “Either you talk to your father about using one of the spare bedrooms, before I get back, or I’ll talk to him myself.”

“Back? Where are you going?” Sephiroth asked, getting up as well.

“Midgar. Gonna check in on Tifa and the kids.”

Sephiroth’s expression darkened. “Why?”

“They’re family, Seph,” Cloud answered wearily.

“They are not.”

“They are to me. People don’t stop being family when you have a falling out.”

“A falling out? Is that what you call it?”

Sephiroth’s normally gentle voice dripped with disdain. Whenever this topic came up, he was the most like he’d been, before. Sharp and acerbic, pupils contracted to slits in the blue-green irises, with an expression of icy hauteur on his beautiful face.

Fortunately, Cloud knew him too well, now, to fault him for it. Arrogance and sarcasm were Sephiroth’s last line of defense, when he felt particularly insecure and helpless. There was nothing that made him feel more insecure and helpless than Cloud’s foundling family, back in Midgar.

“I don’t expect you to forgive them, but I can’t just ignore our entire past and act like Tifa doesn’t exist,” he said, as he pulled on his boots. “Even if I could, I have a responsibility to those kids.”

“You are referring to the children that are not your biological offspring, and which she is currently raising with another man.”

“Yeah, well, at least Barrett’s there for them. That’s more than I ever was.”

A sneer curled Sephiroth’s pale lip. “Indeed, how selfless of him, to take time from his busy schedule, to care for the woman and children he voluntarily acquired. Acquired while you were away from home, as I recall.”

“I was away from home for almost a year. You can hardly blame him for using that time to win over the woman he’d always loved, who I was never romantic with, in the first place.”

“I can, however, blame them both, for treating you as deranged and dangerous, and organizing others to ambush and attempt to abduct you, rather than hearing you out.”

“They learned their lesson, didn’t they? And they heard me out, afterward.”

“Because they had no choice.”

“Yeah. Well. The important thing is that they know where I stand, and what happens if they try to corner me. No point dwelling on it.”

Sephiroth crossed his arms defensively. “I do not understand why, after they behaved the way they did, toward you, you would continue to associate with them. You are only putting yourself in a position to be mistreated again.”

“It’s not about that, Seph. Regardless of what happened between the adults, the kids still think of me as a parental figure. Denzel’s counting on me to be there for his first bike race. I’m not gonna let him down.”

Sephiroth was still stewing as he walked Cloud to the front door, and gave a disconsolate ‘hmph’, when Cloud kissed him goodbye, which made Cloud laugh and kiss him again.

“You’re adorable when you’re acting like a wet cat. I’ll be back in a few days. Promise me you’ll talk to your father about the spare bedroom, before then.”

“I promise,” Sephiroth said gloomily.

Cloud turned back and waved, after he started up the big, black Fenrir bike, and then roared away down the private drive, leaving a trail of dust clouds behind. Sephiroth lingered in the doorway, gazing the way he’d gone, well after he was out of sight.

“You really should lock that down,” Nero’s serpentine voice said, behind him, drawing him out of his ruminations.

Sephiroth turned an unfriendly eye on him. “What?”

“Your little lover, running off to see his friends, without you. Tsk tsk.”

“So, you were eavesdropping.”

“Who knows what they’ll say to him,” Nero went on, as if he hadn’t heard the remark. “Who they’ll introduce him to, hoping he’ll be enticed to greener pastures. If I were you, I would lock him down, before it’s too late.”

“What do you mean ‘lock him down’? Is he a military facility?”

Nero rolled his eyes. “I mean marry him. Make him truly and legally yours, before someone else tries to get their hooks into him.”

“Cloud and I do not need a certificate from some paltry human authorities, to declare our bond. We are not separable, by any power in this world, or otherwise.”

“Then why are you so jealous of his ex-lover and their children?” Nero asked pointedly, raising his black brows.

“They are not his children! And she was never his—why are you even talking to me? Do you enjoy provoking me, that much?”

“I am simply attempting to be a good brother,” Nero replied righteously. “Since it’s clear to me that you are staggeringly inept in matters of the heart, I thought you might benefit from some advice.”

“Ridiculous,” Sephiroth snorted. “I’m a grown man. You are a child. What could you possibly have to teach me, about such things?”

“Correction: you are a ghost. And child or no, I’d wager I’ve got more relationship experience than you. Tell me, were you a virgin, when you bedded that pretty blonde?”

“Was I—that’s one of your business!” Sephiroth fired back.

“So, yes,” Nero replied glibly. “I thought so. You do seem like the mates-for-life type.”

“I am not ashamed of that, and I won’t deny it. What is it to you?”

“Then we have that in common. So, it stands to reason we also share the desire to keep our chosen mate firmly in our hands.”

“Are you coming to a point, Nero?”

“Only this: you need to stop getting your hackles up, when he talks about his ex-whatever-she-is. When he goes to visit her and the brats, you have to stop making him feel like it’s at the cost of wounding you. Your jealousy isn’t going to keep you safe. You’re only going to make yourself miserable, and hurt him in the process.”

Sephiroth clenched his fists at his sides. “I am not jealous.”

“Well, yes you are. It takes one to know one, dear brother.”

“You’re admitting that you’re jealous, with Weiss?”

“Oh, very much so,” Nero laughed. “Extremely, monstrously, violently jealous. But Weiss likes that. Your little blonde does not. Your jealousy only makes him feel that you don’t trust him, and that you want him to choose between you and his friends. You don’t see that he has already chosen you. He’s not going to leave you for them, so stop acting like he might.”

Sephiroth wavered. “He has…already chosen me?”

“You really are an idiot,” Nero sighed. “I will only say this once, and I will deny it, if you ever repeat it to anyone. There is more of you in that boy’s heart than there is of himself. Weiss is literally my other half, and even I can’t make such a claim. Cloud Strife might love you more than any person in this world has ever loved another, and yet you’re still so cripplingly insecure, that you can’t let yourself accept it.”

“I was never loved, before.” Sephiroth lowered his eyes, passing a hand over his brow. “I don’t know how to go about it. I don’t know how to say the right words or make the right gestures. All I know how to do is hold on to him, with everything I have.”

“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn, is just to love and be loved, in return,” Nero said, in an odd, sing-song cadence.

Sephiroth blinked. “Are you…are you quoting Moulin Rouge, at me?”

“Mm-hm,” Nero nodded jauntily. “Cid and I watched it, last night, while father pretended not to be sleeping through it.”

“I love that movie,” Sephiroth pouted. “Why didn’t you tell me, so I could watch it too?”

“You and Cloud were asleep in the living room, with Ollie. Cid didn’t want to wake you. Also, you’re huge and the sofa in the den is too small. It would’ve been cramped, with all of us.”

Just then, both young men suddenly looked up at the ceiling.

“Ollie’s awake,” Sephiroth announced. “Time for her bottle.”

“Why don’t you take a break and let me do it,” Nero offered.

Sephiroth paused and eyed him suspiciously. “Do you know how to warm the formula to the correct temperature?”

“The warmer chooses the right temperature automatically,” Nero riposted.

“Do you know how to feed her?”

“How complicated can it be to hand a baby a bottle?”

Sephiroth crossed his arms. “And what if she needs to be changed?”

Nero staggered under that master stroke, and went a little green in the face. “On second thought, m—maybe you should do it, after all. I’m clueless about children, who knows what havoc I may cause.”

“Nonsense,” Sephiroth said, grabbing his wrist as he was about to flee. “You’re her brother and you should know how to take care of her, too. I’m happy to teach you. Let’s go.”

With that, Nero was herded into the kitchen, made to warm the bottle, under Sephiroth’s appraising eye, and then dragged upstairs toward the little goblin’s room, looking like he was going to his own execution.

Ollie’s soft, ultrafine baby hair already exhibited some of the same gravity-defying tendencies as Vincent’s and Nero’s. Thusly, it was sticking up all over her head, making her look like a scarlet-eyed hedgehog, as she stood in the crib on wobbly legs, hanging onto the rail for support.

“GUH-GUH-GUH!” she wailed, suddenly piteous and aggrieved, the moment she saw her brothers coming down the hall. “BABABABAAA!”

“Don’t fuss, mei-mei, I’m right here,” Sephiroth said softly, but much in the tone with which one would address an adult. “Your er-ge wants to learn to care for you, so he’ll be assisting, today.”

“Ah-ah-ah bababa,” Ollie burbled woefully, reaching for Nero, as Sephiroth lifted her from the crib.

Sephiroth spared her no mercy. “Patience, miss. You’ll have your bottle in a moment. You have to be changed, first.”

In protest of this unjust treatment, Ollie thrashed and kicked uncooperatively, as her brother laid her on the changing table and unsnapped her onesie—a candy-apple red number that had the words, ‘Daddy’s Little Devil’ embroidered in black, on the front.

There was an attached hood, too, that when it was pulled up, displayed a pair of mini devil horns. The overall effect was decidedly adorable, but Cid was no longer allowed to purchase baby clothing, unsupervised.

“The wipes are in the warmer, and the ointment, powder, and fresh diapers are in this drawer,” Sephiroth explained to Nero. “After you remove the soiled diaper, it goes in that device over there, which I’ll show you how to operate, momentarily.”

All the while, Ollie was squirming and whining with increasing energy, striving to get at the bottle in Nero’s hands. When the wet diaper came off, Nero averted his eyes reflexively, and Sephiroth was reaching for a baby wipe. Thus, both of them missed the thin, black tentacle that appeared out of nowhere, and flew toward Nero.

Nero gave a yelp of surprise, as the bottle was yanked out of his hand, making Sephiroth turn to look, just in time to see the darkness tendril that was coiled around it placing the bottle in Ollie’s eager hands.

“I thought you had control of those things,” Sephiroth scolded Nero. “Why did you let it do that?”

“I didn’t,” Nero said. “It’s one of mine, but it…it didn’t come from me.”

“If it didn’t come from you, then where in the ten hells—” Sephiroth stopped short.  

For a moment, both men stood there, staring at the baby, who was reveling in her ill-gotten bottle, and gleefully kicking her chubby legs.

“But she can’t control darkness…can she?” Sephiroth asked. “She’s only a baby.”

Nero only shook his head dazedly. Sephiroth decided he’d better test it out, first, before they decided how to proceed.

“Sorry, meimei,” he muttered, and abruptly snatched the bottle from her hands.

The infant’s entire, round head turned bright pink, as she revved up for a piercing yowl of indignation, directing all her ire at her cruel eldest brother, who had taken away her prize. As quick as a whip, the darkness tentacle shot out from somewhere on her person and jerked the bottle right back out of Sephiroth’s hand, promptly returning it to the wronged party.

Sephiroth and Nero looked at one another, then back at their little sister. There was no mistaking it, this time. The darkness tendril had originated from Ollie, and appeared to be at least partially under her control.

Sephiroth’s brow furrowed. “I can overpower and grasp your darkness strands, temporarily, but I can’t take them from you. How could this happen?”

“I have no idea.” Nero swallowed hard. “Maybe…maybe one got loose and attached to her, somehow.”

“Well un-attach it,” Sephiroth said peevishly. “Have you any idea how dangerous a baby with darkness abilities could be? To herself, as well as others?”

“They’re my abilities, you don’t have to tell me,” Nero retorted.

“What are you waiting for, then? Command it to return.”

“If I could do that, I would have! Shut up and let me think, for a second! And will you please put a diaper on that gremlin? She has no sense of modesty, whatsoever.”

Sephiroth turned to finish cleaning and diapering the little miscreant, pulling her onesie legs back on, while she smiled and cooed beatifically, as if she were one of heaven’s most innocent cherubim. Which was especially incongruous, at the moment, considering the black hair, the red eyes, and the devil costume.

Nero was in a quandary. He hadn’t intended to tell anyone about the incident, with the small spider, least of all the house’s overbearing guard-dog, Sephiroth, but there was nothing for it. They were in this together, now.

“There’s something else,” he said, with deep reluctance. The look Sephiroth gave him did not inspire a feeling of camaraderie, but he forged ahead. “A few nights ago, I think…I was with her, on the other side.”

Blue-green eyes flashed with deadly intent. “You what?”

“I didn’t bring her there! I didn’t even suspect it was her, until I came back out of it, and put the pieces together. But I have no idea how she’d be able to connect to my darkness, let alone trespass in my void, without my knowledge. I was planning to…ahem. To try to bring her back there. If she appeared in the same form, I’d be able to—”

Before he finished the sentence, Sephiroth’s big hand had already closed around Nero’s throat. “You were planning to take my little sister to the void? Give me one reason I shouldn’t twist your head off, now, and spare my father the trouble.”

Nero couldn’t answer, with Sephiroth choking him, but he didn’t have to. A shrill wail erupted from the changing table, and that little tendril flew out again, this time constricting around Sephiroth’s wrist, trying with all its might to tear him away from Nero.

“Guh-guh-guh! Ah-guh-guh!” Ollie bawled, big tears pouring down her apple cheeks.

Sephiroth let Nero go immediately. “I’m sorry, Ollie. I wasn’t really going to hurt your er-ge, I promise. I’m so sorry I scared you.”

Ollie kept sobbing and gurgling nonsense at him, till Nero got fed up and translated.

“She thinks we’re fighting. She wants us to…” He sighed heavily. “…to hug and make up.”

Sephiroth made a face. “Hug who, each other?”

“No, jackass, a behemoth. Of course each other.”

Sephiroth looked at Ollie, who was peering up at him with big, round, teary eyes. He had no power to refuse his baby sister anything, let alone when she looked so sad.

“Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

With the air of children about to take bitter medicine, the two erring brothers reached out and embraced one another stiffly.

“Look, mei-mei, everything is alright,” Sephiroth coaxed, patting Nero’s back. “No one is angry with anyone.”

“Yes, your big brothers love each other. See?” Nero added, also patting Sephiroth’s back.

Ollie stopped actively bawling, but kept watching the two warily, sniffling and gnawing on her fingers, and drooling copiously in the process. One of Nero’s purple-black tendrils emerged and snaked over, heroically submitting itself to be used as a teething toy, for the greater good. Ollie, who liked the tendrils, for their springy texture and soothing coldness, was successfully pacified.

Sephiroth turned to Nero, keeping his expression placid and his voice mild. “Please explain to me why, when you believed my sister to be at large in the metaphysical plane, you thought it was a good idea to not only conceal it from her family, but to try to take her back there.”

“In my position, would you have told anyone? Would you have said to our father and Cid ‘Hey dads, your precious infant daughter may be leaving the material plane by traversing my darkness realm, oopsie doopsie.’ How do you think Cid would handle that?”

“I suppose I see your point,” Sephiroth conceded. “But that does not explain why you would risk taking her there, again.”

“It’s not like I was going to endanger her,” Nero said defensively. “I can keep her safe, if she goes with me. If she’s running around in there, by herself, I don’t know what could happen to her. I can communicate with her through the darkness, and explain all that to her, but it’s much safer to do it on the other side. That way, even if the connection goes haywire, there’s no risk of damage to her physical body.”

“Just to her psyche and soul.”

“How do you think her psyche and soul would fare, if she were to become lost, and unable to find her way back?” Nero contended. “There is no concept of time or space, there. It is literally infinite. The only way to ensure her safety, is for me to connect with her. Once we’re connected, I might even be able to find out how she’s getting in, and stop her. If I can’t stop her, I can at least keep a tether on her.”

Sephiroth eyed him cagily. “Why are you suddenly so concerned for her well-being? This seems like a lot of trouble to go to, for a half-sister by a father you don’t even acknowledge.”

“Worry not, brother, I haven’t suddenly turned altruist,” Nero sneered. “I only care because I think she might be able to help me find Weiss. She can’t do that if her soul is lost in the void.”

Sephiroth smiled bitterly. “I should’ve guessed. It always comes back to Weiss, with you. He’s the only person that matters to you, after all.”

“What do you care? You never wanted me here. The sooner I find him, the sooner I’ll be gone, and the sooner you’ll have your father all to yourself. Who knows, with me out of the way, he may even start to love you.”

“I don’t want his love,” Sephiroth said tonelessly. “I don’t need it. I am not a child.”

“You are, however, a terrible liar.” Nero’s taunting expression froze on his face, as his slit pupils dilated in the crimson-magenta irises. “A tug…a tug!”

“What?”

“There’s a tug, in the darkness! It has to be Weiss! I’m going after him!”

Sephiroth watched, fascinated, as Nero’s eyes seemed to fill with ink, turning pitch black—iris, sclera, and all. It happened so quickly, it was almost startling. He waved a hand in front of the young man’s face, a few times, and got no reaction. He must be on the other side already.

“Alright, Ollie, let’s go see if—” Sephiroth’s blood ran cold. His little sister was lying on the changing table, staring blankly into space, with those very same eerie, ink-pit eyes. “Fuck.”

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY yes barrett and tifa are a couple in this. like they always should have been.

[cyberbullyhunters]

Commission Weinero (Weiss x Nero): going after Restrictor

Here is a new commission I got about Weinero (Weiss x Nero). Please do not reuse art. Thanks.

[jaquis-desolate-world]

Someone had to train him...

[siringadev]

Nero goes undercover in the secret mission. The classic version of the Soldier First Class uniform, and the hot version in FF7 girly style (we need more beautiful guys in revealing suit for equality!).

HQ big size artwork + 3 versions "In Crisis Core -Final Fantasy VII-, Nero and Weiss are released and sent to retrieve Genesis Rhapsodos after he loses to Zack Fair. Nero and Weiss take Genesis's body away in a helicopter under secret orders from President Shinra. They inform Genesis of the Deepground situation and ask him to join them in an upcoming rebellion against the Restrictors, but Genesis refuses."

[fightabear]

Hi. I know ur very into Dirge (ff7) and wanted to know ur thoughts on the ending as i was confused. How did Wiess die, how long was he dead for and what was his and Nero’s plan? Ur a art account so don’t answer this if you don’t want to post not art content

HAHA oh anon, oh anon.

i'm always happy to blather about dirge but this... this goes into the deep lore. the forgotten lore. the lore of ancient bygone times.

by which i mean playonline.

playonline was a short lived multiplayer mode set in deepground where the player character is a tsviet. it lasted for about eight months and then went offline, and with it - went basically all of the lore surrounding deepground.

we're still missing a lot of information. but, we have a vague understanding of what's going on thanks to the cutscenes (which we also never got stateside) translated by grimoire valentine. you can watch that here and it explains a little bit.

the tl;dr is that Weiss had a virus in him and if he killed the Restrictors (DeepGround's jailers, there's a whole mess of lore there) then the time-release virus would be let loose and Weiss would be damning himself to die.

Now, this is sort of where things get shaky as we don't know how long it took the virus to kill Weiss, nor are we entirely certain when PlayOnline took place in the grand scheme of things. Rosso said that they killed their jailers three years ago, and at some point Weiss died and Nero started pretending to be Weiss to keep DeepGround in line, and then Hojo made contact with Nero and proposed the whole Omega deal.

But we don't know when any of these beats take place. Weiss could have been dead the full three years and Nero was just hanging out by his corpse in full delululand until Hojo found a perfectly good body just waiting to be inhabited. I think it's a safe bet to say that even if Weiss had died, Nero would have found a way to perserve the body in hopes of finding some kind of cure.

( There's also the possibility that Weiss' death was more a brain death and his body kept breathing / he was experiencing some kind of 'locked in' syndrome - again, we don't know!)

He also could have just been battling the illness and may have only died recently.

I believe it was said somewhere that he died while using his SND abilities to hunt for a cure, which probably only could have happened once the networks came back online. I was under the impression for years that Hojo possessed Weiss and told the plan to Nero, but after reading the Japanese script it seems that Nero knew it was Hojo the whole time and just went with it.

Again, shit is shaky. Hojo Jojo apparently needed the networks to come online in order to make contact with DeepGround again. We know that's fairly recent, as if I am remembering correctly, that's what the festival in Kalm is celebrating.

We also aren't sure if Weiss was involved in the plan, or if Nero had just lost his fucking mind at this point and was agreeing to do what Hojo proposed without considering that it was - y'know, Hojo. We do have Weiss' speech so it's entirely possible Weiss was still alive during this hunk of it and then died as things went on.

As for the plan - I gotta be honest, I don't think either of them were spearheading this thing. I'm pretty sure this whole hysterical idea came about because Hojo took advantage of Nero's intense grief and Nero was just doing shit without thinking too hard about it. He probably thought he was doing what Lucrecia did for Vincent, because I sure as shit don't think Nero would think destroying the entire planet to get his brother back would solve his problem of 'well fuck, we're separated by death'. So I'm not sure Nero even fully understood what would happen when Omega ascended until Hojo monologued about it and pissed him off enough to come back from the dead.

Nero and Weiss only really got a plan when Nero ( who, I'm still shaky on what's happening with Nero in those final moments. My best guess is his physical body finally gave out and due to Circumstances /gestures vaguely at chapter 9 of rebirth/ his soul can't go into the lifestream for Reasons) wrested control back from Hojo and fused with Weiss. They did intend to just give the middle finger to the planet and soar the stars, because at that point - what else can they do? But Omega was corrupted because Nero is as impure as things in the lifestream can get, and so they manifested a fucked up version of it.

My personal take is the brother's didn't fully fuse and that the "omega" weiss rides around in the Omega Weiss fight is what's left of Nero / is basically what Chaos would look like if Chaos wasn't using Vincent as a host? And the reason why Chaos "goes back to the planet" is because Chaos fucks off into Nero's body and Omega is still sort of chilling out in Weiss.

[gcldfanged]

🔮 - Is there anything you have been wanting to add to your plot whishlist?

Hrm, I was thinking about making a post last night, so let me think:

As mentioned before, more action oriented scenes. Doesn't necessarily have to be Jae vs Your Muse, but how they work in a team and synergize is always interesting to think about! I just like playing around with the magic and combat mechanics from the game put into a more realistic setting.

Getting into why Jae has certain affinities to materia like Poison, Binding, and Subversion.

General theory about the Lifestream, magic, and materia- Similar to the meta post I did comparing Executioner's magecraft system to FF7's.

If the Turks have had treatments or enhancements done to them and why. I mean, with walking tanks like SOLDIERs, I would have to assume that agents get some milder form of enhancements in order to keep up/be useful? Otherwise, I feel like their branch would be obsolete if it's just full of milquetoast humans. Why not just send the company's business litigation lawyer into battle, it'd have the same effect- Being, none.

More crime stuff, nobody wants to seem to do crime stuff except me and Cas???

Anything that fundamentally changes Jae, for better or worse. In general, his post-Meteor self is far WORSE because he's really come into his own as a crimelord, but was there some event that incited this change? Maybe. Or does someone manage to soften that thorny exterior?

More inter-Turk drama? Since Jae isn't exactly popular amongst his fellows, nor is he considered part of the 'Core' group of canon Turks/the ones who aren't in B-Division.

This came to mind in a alternate verse with @annjiru where Jae offers his soul up to an eikon (summon) in order to help Zack beat down Angeal Penance, but what THAT entails. I kinda liked the whole 'human serves as vessel' aspect of Odin from FF14's lore, so I might go with that kind of situation and what that means for Jae. Does he still have his memories? Is he just linked to the Eikon now as like a subconscious part of it's mind? Has this kind of pact ever happened before? LOTS OF QUESTIONS.

Deepground shit, I just love Dirge PlayOnline and how they developed the Restrictors and Color-Ranked Tsviets. Plus anytime I get to have Jae get the shit kicked out of him is fun.

MORE CROSSOVERS, GET HIS ASS IN A DIFFERENT SETTING!

[captianimarum]

The fact that, in his ff7 universe, Ruvik has a hand in the creation of the restrictor chips.

[siringadev]

I love them both too.

Interesting, I read that Weiss was supposed to be stronger than Sephiroth and superior to him according to the concept (and this is what caused the hate towards Weiss from Sephiroth fans and game community), since the secret project Deepground was originally created to control and suppress the First Class SOLDIER in case of a threat, and they were so strong that Shinra got scared and controlled the Tsviets with chips (which was not the case with the First Class Soldiers), and Restrictors are also needed. If we think about it, the power system is strange in the FF7 world, at first the creators say that Sephiroth is the strongest one, but if he was defeated by the wounded rookie Cloud… then Sephiroth is not as strong as they say. And Sephiroth lost and died several times at the hands of Cloud. At that time, Weiss did not die in the battle with Vincent (the bearer of the powerful Chaos, and not some 16-year-old rookie). Vincent is stronger than Cloud, right?... But Cloud has a secret weapon - the writer's desire and plot armor! After all, he is a good guy, and the power of friendship will conquer all! By the way, in DFFOO Weiss and Sephiroth fought and there was a draw. Sephiroth said that Weiss was very strong, while Weiss said that he was honored to hear praise from someone like Sephiroth.

alto i confirmed that weiss is only 6’2. you can see it in the dirge guide and its on the wiki. sephiroth wins the height contest. nobody be dwarfing him. except the size of his post-nibel ego and his love for cloud.

They retconned Sephiroth's height for the R trilogy so the same miiiight be said for Weiss as well. I remember there was a pic out there of Sephiroth's model next to Weiss' and Weiss completely towered over him. So it's really hard to say.

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH 16:

Meanwhile, in the snow-scoured wastes of the polar north:

subtitle: guess who's back

prev. chap here

RATING: teen and up for some canon typical violence and nonsexual nudity that you can't actually see cause it's just words on a screen

WARNINGS: tooth-rotting family fluff

By the time the little girl saw the beast—a tower of black hide and sinuous muscle, huge horns and slavering maw, filled with fangs as long as her arm—it was too late to run. Too late to hide. Her final thoughts were not of her mother, or her little brother. Her mind simply went blank with terror, and she stood paralyzed, staring up at certain death, as it emerged from the darkness beneath the trees.

Behemoth, these things were called. Creatures of tremendous power and human-like intelligence. The only beasts that, even in her village of skilled hunters, children were taught to fear and avoid at all costs. There was no hunting the behemoth, for there was no steel that could pierce that hide, no shield that could resist those claws, and once you were caught in its fell gaze, no escape. All you could do was pray the goddess would grant you a quick death.

For a long and breathless moment, there was silence. The child’s hand reached up of its own accord, to clutch her goddess amulet. With a low growl, like the distant roll of thunder, the beast sprang. Her basket fell to the ground, and the mushrooms tumbled out, rolling about on the frozen soil.

Just before the jaws of hell closed upon her, a miracle occurred. A roaring rush of wind and burst of brilliant fire brought the answer of the goddess from the heavens. The behemoth was thrown away, by the blast, and crashed into the trees.

Before the girl had time to blink, the deadly beast was back on its feet, roaring with rage at having been interfered with. But its murderous eyes no longer saw her. Rather, it bounded forward and made a tremendous leap, into the air, determined to destroy the presumptuous fool who would dare to attack the king of the beasts.

An arc of flame, from a blazing crimson blade, so bright that dazzled the child’s eyes and left trails in her vision, flashed out toward the beast. But…it missed. Or it simply passed ineffectually through the behemoth's body, because nothing happened.

The girl’s heart sank, but then she saw it. A molten-red line vertically bisecting the creature’s face. Before it even comprehended how it died, the behemoth fell, severed cleanly down the center, into two halves, which crashed to the earth in bloody, steaming heaps.

Only then did the girl realize the forest all around her was burning. She ran about, looking frantically for a way out, but the flames were rampant. She was trapped on all sides. Had she been saved from the beast only to die in the fire?

Just when she thought hope was lost, through the haze of smoke, a figure descended and stood before her, backlit by the raging inferno. Its pale face was more beautiful than any woman’s, and yet its features were fierce and noble, and it had the proud bearing of a warrior. Its hair was a river of molten copper, glimmering in the red firelight, flowing over its shoulders and nearly reaching its waist. Behind it, were stretched out a pair of huge, vermillion wings, each feather tipped with gold.

Coughing and blinking away tears, the girl gazed up at it, in fear and wonder, thinking she had died already and this angel had come to claim her soul.

With a gentle smile, which seemed to contain all the mercy and compassion in the world, her savior bent and held out a hand. The girl threw herself trustingly into the angel’s strong arms, where she was held securely and whisked away into the air, leaving the burning patch of forest far below them.

The angel flew at a dizzying speed, but the girl felt no fear. She clung happily to her savior and even peered down at the landscape, as the trees flashed by. A blizzard was blowing in from the east, and the icy winds of the northern climate, especially at this elevation, should have frozen her solid. The angel, however, had surrounded them with a halo of golden fire, that kept the driving snow at bay.

She’d only been out gathering herbs and mushrooms, not far from her village, and so within a few minutes, the angel was descending again. Its black boots touched down lightly upon the inch of snow that had already fallen, and it set the girl gently on her feet.

A cry went up from the watchers, and the villagers came running, many falling on their knees in awe and terror. When the girl's parents saw her and heard what happened, they knelt down right there in the snow and kowtowed to the angelic being, which had delivered their child to safety.

It became quickly apparent that the people thought this was the goddess, herself. But then the angel spoke. It was a smooth and lovely voice, with the music of the divine in it, but it was a man’s voice, nonetheless.

“Please, do not bow to me. I am not—no, no, that is unnecessary,” he was saying, to little avail, as the chief and others rushed to bring out the finest things the village had, as offerings of thanks. “I suppose…if you insist, I am a little hungry.”

With his reluctant consent, the angel was half dragged by the women to the main village hall, where councils and communal feasts were held, and everyone got busy preparing an impromptu banquet. The small children who were trailing after him gasped and ‘oohed’ when he retracted his enormous wings, and began clamoring for him to bring them out again.

The girl he’d saved, whose name was Atka, tossed her braided head and scolded them to behave themselves. Her parents were just regular tribesmen, with no special status, but after being personally saved by the angel of the goddess, she had climbed to the sky in one step. The other children quickly did as she said, all determined to bask in her reflected glory.

To the villagers’ surprise and hearty approbation, the angel didn’t object to sitting right at the communal table, with everyone else, and didn’t turn up his beautiful nose at their simple fare, of roasted game with dried fruits and cheese, millet porridge, and coarse but fresh-baked bread.

He had a strangely archaic way of speaking their language, but everyone thought that was perfectly fitting, for an angel. The only problem was that he was rather softspoken, which made it hard to hear him over the commotion. As a result, everyone hissed and told each other to shut up, when he talked, which drowned out whatever he said, just as surely.

The chief commanded that barrels of wine be brought out and passed around, making the atmosphere festive, as Atka was made to stand up and repeat the tale of how she was saved from the beast, about ten times. All the while, people were unconsciously scooting and leaning toward the angel, as his person was actually radiating soothing warmth, like a brazier.

At length, he rose and announced his intention to depart. Of course, everyone wanted to beg him to stay, but no one dared make any demands of a messenger of the goddess. In the end, the whole village accompanied him out, leaving the feasting hall deserted, but for several opportunistic cats.

Refusing all gifts but for some dry goods, medicine, and a large, warm pelt, from the chief’s personal store, the angel finally departed. When his wings unfurled and he shot away like an arrow, into the dark, snowy sky, trailing brilliant, crimson fire, all those doubters who’d arrived late and hadn’t seen him do anything particularly angelic, were silenced for good.

After he left, Atka naturally became the center of attention. She was practically mobbed by invitations from other children to stay at their houses, and had all manner of trinkets shoved into her hands. Her father, who had been a little concerned for his daughter’s prospects, given her well-known fiery temperament, was already fending off marriage proposals from the best families in the village, while her mother and the other women got to work planning to build a proper shrine to the angel.

———

Somewhere in the windswept snowscape, of the uninhabitable northern tundra, a cyclone of crimson flames roared to life and blazed in the darkness, swirling around a specific spot, till a layer of ice and snow was melted away, revealing a massive, iron hatch. When it was sufficiently thawed, a gloved hand, belonging the very same angel from the village, took hold of the twelve-ton hatch and easily lifted it open, to drop down into the inky blackness inside.

The huge launch door had been buried in snow and frozen shut, in the brief hours he’d been away, but that was usual. When he wanted to open it from the inside, he had to heat the metal, to melt the layer of ice. The freezing over was a little troublesome, but didn’t annoy him, since it was essentially a free security measure.

Not that anyone ever trekked all the way up here, to potentially stumble upon his lair. Even the hardy, northern tribes only went up as far as Atka’s little village. No one tried to cross the mountains, into the frozen plains of the polar region. No one but him. Even Shinra had long abandoned this underground outpost, which he now inhabited.

The facility had only been a remote launch base, which was sparsely manned. The whole of it consisted of a single missile silo (sans missile), a small control center, crewmen’s quarters and lavatory, a galley kitchen, and an infirmary/lab.

The place had never been powered down, because it was a lot of bother to depressurize and close up the mako pumps, and Shinra was highly irresponsible, to say the least. That benefited the current occupant, because so long as the pumps functioned, the power would last nearly forever. Not actually forever, which was a concept he had to confront regularly, these days.

“I’ve returned, brother,” he said, seemingly to no one, as he switched on the infirmary lights.

In the center of the small lab, was a restorative pod, for one patient, which included a lot of internal diagnostic equipment, and valves at the head, which released pure, atomized mako, either manually, or according to a pre-set schedule. It was cylindrical, metal on the bottom half and glass on the top half. Through the glass was visible the body of a man, who lay unconscious inside.

“Nothing interesting, today, I’m afraid,” the angel went on, as he approached the pod. “Just a behemoth, lurking near a little hunting village. They were grateful that I’d killed the beast, which had been troubling them and scaring off game, so they insisted on giving me supper and some gifts. Speaking of which, I brought you a present.”

From a storage materia, he summoned the things from the villagers, and placed them on the steel exam table, near the restoration pod, as if to display them to the other man.

“Look at this, little brother,” he smiled, hoisting up a heavy, luxurious, snow-white pelt, which was both longer and wider than he was tall. “It’s from a snow lion, that their chief hunted. Isn’t it gorgeous? I’m going to make it into a coat for you. The leather is white and supple, but very strong, and the fur will keep you warm, even in this dismal place.”

As usual, the comatose man in the pod made no reply.

“The rest of this is mostly dry goods to add to our stock, and some healing potions, made by their medicine woman. They also gave me this skin balm, that the village women swear by. They say it’s made from rendered whale fat, but it doesn’t have an unpleasant smell, because of their filtering process and the herbs they infuse into it.” He removed the lid from the earthenware jar and gave it a few sniffs. “It does smell rather nice. I’ll put some on you, after your bath.”

So saying, he put all the things back into his storage materia, then went to a monitor and tapped a few keys, triggering the release of a glowing-green mist into the restoration pod. After peering into the pod again, he went away to shower and change his clothing.

He knew all about mako, now, but he felt no guilt taking the lifeblood of the Planet, to nourish his little brother. The Planet had a responsibility to provide for them, as its anointed guardian and its precious Weapon. That was why the child (as he thought of the tall, muscular, young man) was in this state, to begin with.

Guilt did torment him, but it was of another kind. After his little brothers rescued him and brought him to Deepground, he refused to assist them in their revolt against Shinra. Seeing, now, what had become of them, his soul was racked by remorse, but at the time, he was too weary and borne down by grief to take part in their revolution. Selfishly, he buried himself in that crystalline cave, where he fell straightaway into a deep sleep.

It seemed to him that no time had passed at all, when he was suddenly awakened from that peaceful oblivion, by the urgent distress of the Planet. There was only a moment of disorientation, however. The Planet made him aware of the time that had passed and of the significant events. The geostigma, the rise of Jenova’s remnants, and the short-lived resurrection of Sephiroth, whose mind had been fully corrupted by Jenova.

The current emergency, was that Chaos and Omega had awakened. Not only had they awakened, they were apparently in deadly conflict. He knew without the Planet telling him, that something had gone terribly wrong. There was no comprehensible reason a Weapon and its herald should fight with one another.

On top of that, his function was to prevent their awakening, in the first place. Not that he was meant to interfere once the apocalypse had begun—he was no match for Chaos or Omega—but he was supposed to be awakened in time to get ahead of the circumstances that would lead to it.

That he hadn’t, could only mean they’d awakened prematurely. Which meant someone had tampered with forces they had no right to and did not comprehend. And ‘someone’ almost always meant Shinra.

When the kings of hell fight, it’s the underlings who suffer, so it seemed that his role was to be shielding humans from the worst of it. But their fight was astonishingly brief. By the time Genesis arrived, the battle was over and the dust was settling. Chaos had defeated Omega and was nowhere to be found.

Both appeared to have been vaporized, reentering the Planet’s atmosphere, but with the last of its fading awareness, the heart of Omega cried out, in desperation and tremendous pain. He flew to the location from which the cry was coming, only to find the last person he expected.

When Genesis laid hands on his genetically-spliced brother, a torrent of memories, from both Weiss and Nero’s perspectives, flooded into his consciousness. Unfortunately, the memory streams were jumbled and fragmentary, with large gaps, due to mental and physical trauma, Hojo’s interference, and the heavy psychic toll of joining with Omega.

After ensuring that Weiss was safe, for the moment, Genesis searched for the younger brother within a wide radius of the fight area. Try as he might, he could discover no sign of Nero, nor could he sense his darkness anywhere. In the end, all he could do was carry Weiss away, to a hidden place in the north.

The abandoned missile base was discovered by the three Firsts accidentally, during extreme climate survival training. After finding that any record of it had been long purged from Shinra’s databases, the three agreed to keep it a secret between them, as their last-resort fallback point, should they ever need it. It was the safest place for Genesis, now, since the only other people in the world who knew about it were dead.

After he showered, Genesis pulled his long hair into a braid, to keep it out of the way, then rolled a medical cart over to the restorative pod. The glass cover opened obediently, letting out the acrid-metallic tang of mako, which tickled his nose and made him sneeze.

With a basin of warm water and a washcloth, he carefully bathed Weiss, and then towel-dried his body. As promised, he took out that herbal ointment and rubbed it on his flawless skin, from head to toe. It smelled lovely and gave his chiseled muscles a slight sheen, making him seem even more like a deity in repose, than usual.

“Comatose for three years, and another two like this, and you still look like a marble sculpture of a god,” Genesis chuckled. “The perfect SOLDIER, indeed.”

When he was finished bathing Weiss, he took away the basin and towels, then scooted a chair up beside the pod. He intended to read aloud to him, like he did nearly every night, but in something of a self-indulgent mood, he laid his head on that big, broad chest and closed his eyes, instead.  

Weiss’ heart beat once, every ten minutes. Slow but steady, was that infinitely comforting sound. The heartbeat that proved he wasn’t absolutely alone, in this world. That he still had someone. One with whom he shared blood and the burden of consecration, after all that they loved had been taken from them.

Genesis drifted off to sleep, that way, lulled by the glacial heartbeat of his only person. In his dream, that sound became the heartbeat of the Planet. It was dying, a long, natural death. In a few million years, it would die forever. Then Genesis and Chaos would accompany Omega, in carrying the lifestream to the new world.

In that new world, life would begin anew, civilizations would rise and fall, gods would be born and die, while they slept, deep in the earth, awaiting another end. Another planet’s death. Another journey, another rebirth, another long sleep. Such was the cycle. In their innocence, they had become eternal, and now they must walk the road they had paved.

“It’s not so terrible, as long as the three of us are together,” said Weiss, who was standing beside him at the edge of creation, gazing out into the vastness of space and time.

“But if we’re not all together…” Genesis murmured, hardly daring to look into those icy eyes. “I can’t find him. I can’t feel him. I’m afraid he—”

“We will be together,” Weiss answered calmly. “You need not worry about such things. He lives, and I will find him.”

“How do you know?”

Weiss smiled down at him, a pure, white star, shining in the void. “How could I not know?”

When Genesis woke, Weiss’ bare chest was wet with tears, and his cheekbone had left a pink mark on the bulging pectoral muscle. Which definitely meant he had a mark on his face too, he thought, as he sat up, irritably rubbing his cheek.

“Nero…”

The weak, cracked whisper may as well have been a thunderclap that shook the heavens. Genesis jolted and stared dumbly, for a moment, before he’d gathered his wits enough to even lose his composure.

“Weiss! You’re awake! You’ve come back!” he said, leaping bodily onto the man, to drag him into his arms. “Was that you, in the dream, just now? Speak to me! Say something!”

Weiss’ eyelashes fluttered, as he struggled to open his eyes. “You’re…heavy.”

“Only just woke up and already being a baby,” Genesis sniffled, continuing to hug him tightly.

Nevermind that a six-foot-two-inch tall super-soldier was sitting on his lap and manhandling him like a sack of rice, Weiss was already groggy and disoriented, and weaker than a kitten. He guessed having awakened from a coma, via fusing with a demigod, and then diving directly into another coma, would do that to a person. When Genesis finally let go of him, he flopped limply onto his back and lay there, helplessly.

“What’s wrong with you?” Genesis frowned, dabbing his tears with his sleeve. “Can’t you sit up on your own?”

Weiss, who could hardly even open his eyes on his own: “…”

“Ah, of course. I don't know why I assumed that when you woke up, your recovery would be immediate.”

Pale lips curved into a faint smile, as Weiss studied his face.

“I know, I know. I fell asleep on you again,” Genesis grumbled, giving his cheek another rub.

White eyebrows made a tiny upward twitch. 

Genesis flushed pink with embarrassment. “It’s nothing weird! I lie on your chest to listen to your heartbeat, and sometimes I fall asleep like that! It…does sound a touch weird, now that I say it aloud. But I never meant it in a weird way!”

Weiss looked down at his bare waist, which Genesis was still straddling, then back up.

“Also not weird,” Genesis defended, crossing his arms. “I was simply overcome with joy, to see you awake, and became demonstrative. Anyway, why can’t I sit on you, if I want? It’s perfectly normal unless you make it weird.”

“Nero,” Wiess whispered. “Where is Nero?”

Genesis dropped the banter and his expression became grave. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find any sign of him. When do you last remember seeing him?”

“He was with me. With Omega. Chaos. Tore us apart. There’s no…nothing else.” His voice was thin and shaky, and he was quickly becoming less coherent.

“You need to rest,” Genesis said decidedly. “We’ll talk about this when you’re feeling better.”

He climbed off Weiss and took a thick, wool blanket from the storage materia, which he spread over him, before he went to turn the lights down.

“Big brother?” Weiss called after him, in a plaintive, almost childish tone. “I’m hungry.”

Genesis smiled over his shoulder. “I’m going to cook you some rice porridge. That should be easy on your stomach. I’ll wake you when it’s ready.”

Weiss, despite his superhuman body maintaining itself in near perfect stasis, using mako alone, had not eaten in five years. That meant the process of getting his stomach used to food again had to be undertaken cautiously. He objected to what he termed ‘pointless fussiness’, saying he would be fine, but Genesis pulled rank as big brother and got his way (though, it did help that Weiss was too weak to hold the spoon on his own).

As it turned out, big brother was right. He had to thin out the porridge till it was basically just rice-infused water, before Weiss could tolerate any, without vomiting. For several long days, Genesis tended assiduously to his recovery, helping him stretch and massaging and his weakened muscles, and patiently hand feeding him, spoonful by spoonful, like a mother caring for a severely ill child.

Gradually, he was able to increase the rice ratio, and add more broth to the plain water. By the time the porridge was at full strength, Weiss was sitting up and eating on his own. He still had to be carried to the bathroom, but after a five year coma, getting this much better in a little over a week, was downright miraculous.

“Eh? Meat today?” Weiss asked, looking up delightedly from his bowl.

“Just a bit of steamed white fish,” Genesis said. “You’ve been tolerating the porridge well. It’s about time to try something a little more solid.”

He swallowed the hearty bite he’d taken. “Did you find it, here?”

Genesis looked theatrically offended. “I, feed you deep-frozen Shinra mystery meat from Goddess knows when? Never! I threw out all the old food and gave the kitchen a good cleaning, before I put our things in there.”

“There’s a lot of food,” Weiss remarked, after swallowing several more large spoonfuls. “Frozen meat, dried fruit and herbs…I can smell it all. How did you get so many things?”

“We’ve lived here for two years,” Genesis reminded him. “While you’ve been malingering, I’ve been helping remote villages deal with monsters and whatnot. They often feel moved to thank me with gifts of food and other sundries, so who am I to reject their kindness? Besides, it saves me the bother of flying a thousand miles to go shopping.”

Weiss nodded. “You don’t have any money, do you.”

“I do not,” Genesis admitted, with a scowl. “Shinra froze my personal accounts, when I abandoned ship, and my adopted parents’ estate all went to a variety of charities, since I’d been declared dead.”

“Mm,” Weiss hummed, licking the last of the porridge from his spoon. “This is really good. Maybe you could get work as a cook.”

“A cook?” Genesis sputtered. “Are you—I am the Planet’s guardian! Chosen by the Goddess, herself! You want me to get work as a cook?”

“No, I just wanted to see your face, when I suggested it,” Weiss grinned. “It’s beneath you to cook for humans. It’s beneath you to be helping them with monsters, too.”

Genesis took his empty bowl and refilled it, from the steaming pot on the cart. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, little brother. Since I’ve awakened before my appointed time, I’ve decided to use the gift of the Goddess to give aid and protection to those in need of it. I…would like you to help me do that.”

“No,” Weiss said flatly.

“As you pointed out yourself, I have no money, and neither do you,” Genesis continued, unperturbed, having expected this reaction. “We must support ourselves somehow, so unless you’d like to take a post as a menial laborer, this is the best option.”

“We are the strongest beings on the Planet,” Weiss laughed. “Anything we want, we can have. Who would dare hinder us?”

Genesis’ brow furrowed. “You mean to set yourself up as a warlord, then? Taking what you will from the weak and defenseless, simply because you can?”

“Why not? What have humans done to deserve mercy from me?”

“You know I won’t allow it.”

“And you know that at my full strength, you are no match for me,” Weiss challenged. “Will you be able to stop me?”

“No,” Genesis replied. “But I will be…very disappointed, in you.”

Weiss’ smirk vanished, and he quickly scooted over to take Genesis’ hand. “Brother, I was only joking. I have no interest in being a warlord. All I want is to find Nero, and to live peacefully with him, in a place of our own, the way I promised him we would.”

Genesis was mollified and squeezed his hand back. “I, too, wish to find him. I sorely regret that I didn’t stay, to help you, when you asked. I was stricken with grief and had no will to go on, at the time.”

“You couldn’t have helped much, if you had stayed,” Weiss reassured him. “We both saw how weakened you were, from the degradation. Even with the gift of the goddess, you needed time to regenerate.”

“So smart, seeing through your big brother, like that,” Genesis complained, roughing up his white mane, for good measure (which would have amounted to begging for death, for anyone aside from himself and Nero). “You could at least pretend to think I’m amazing and powerful.”

“I do think that. It’s just that I’m stronger,” Weiss reasoned. “There’s no one stronger than me, now that Chaos is gone.”

“Chaos isn’t dead, little brother. It’s not so easy to kill the old gods.”

“But he returned to the Planet, which is almost the same. Didn’t he?”

“He did, and he didn’t. The Planet felt Chaos return, and yet it still feels his conscious will, separate from itself.”

“I see. What is he doing?”

“He’s not doing anything. That’s part of why this is so strange. We should only be awake when we’re needed, but we’re all conscious, even though nothing is happening.”

Weiss considered this, for a moment. “I think we should look for Chaos.”

“How do you propose we do that? The Planet doesn’t let me feel his location, only his consciousness.”

“When we fought, Chaos was possessing a human. If it’s awake, then it’s probably still with him.”

“But how could it…that’s impossible,” Genesis objected. “Its power would obliterate a human’s body.”

“Not this one,” Weiss shrugged. “He was able to contain it and even control it.”

Genesis went a shade paler. “Control it? Are you certain he was human?”

“He was, at some point. I didn’t get much of a chance to observe him, because of that scheming worm Hojo. But I did hear a name. Vincent Valentine. He’s the one we have to look for. Find the man and we find the monster.”

“The situation is even more complicated than I thought, then. You are severely weakened, and separated from Omega’s body. If this Vincent Valentine is truly possessed by Chaos, and you try to fight him, the consequences—”

“I don’t want to fight him. I just want Nero.”

“What if he wants to fight you.”

“It’ll be alright,” Weiss said cheerfully, patting his back. “I’ve got big brother to rely on, now.”

“Oh…joy,” Genesis sighed.

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY genesis i'm sick too come take care of meeeeee

NEXT CHAP. LINK

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH 15: (fucking finally)

prev. chap here

back in the present, sort of ollie-centric, reeve is bewildered, nero gets several surprises in a row

RATING: teen and up there are several swears

WARNINGS: baby drooling a lot, giant spiders

NOTES: er-ge (ahr-guh): second elder brother, gege (guh-guh): elder brother affectionate. ollie's baby babble uses these terms

this man needs several lifetimes of vacations

darkness tentacles cause i think they're neat

“Stop that,” Sephiroth scolded. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m getting some juice,” Nero replied.

“If you want something, ask politely.” 

“Why is it more polite to ask someone else to pass me something, when I can get it myself?” 

“Because it’s rude to reach across the breakfast table with your disgusting tentacles.”

Cid, who had never heard Sephiroth sound even mildly annoyed since he’d begun constantly being here, looked up from his bowl of eggs and rice. “What’s goin’ on, you two?”

“My brother is jealous because I slept with our father,” Nero cheerfully announced, as one of his darkness tendrils poured juice into his glass, from the carafe.

Cloud choked on his coffee, Ollie burbled gleefully, and Vincent pretended not to hear any of it, from behind the week-old edition of the Wutai Times, he was reading. 

“Don’t say ambiguous things to intentionally cause misunderstandings,” Sephiroth said, tugging the carafe from the tentacle’s grasp.

“You know, Sephi had a duel with my brother Weiss, once,” Nero intimated to Cloud.

“Your older brothers fought each other?” Cloud asked curiously. “I didn’t know that. When?”

“It was years ago, when Weiss was sixteen. Shinra broadcast it on live television.”

“Holy shit. How’d that go?” 

“Sephi was the favorite to win, but Weiss nearly killed him,” Nero smiled beatifically. “In the end, he had to cheat. Isn’t that right, Sephi?”

“What did I just say about intentionally causing misunderstandings?” Sephiroth replied flatly. “You are mischaracterizing the situation.” 

“Oh? Then do correct me.” 

“I never wanted to fight Weiss. I was called back from an important mission and forced to participate in a product demonstration, for the executives. Hojo deceived him and used an implanted control chip, which was the product, to cripple him, halfway through the fight. The point was to demonstrate its effectiveness to the board.”

“And how very effective it was,” Nero sneered. “By the way, did you know that Genesis visited us, in Deepground, before the fight? He sparred with Weiss, and gave him tips on how to beat you. He said it was time you were knocked down a peg.”

Sephiroth’s brow knit and his jaw tensed, but he ignored the taunt, and spooned some cubed peaches into Ollie’s bowl. 

“Nero, that’s enough,” Vincent’s deep voice said from behind the newspaper. “No reason to needle your brother’s old wounds.”

“Sorry, father,” Nero replied dutifully.

“I liked it better when you sulked in your bedroom all day,” Sephiroth muttered.

Breakfast continued in silence, but for Ollie’s cooing and babbling, and the occasional rustle of Vincent turning the page of his paper. All the while, unobserved by anyone, a spider-silk-thin strand of darkness had been creeping along under the dining table, climbing the leg of the baby’s high chair, like a vine.

Now, it slithered up and coiled around a chubby ankle, disappearing inside a lavender sock. Ollie gave a loud squeal and kicked her legs, but when Sephiroth looked, assuming she’d dropped some peaches into her lap, there was nothing amiss. 

“Are you all done, Ollie?” Cloud asked. “You want to go play?”

“Mama,” Ollie agreed, reaching out her little hands, which were dripping sticky peach juice. 

Nero rested his chin in his palm “Why does she call you mama, when Sephi is clearly the maternal one?” 

“Uh…” Cloud looked at Sephiroth, who was carefully cleaning the baby’s face and hands with a damp cloth, while she wiggled and refused to cooperate. “Who knows. Maybe because I’m small?”

“Why are you so small?”

“You know we’re the same size, right?”

“Yes, but I was born in prison, and suffered from severe malnutrition, as a child.”

“I was malnourished, too. Grew up poor, with no father, in a tundra climate. My mother and I hunted, as much as we could, but…we weren’t welcome in the men’s hunting parties. They’d clear out most of the small game, before we got a chance. Got pretty rough. Especially in winter.”

“So, it was just you and your mother against the world,” Nero sighed. “You must miss her.”

Sephiroth stood abruptly and left the room.

“Why do you have to say shit like that?” Cloud said irritably, after he’d gone. “You know it’s a sensitive subject.”

Nero looked genuinely taken aback. “I was only asking casually. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine. Whatever. Come on, Ollie. Let’s go find gege and we’ll all play a game.” So saying, Cloud gathered up the squirming baby and left the dining room. 

“I know you didn’t intend to be malicious,” Vincent said, folding up his paper. “Just be more careful, from now on.”

Nero crossed his arms sullenly. “I was being careful. No matter what I say, it’s wrong.”

“How d’you think Sephiroth’s gonna act, when you been primin’ him with all that shit talk?” Cid pointed out. “He’s got no reason to give ya the benefit of the doubt.”

“He’s just too sensitive,” Nero groused. “I don’t cry about it, if people mention the horrible things I’ve done. I don’t care.”

“But he does care,” Cid said. “He ain’t you. Can’t judge other people by how you feel.”

“People are so confusing,” Nero said dolefully.

“Tell me about it,” Vincent snorted. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to learn how to interact with other humans, to little avail. I’m afraid I’m still as lost as you are.”

The doorbell rang just then, and Cid got up, tossing his napkin into his bowl. “That oughta be Reeve.”

Vincent nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll join you once I’ve cleaned up, in here.”

“I’ll do it,” Nero said, at which both men turned and stared at him. He scowled. “What? I’m not an idiot, I can figure out how to deal with a few dishes.”

“Well…alright,” Vincent said tentatively. “Thank you, Nero.”

Still looking understandably dubious, the two men exited the dining room. 

Rather than get up to begin clearing the table, Nero remained sitting exactly as he was. Instead, several dozens of darkness tendrils snaked out of his skin markings, waving and wriggling, like the fronds on nightmare anemones. 

At a thought from him, they descended upon the table in a writhing swarm, and sucked up every item: plates, bowls, coffee cups, half-full glasses of juice, even the napkins and silverware. 

Having enveloped everything, the tendrils darted off to the kitchen, with lumps of various shapes visible in their ‘throats’, as if they were pythons that had swallowed prey. Only the prey was shaped like forks and mugs and bowls, and the like. 

The leftover food and other refuse never reappeared, but the flatware and dishware were all spit back out, into their proper places in the cupboards and drawers; every single item sparkling clean, as if they’d all been scoured and polished (which they had been, by the ravenous darkness of the all-consuming void).

The entire process took about sixty seconds, and that was only because the tentacles didn’t know where everything went, and had to figure it out by trial and error. Meanwhile, a few of the larger ones slithered all over the table, leaving it immaculate, as well, while Nero sat perfectly still, apparently in deep concentration.

His mind was not on the mundane task, however, which the tentacles were perfectly able to complete without his attention, but on his father. Despite his taunting Sephiroth with it, he was still reeling inwardly, from the flying lesson in the rain, with Chaos, the other day. And even more so from having awakened, the next morning, to find he’d been sleeping in his father’s arms. 

His knee-jerk reaction was anger, with himself, to have been so weak and vulnerable, in front of the man. But he couldn’t deny that he was moving closer to his goal. The red-cloaked bastard was even beginning to trust him, a little. His reaction when Nero upset Sephiroth, just now, was proof enough that he at least wasn’t considering him guilty till proven innocent.

Though, to be fair, Vincent never treated Nero that way. From the moment he set foot in this house, he was pretty much unsupervised. They’d even let him go out to a grocery store full of civilians. Since he was finished cleaning up, he sent a few thread-thin tendrils slinking into the living room, to listen in.

“Good to see ya, Reeve,” Cid’s voice was saying.

“Thank you for coming,” Vincent’s added. 

“Anything for you two,” replied a pleasant, mature, male voice. “Sorry it took me a couple of days to get here. I was in Midgar, with Rufus, putting together a redevelopment plan for the city’s infrastructure. It’s going to be a hell of a lot of work.”

Cid sounded dubious. “Why do you look so happy about it?”

“Well…I love my job. I mean, my real job as an engineer, now that i don’t have to be Shinra’s single voice of sanity. Rebuilding is going to keep a lot of people employed, for many years, and the result will be a safer, cleaner place for everyone to live. What’s not to be happy about?”

“You’re a weird dude, Reeve,” Cid observed. 

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Reeve laughed.

“Nothing wrong with being weird,” Vincent’s low-toned voice put in. “Nero, if you’re going to eavesdrop, anyway, you may as well come in here and meet our guest.”

Shit. Busted. 

Having no choice, now, Nero retracted his spy tentacles and went gloomily to the living room. The visitor looked pretty much exactly like he’d sounded. A tall, forty-something man, with greying, dark-brown hair and a neatly kept beard. A little older than his picture in the Shinra company directory, but good looking, overall.

“You must be Nero,” he said. “I’m Reeve Tu—”

“I know who you are, Director Tuesti,” Nero cut him off icily. “What’s a Shinra dog doing in my father’s house?”

“Sorry, Reeve,” Vincent interposed. “Nero wasn’t aware that you’re a friend. Nero, Reeve is with the WRO now, not Shinra. And even when he was, he worked with us and helped us.”

“Reeve, hey,” Cloud’s voice said, from the hallway arch, as he came in, carrying Ollie. “Been a while.”

“Oh, Cloud, it’s good to see you,” Reeve answered cheerfully, then his expression changed and he went white as a sheet, stumbling backward. “S—Sephiroth! Sephiroth’s right behind you!”

“It’s alright,” Vincent said, materializing beside him, to steady him on his feet. “He’s not here to make trouble.”

“You’re…serious,” Reeve faltered, looking around at the perfectly calm group. “What exactly is going on? How is he here?”

“Uh. This is going to take some explaining,” Cloud said. “You may want to sit down.”

Nero was pretty curious as to how Sephiroth was here, too. From what he could tell, the man wasn’t really alive. He was full of the planet’s pure life force, though, which made no sense at all. Dead things can’t interact with the Planet's energy.

Thus, he listened attentively, while in a clear, concise, and perfectly calm manner, Sephiroth related the entire story to Reeve, in broad strokes:

Jenova’s control over him, his madness and death, his becoming conscious in the lifestream, with no memory left but for those Jenova hadn’t torn away, which were all of hatred and pain. His eventual overpowering of her will. His confrontation with Cloud in the ruins of Shinra Tower, using the life force of the remnants, to manifest himself. 

Then his fight for his very existence, when Chaos and Omega awakened, and how, after they returned to the Planet, he was forcibly rejected from the lifestream. How Cloud found him, how they reached an accord of forgiveness, and how the dormant seed of love, buried deep in both their hearts, sprouted again. 

“It’s a new seed,” Cloud interjected. 

“What?” Reeve asked, bewildered.

“Seph claims the seed was already there, for him, but it wasn’t, for me. It’s a new seed.”

“So you say, now,” Sephiroth returned. “I happen to know that you were already in love with me, when we first met.”

“Yeah, the idea of you. Not the very real asshole you turned out to be.”

Sephiroth tossed his head. “I was not an asshole. Not until the incident.”

“Either way, the main point is that Sephiroth is sane, now,” Cloud said to Reeve. “Oh, shit, I forgot to explain why he’s here, specifically. He’s Vincent’s son.”

Reeve nearly fell over again, despite being seated on the sofa. “He—he’s what?”

“Sephiroth is my biological son,” Vincent confirmed, from where he was leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed. 

Reeve passed a hand over his brow. “So, you have three children? Two of whom are augmented former Shinra personnel?”

“That we know of. Hojo used my DNA to conceive Sephiroth before I died, and Nero afterward. There’s no telling how many others he made.”

“Sephiroth wasn’t conceived…you know. The traditional way?”  

Vincent didn’t answer. 

“Uh. Sorry,” Reeve said sheepishly. “That was a weird question.”

“Speakin’ of weird, why’d ya bring the cat-bot?” Cid piped up.

“She has the database you wanted.”

Cid squinted at the perpetually cheerful-looking feline robot. “Uh…she?”

“Why don’t we go out to Cid’s workshop, to talk about this,” Vincent cut in. “I’m sure the boys are tired of listening to us old men.”

This was an obvious excuse, since it had been Sephiroth doing most of the talking, but it was good enough. Carrying the cat-bot on his shoulder, Reeve followed the pair out the back door.

“So, you are some kind of ghost,” Nero said to Sephiroth, when they were gone. “That explains a lot of things.”

“I am not a ghost,” Sephiroth replied tranquilly. “My original body was destroyed, but I never died. This body is just as real. It’s made of physical matter and sustained by my will, as well as the Planet’s life force. Technically, I am more alive than you are.”

“Unless your connection is severed,” Nero said, narrowing his eyes shrewdly. “Right?”

“Nero, don’t,” Cloud warned.

“But I wonder, is it enough to be remembered? Or must you also be loved?”

Sephiroth’s eyes flashed. “What are you implying?”

“You say your body is sustained by your will, but is that true? Is it not actually…his will?” Nero turned his scarlet eyes on Cloud. 

“Mama,” Ollie put in helpfully. 

“All the pain he caused,” Nero went on. “All the destruction and suffering and death, and still, you didn’t let go. No matter what atrocities he committed, you couldn’t make yourself let go of him. Could you.”

Sephiroth opened his mouth to say something, but Cloud interrupted. “No. I couldn’t.”

Nero’s catlike pupils dilated imperceptibly. “And you don’t regret it, do you. Even knowing that you holding onto him, acting as his tether to existence, cost thousands of human lives.”

Cloud’s blue eyes were glistening, but he set his jaw defiantly. “No. I don’t regret it. Not for a goddamn minute.”

“I think…I'm beginning to understand you, Cloud Strife. We are both people whose love outweighs every other consideration, including so-called righteousness and morality.”

“Love makes its own law. Isn't that what you believe?”

“It is. I'm glad to know that you believe it, too. For my brother's sake.”

Nero turned to go upstairs, but at that moment, he felt something he hadn’t, in a long time. It was a tug! Through the darkness! It was extremely faint, almost undetectable, but it was a tug! That was the way Weiss used to connect to him, he’d never mistake it! 

He stopped where he was, breathless, quivering with anticipation, every nerve fiber on high alert, waiting to feel it again. Unfortunately, Ollie had begun jabbering loudly in Cloud’s arms, and it was quickly evolving into a fussy noise, which was frustratingly distracting. Nero needed to go to his room, where he had at least marginal privacy. 

He stepped onto the bottom stair, but as he did, he felt the tug again, and froze in place. This time he caught hold of it, and connected to the darkness. The world around him dissolved into inky blackness.

“Weiss! Weiss!” he shouted, into the formless void. “Brother, where are you! I felt your pull and I came! Brother! Weiss!!”

As he was calling out for his brother, he felt a tickling sensation and looked down. There, at his ethereal feet, grabbing at his shin with its forelegs, was a black spider, the size of a housecat.

Its legs were rather stubby, its carapace was covered with thick, plushy, black fuzz, and its eight crimson eyes were too large, in proportion to its head. The result was that it looked weirdly adorable, despite being an abyssal abomination. 

Nero curled his lip in disgust, shaking the thing off his spirit projection’s leg. “What the fuck are you? Why are you here?”

The big, glowing eyes blinked stupidly up at him, but he felt a wave of exuberantly friendly intent, coming from it, as it reached up and began to prod him with its palps, again. It must be a juvenile, and unable to communicate in more complex terms. That would explain its inane cuteness.

“But how did something so small and stupid escape from Chaos, and get into my void?” he asked, rhetorically. 

The thing kept batting his shin and shooting waves of idiotic enthusiasm at him. 

“I’m looking for my brother. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

When he said the word ‘brother’, he felt a strong pulse of affectionate intent, from the thing, and its forelegs smacked him even more excitedly. 

For half a second, he almost thought the creature might be Weiss, but dismissed that idea, immediately. Weiss wasn’t a spider, on the other side, and this thing was made of darkness, like him. It was probably just some random anomaly, generated by Chaos.

“Why don’t you go away?” he said irritably. “I’m here to look for Weiss, I don’t need any annoyances tagging along.”

The thing stopped jabbing at him, pushed itself up on its hind legs, then toppled theatrically onto its back, where it proceeded to flail its legs about, exuding unbearable woe, as if nine generations of its ancestors had been wronged. 

“Fine, whatever. You can hang around with me, just don’t make any noise,” Nero said, as his body warped and expanded, swiftly becoming the massive, nightmare spider of the void. “And don’t annoy me, or I’ll toss you out of here.”

The little spider vibrated with joy as it skittered up one of his enormous legs, and positioned itself happily on top of his head. It was physically impossible, of course, for a thing the size of a cat to traverse his planet sized body, but this was the void, and they were conceptual beings. When he grew, the little spider grew, in direct proportion, so it still seemed the same size, relative to him.

For time untold, the colossal spider traversed the endless darkness, with the little spider perched atop his head, searching desperately for any trace of Weiss. But no matter how he called out to him, there was no answer. No sign of his light, to be found. 

Sensing his deep dejection, the little spider (who he’d entirely forgotten about, till that moment) wiggled its legs and radiated comfort, like a miniature hot-water bottle. Or an impossibly titanic hot-water bottle, depending on one’s perspective.

“Maybe he’s not strong enough, to keep up the connection, and had to drop it right away,” Nero sighed, as he shrank back down to his humanoid form. “All I can do is wait, and hope he’ll reach out again soon.”

The cat-sized spider on top of his head patted his face sympathetically, with two fuzzy, clawed forelegs. He pulled the thing off and set it on the (purely metaphorical) ground. 

“I’m going, now. I don’t know how you got in, but don’t wander around this place, alone. You could get lost.”

The thing bucked up and waved its pedipalps, sending an impression that it understood. With a nod, Nero winked out of the void.

In the material world, he was still standing with one foot on the bottom stair, and no more than a few seconds had passed. Ollie was yowling and Cloud was trying to soothe her, while Sephiroth hurried away to warm a bottle. 

“It’s ok, Ollie, gege will come back in minute,” Cloud reasoned.

“Ah-guh,” she wailed piteously. “Ah-guh guh guh!”

“I think she wants you,” Cloud said to Nero, who looked back with a sneer. 

“How can you tell any of that drool-machine’s noises apart? Half the blabbering she does sounds like that.”

“Guh! Guh! Ahhh-guhhh!” Ollie howled, even louder, stretching her little hands toward him and struggling in Cloud’s arms. 

Nero almost laughed at the stupidness of her stubby arms and legs flailing about, but then he was struck dead-on by a sensation like stepping off a short stair, and finding it’s a cliff. 

“Oh, fuck. Chaos is going to fucking kill me.”

Cloud didn’t hear him, over Ollie’s howling. “What?” 

“I said…I’ll h—hold her,” Nero managed to make himself pronounce aloud.

“Are you sure?” Cloud asked, doubtfully.

“Yes. Just give her to me,” Nero said, sticking his arms out, and trying not to grimace too obviously.

The squirming bundle was pushed into his arms and Cloud adjusted his grip to the proper position, before he let go. There. He was doing it. He was holding a human infant. There would almost certainly be some horrifying or disgusting consequences, but—

“Hey, it worked,” Cloud said. “She stopped crying.”

“Ah-guh,” Ollie’s suspiciously chipper voice squeaked, close to his ear. 

Nero realized he’d had his eyes shut and opened them. Cloud was grinning smugly, and Sephiroth was standing beside Cloud, with the bottle, thunderstruck.

“What are you doing?”

“Holding my baby sister,” Nero retorted. “What does it look like?”

“But…why?”

“I thought it sounded like she wanted him to,” Cloud explained. “Seems like I was right.”

“Gege, ah-guh, mamamamama,” Ollie babbled, grabbing handfuls of Nero's long, jet-black hair.

Nero very clearly and distinctly felt impressions of Sephiroth, himself, and then Cloud, as she made each of the sounds. “So, you really are calling him mama. Huh.”

“Ah-ah-ah guh-guh-guh,” she said, and blithely stuffed a chubby fistful of his hair into her mouth. 

“Cut it out, gremlin!” Nero protested. “I don’t want your gross slobber in my hair!”

Ollie looked at him solemnly, then spat out the lock of hair with an explosive ‘pffbbbt!’, spraying drool all over his face.

He stood frozen, blinking in stupefaction, while Cloud nearly went blue stifling his laughter.

“Well, I couldn’t possibly separate you two, now,” Sephiroth said. “You’ve clearly bonded.”

Nero glowered at him, as darkness tendrils snaked out and indignantly cleaned the drool from his face, which made Ollie squeal delightedly. Before anyone could react, she grabbed one and yanked joyously on it.

“No, Ollie, don’t!” Cloud exclaimed, but Sephiroth stopped him. 

“It won’t harm her. She’s a child of Chaos.”

“And I wouldn’t let it, anyway,” Nero scowled. “What do you think of me?”

Cloud squinted. “Uh…do you really want to know?” 

Nero ignored him.

Sure enough, the tentacle appeared to have no ill will toward the infant. It just lay there, wriggling helplessly, as Ollie held onto it with both hands and gnawed on it with her pink gums, like corn on the cob. It looked rather disturbing, but the upside was, no matter how much she drooled all over it, the tendril would just absorb it, so it was far less messy than all her usual chew toys (which included but were not limited to, her actual teething rings, her other toys, her own hands, and people’s clothing and hair, especially Sephiroth’s).

“Well, it looks like Ollie has a new favorite,” Cloud sighed. “I guess I’m just an old shoe, now.” 

“Nonsense,” Sephiroth reassured him. “If you were an old shoe, she’d be chewing on you, right now.”

LINK TO NEXT CHAP

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH 11: Present Day With Short Deepground Flashback

NOTE: It's not a time skip in the Deepground section, it's just to frame Nero's physical trauma more. All that story is still going to be told!

Rating: Mature

WARNINGS: torture, captivity, phantom pain, PTSD

NOW WITH @siringadev's beautiful father-son art!

⚰️🕷️

father and son trying to out-edgelord each other but who is winning

it's vincent

After the Restrictor came, and they implanted those chips in everyone, they sedated Nero and carried him to a dark, cavernous place, in the lowest sub-level of Deepground. Industrial power tools whirred and shrieked. He awoke feeling the vibrations in his skull. 

Men were locking heavy shackles onto his wings, at six points. The shackles, they attached to the type of chains that are used for boat anchors; made of iron and as thick as a man’s arm. The chains were hung through huge, steel rings, bolted to a massive support pillar, and hooked up to a construction winch, on the other side. 

The Restrictor turned the winch and drew the chains tighter and tighter, laughing while the teenaged boy screamed in agony, pulling Nero’s wings higher and spreading them wider apart, till his shoulder blades felt like they were about to be dislocated, and his feet couldn’t properly rest on the ground. 

That was the position he was locked in. Splayed against the gigantic support pillar, like a butterfly pinned to a display board. Muzzled and bound in a straitjacket. Chained by his wings, to the literal foundation of Deepground. 

The only way to relieve the pain of bearing his weight on his wings, was to push himself up on tip-toe. He could only do that for so long, before his legs began to tremble with fatigue. Try as he might, his strength would eventually fail, and his legs give out. Then his wings would catch his full weight, and he would scream in agony again. 

The Restrictor often lingered nearby, watching him go through this process, drinking in the boy’s tormented groans and cries of distress, with lascivious glee. But he also observed the boy growing stronger and stronger…and more dangerous.

Nero curled up, as the lightning bolts of pain racked his body again, mouth hanging open, a clear stream drool running out onto the floor. Where was his muzzle? Where was his straitjacket? He’d had some kind of cotton jersey shirt on his top half, but he had clawed and torn it to shreds, and it now lay in a purple pile on the floor.

He heard a noise behind him, but he didn’t have time to work out what it was, before he felt the darkness react to something, like a dog jumping in excitement, when its master walks in the door. Weiss! It must be Weiss! he thought, deliriously. Tears of joy leaked from the sides of his eyes, even as they were squeezed shut against the pain. 

“W—Weiss…” he rasped, as the darkness reached out toward his beloved. His only one.

He was hauled up to a sitting position, and strong arms wrapped around him from behind, like bands of iron, compressing his crossed arms on his chest, in that familiar position. He was pressed tight against a stone-hard body and lifted to his feet, but…something was wrong. The darkness was curling happily around the person, but making no connection. Not Weiss! his mind screamed.

Enraged, Nero gave his lithe torso a sudden twist, like a snake, trying to wrench himself free, but the arms held him fast. “What the fuck!”

“Calm down,” a smooth, deep voice said, right in his ear. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Fuck you! Let me go!” he snarled, thrashing harder, still to no observable effect.

Vincent sighed. “Nero, I know you’re in pain. Let me help—”

“I don’t need your help you bastard!” he roared, kicking his legs, trying to throw this human monolith off balance. He may as well have struggled against the planet itself, for all the man moved. Panting and shaking with fatigue, from even that brief effort, he gave up and hung limply in Vincent’s arms. “I h—I hate you. Fucking die.”

“I can’t.”  

As Vincent said this, the room exploded into a whirling, crimson blur, and suddenly, they were atop the roof of the house. Nero’s bare feet stood on the sandy grit of the roof tiles, and blowing wind brought the scent of rain, from the rolling, grey storm clouds, that were obscuring the moon. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, in real bewilderment. 

“I think I can help, with your pain,” a rasping, resonant, entirely demonic voice answered. “But I can’t try it inside the house. My wings are too big.”

Chaos. The demon’s familiar aura sent shivers of elation up Nero’s spine and made him sick to his stomach, at the same time. He felt bloodthirsty, resentful, filled with rage and grief and underneath it all, a deep, hollow ache. A longing as fathomless as the abyss.

“How do you know I’m in pain?” 

“Sephiroth explained, after you went upstairs.”

“Can he ever mind his own business?” Nero grumbled, under his breath.

Acting entirely without his input, Nero’s darkness tendrils suddenly burst out of the black markings all over his body and plunged directly into Chaos, connecting them, like it was plugging him into a power source. 

Horrified, Nero tried to make them come back, but his knees buckled and his vision went blank, just then, his brain shorted out by the sudden exposure to unfiltered Chaos energy. 

When his vision returned, the demon was still holding him, the same way—Nero’s arms restrained in straitjacket position, and his bare back pressed to its midsection—steadying him on his feet, so he didn’t fall off the roof. 

He was trying work out what the hell Chaos was playing at, when he felt it. A dizzying rush of relief, pouring in through the wing brackets on his shoulder blades and coursing through his body. Lack of pain so potent, it was ten times more intoxicating than the headiest pleasure. 

Involuntarily, Nero’s head dropped back onto Chaos’ chest and he gave a shuddering moan, as he began to unfurl the demon’s huge, membranous wings, slowly and stiffly, spreading them as wide as they could go. 

Tears poured unchecked down his ashen face, weeping openly, as he stretched and folded the wings on the demon’s back, savoring every movement, feeling the contorted phantom segments straightening out, the excruciating knots loosening, the throbbing tautness unwinding. 

Nero’s body now felt relaxed and comfortable, being held tightly in Chaos’ arms. Actually, he hadn’t felt this good since…well, in a long time. Now that they believed everything was back as it was supposed to be, the formerly tormented nerves were humming with vitality. Suddenly, the urge to use the wings he’d missed so sorely, was so strong he could taste it.

Nero’s own wings had nothing to do with his ability to defy gravity, so it was something of a shock to him, when he gave Chaos’ wings an exploratory flap, and the two rocketed into the air. 

He jolted and cried out in alarm, as the ground fell away and the rooftop shrank below them at a dizzying speed. Chaos, however, appeared patently unconcerned, only taking control to give his wings a few beats (to stop them plummeting directly back out of the sky, and to gain some height for safety reasons), then returning control to Nero. 

Nero wasn’t afraid of heights in the least, but he didn’t particularly want to smack into the earth like a meteor, so he scrambled to flap the massive wings. With an effort, he got them under good enough control to keep aloft, then gingerly began to try changing direction. 

He was uncoordinated, and kept going awkwardly off kilter. They tumbled and veered multiple times, before he actually began to get the hang of it. But by the time half an hour had passed, Nero was able to fly in relatively steady circles, above the Valentine-Highwind property.  

All this time, not a single word passed between himself and the ancient demon, whose body he was essentially sharing, at the moment, but at times he could feel its wordless intent, guiding him. Spread. Glide. Tuck. Bank left. More thrust on the right. 

It occurred to him, with a series of complicated emotions, that his father was teaching him to fly. Just like a real father teaching his real son to ride a bicycle. Patiently and calmly, ready to catch him, if he fell. He felt something deep inside him, begin to crack. 

Nero, being Nero, bridled and balked. Furious with himself, for being so soft and stupid, and letting himself be taken in so easily, he sullenly withdrew his control from the wings and let them fall, till Chaos lazily caught them and swooped back upward, with effortless elegance, as if it were no more difficult than breathing. 

That drew Nero right back out of his morose ruminations. He had thought he’d been doing well, but he clearly had no idea what flying even was. Chaos used far fewer wing beats to achieve the same height and speed, and seemed to be exerting ten times less effort. What the hell? How was it that much different to what he’d been doing?

Spinning like a corkscrew, the demon rapidly ascended, higher and higher, till they emerged from the storm cover in the clear, black sky, where the air became thin and icy-cold, and the the moon shone pure and bright over the sea of clouds. 

Nero was staring in undisguised awe at the tens of thousands of glittering stars, when Chaos tucked his wings tightly against his body and dropped abruptly into a freefall. Nero’s stomach flipped and he had to choke down a cry. They fell faster and faster, the wind beating furiously at his face, making his eyes tear up, as they plunged back into the grey clouds, plummeting earthward at terminal velocity.

Just above the treeline, Chaos extended his wings partway and used the downward momentum to shoot forward like a bullet, speeding over the blurred tops of the trees. 

As if on cue, thunder rolled and lighting crackled, as the heavy clouds burst, at last. The cold water droplets lashed Nero’s face and his bare torso, as they flew at that logic-defying speed, but he was actually rather thrilled by it. He wasn’t bothered by cold, and he’d never felt rain before. 

Apparently sensing that the weather didn’t trouble his passenger, Chaos kept going, soaring nonchalantly through blinding sheets of rain, doing spectacular loops and dizzying barrel rolls, throwing off spirals of water as they went. 

Nero had to force down the swell of mirth, that bubbled up in his chest, at the idea of this apocalyptic demon playing around in the rain, to amuse itself. Chaos was having fun, and it showed. If he could have admitted it, without gagging to death, so was Nero.

More than two hours evaporated, and soon they were circling back around toward home—er…toward the Valentine-Highwind house. When they got in close, rather than landing, Chaos did that teleportation thing with the whirling crimson, and they were simply standing in Nero’s room. 

Nero hadn’t got his sea legs yet, and turned around unsteadily to blink up at Chaos, who was Vincent again, in his slashed up black jeans and crimson henley, with that stupid headband, as usual. He was also perfectly dry, as opposed to Nero, who was soaking wet, from head to toe, black hair pasted to his white forehead, and quickly creating a puddle, on the wood floor. 

Conveniently, Sephiroth (because the world had gone thoroughly insane, and the hero of Wutai was now some kind of super-housewife) had left folded bath towels on the dresser, and put the fresh linens on the bed, while they were out.

Before Nero could say anything, Vincent picked up an oversized bath towel and spread it open, holding it up between them, like a privacy screen. Not quite understanding the prudishness of the gesture, Nero peeled off his soaking wet jeans and underwear, then let Vincent wrap the plushy towel around him. 

He still had no idea how to process what happened, tonight. No idea what it meant, or how to react. So he just stood there, dazed, while his father carefully rubbed his long hair, with the other towel. 

Fatigue settled on him, with the warmth and the weight of the gentle touch. Now that the pain was alleviated, he was exhausted, down to his bones. Without realizing it, his eyes drooped shut, and his head began to tip forward, by degrees, till it was resting against Vincent’s chest. 

Darkness tendrils slithered out of the black markings, all over his naked body, and coiled themselves around Vincent’s arms and waist and neck, like affectionate boa constrictors. If they could purr, they would have, fucking embarrassing things.

“Nero.”

“Mm?”

“The next time you’re in pain, don’t wait for it to become unbearable. Come to me, and I’ll help you.”

…

“Mn.”

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY:

nero the wet cat: *HISSSS GRRR HISSSSS* cat dad vincent: *pats dry with towel* nero the dry cat: …. *purr*

LINK TO NEXT CHAPTER:

[sephirthoughts]

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

prev. chap

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.”

NEXT chapter

[siringadev]

Hi. According to you (analysis ask): how do you think Weiss was as a leader overall? Do you think he was strict, sadistic, got along with his Tsviets? How do you think his relationship with them was ? (No question of shipping save for Weinero but just how do you think the interactions were?)

Hi! These are interesting questions. I've actually thought about this, and based on various moments from DoC, online mod, and FF7 remake, I can draw several conclusions. However, these are just my guesses, I don't claim that this is true. So, Weiss as a leader, "controlling Shinra's top-secret experimental facility "Deep Ground". He has superhuman fighting strength and charisma, he is cruel and tyranical. Because of his immense strength, he is kept chained to a throne in the deepest part of Deep Ground, except for when he is being experimented on. Under inhuman control, he calmly waits for a convenient opportunity to rebel." That's how he's described.

On the one hand, he is a leader, but on the other hand, he had too little time to be a real leader, to manage, give orders, decide things. In my opinion, his status as the Emperor was more of a symbol, and Weiss himself was a good motivator for the soldiers of Deep Ground shortly before and after the rebellion. In DG online mod, Weiss was chained to the throne all the time, except for those cases when he and Nero are freed to perform tasks (Crisis Core). It's not visible that other Tsviets had access to Weiss, even swords from Argento are brought by Restrictor or someone else, but not the Tsviets themselves. It's seems that the fame of Weiss's extraordinary strength went to DG, he began to be deified. I think that Nero was the main propagandist of the Weiss cult, because he worshiped him and adore him a lot. Then, Azul and Rosso appear, who, although they were inhabitants of DG, but Weiss they have not met. Weiss fights them and wins, they recognize his power and become his loyal followers, then Weiss fights Restrictor with soldier, Restrictor dies. Weiss and all the Tsviets (Azul, Rosso, Shelke, Argento and others) go to rebellion, Weiss has only three days to find a cure for the virus. It can be assumed that he freed Nero and immediately used the SND, searching for a cure for the virus for three days, while the Tsviets were killing the taskmasters. Nero could supervise their actions, while mostly protecting Weiss's body, since Weiss is defenseless when performing the SND. This shows Weiss as noble, brave and ready to risk himself for the good of Nero, and at the same time to free other Tsviets, although he needs others as tools for his goal. He is distant with others, clearly does not get close, does not make friends, and his only close one is Nero. The same is true for Nero, he does not consider others as comrades, but is ready to cooperate for his goal ("there's no team in DG"). After Weiss was unable to get out of the SND, and seemed to be stuck in a coma, Nero hid it from the other Tsviets for 3 years, which means he did not have trust/closeness/friendship with them. He convinced them that the orders he was transmitting were from Weiss, and they reverently accepted it and obeyed. In fact, Nero had been command them for three years, he was in charge of the DG army, he was giving orders, he had planned everything in advance (Omega's awakening, the escape from the planet to another with Weiss). But he clearly did not seek power, he was forced to do this while Weiss was out of action. Nero knows Weiss very well, so he quite believed that he was transmitting Weiss's will, although Weiss did not really care about the plans, and it was Nero who fought and decided something, if we taking into account Weiss's words in the Opera Omnia. Next, Weiss knew that only he and Nero would be saved, and everyone who remained on the planet, including the Tsviets, would all die (in fact, they died even before Omega's awakening, except for Shelke who is no longer Tsviet). So if he regretted about their deaths, then he is not as cruel as it's say about him. But he won't cry for them, because the only one he truly cares about is Nero. He doesn't feel good when he meets Shelke again in DFFOO, even after he regained his memory, he fights aggressively with everyone, and can beat Shelke up, despite the fact that she tried to appeal to his justice and reason. I think Weiss also treats other Tsviets the same and coldly, Azul, Rosso and Argento are just soldiers for him, and if he doesn't need them, he can easily become an enemy for them or he will simply not care about them. But he treats Chadley and the scientists worse, he despises them and calls them idiots (but Nero can just kill the scientists when they get in his way so Nero is clearly more cruel than Weiss). Well, that's how Weiss seems to me. He is complex character, not white or black. If he had more screen time, we were to discover more about him, then we could do more analysis about his personality.

[sephirthoughts]

Reblogged with @siringadev's beautiful art!

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH 11: Present Day With Short Deepground Flashback

NOTE: It's not a time skip in the Deepground section, it's just to frame Nero's physical trauma more. All that story is still going to be told!

Rating: Mature

WARNINGS: torture, captivity, phantom pain, PTSD

NOW WITH @siringadev's beautiful father-son art!

⚰️🕷️

father and son trying to out-edgelord each other but who is winning

it's vincent

After the Restrictor came, and they implanted those chips in everyone, they sedated Nero and carried him to a dark, cavernous place, in the lowest sub-level of Deepground. Industrial power tools whirred and shrieked. He awoke feeling the vibrations in his skull. 

Men were locking heavy shackles onto his wings, at six points. The shackles, they attached to the type of chains that are used for boat anchors; made of iron and as thick as a man’s arm. The chains were hung through huge, steel rings, bolted to a massive support pillar, and hooked up to a construction winch, on the other side. 

The Restrictor turned the winch and drew the chains tighter and tighter, laughing while the teenaged boy screamed in agony, pulling Nero’s wings higher and spreading them wider apart, till his shoulder blades felt like they were about to be dislocated, and his feet couldn’t properly rest on the ground. 

That was the position he was locked in. Splayed against the gigantic support pillar, like a butterfly pinned to a display board. Muzzled and bound in a straitjacket. Chained by his wings, to the literal foundation of Deepground. 

The only way to relieve the pain of bearing his weight on his wings, was to push himself up on tip-toe. He could only do that for so long, before his legs began to tremble with fatigue. Try as he might, his strength would eventually fail, and his legs give out. Then his wings would catch his full weight, and he would scream in agony again. 

The Restrictor often lingered nearby, watching him go through this process, drinking in the boy’s tormented groans and cries of distress, with lascivious glee. But he also observed the boy growing stronger and stronger…and more dangerous.

Nero curled up, as the lightning bolts of pain racked his body again, mouth hanging open, a clear stream drool running out onto the floor. Where was his muzzle? Where was his straitjacket? He’d had some kind of cotton jersey shirt on his top half, but he had clawed and torn it to shreds, and it now lay in a purple pile on the floor.

He heard a noise behind him, but he didn’t have time to work out what it was, before he felt the darkness react to something, like a dog jumping in excitement, when its master walks in the door. Weiss! It must be Weiss! he thought, deliriously. Tears of joy leaked from the sides of his eyes, even as they were squeezed shut against the pain. 

“W—Weiss…” he rasped, as the darkness reached out toward his beloved. His only one.

He was hauled up to a sitting position, and strong arms wrapped around him from behind, like bands of iron, compressing his crossed arms on his chest, in that familiar position. He was pressed tight against a stone-hard body and lifted to his feet, but…something was wrong. The darkness was curling happily around the person, but making no connection. Not Weiss! his mind screamed.

Enraged, Nero gave his lithe torso a sudden twist, like a snake, trying to wrench himself free, but the arms held him fast. “What the fuck!”

“Calm down,” a smooth, deep voice said, right in his ear. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Fuck you! Let me go!” he snarled, thrashing harder, still to no observable effect.

Vincent sighed. “Nero, I know you’re in pain. Let me help—”

“I don’t need your help you bastard!” he roared, kicking his legs, trying to throw this human monolith off balance. He may as well have struggled against the planet itself, for all the man moved. Panting and shaking with fatigue, from even that brief effort, he gave up and hung limply in Vincent’s arms. “I h—I hate you. Fucking die.”

“I can’t.”  

As Vincent said this, the room exploded into a whirling, crimson blur, and suddenly, they were atop the roof of the house. Nero’s bare feet stood on the sandy grit of the roof tiles, and blowing wind brought the scent of rain, from the rolling, grey storm clouds, that were obscuring the moon. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, in real bewilderment. 

“I think I can help, with your pain,” a rasping, resonant, entirely demonic voice answered. “But I can’t try it inside the house. My wings are too big.”

Chaos. The demon’s familiar aura sent shivers of elation up Nero’s spine and made him sick to his stomach, at the same time. He felt bloodthirsty, resentful, filled with rage and grief and underneath it all, a deep, hollow ache. A longing as fathomless as the abyss.

“How do you know I’m in pain?” 

“Sephiroth explained, after you went upstairs.”

“Can he ever mind his own business?” Nero grumbled, under his breath.

Acting entirely without his input, Nero’s darkness tendrils suddenly burst out of the black markings all over his body and plunged directly into Chaos, connecting them, like it was plugging him into a power source. 

Horrified, Nero tried to make them come back, but his knees buckled and his vision went blank, just then, his brain shorted out by the sudden exposure to unfiltered Chaos energy. 

When his vision returned, the demon was still holding him, the same way—Nero’s arms restrained in straitjacket position, and his bare back pressed to its midsection—steadying him on his feet, so he didn’t fall off the roof. 

He was trying work out what the hell Chaos was playing at, when he felt it. A dizzying rush of relief, pouring in through the wing brackets on his shoulder blades and coursing through his body. Lack of pain so potent, it was ten times more intoxicating than the headiest pleasure. 

Involuntarily, Nero’s head dropped back onto Chaos’ chest and he gave a shuddering moan, as he began to unfurl the demon’s huge, membranous wings, slowly and stiffly, spreading them as wide as they could go. 

Tears poured unchecked down his ashen face, weeping openly, as he stretched and folded the wings on the demon’s back, savoring every movement, feeling the contorted phantom segments straightening out, the excruciating knots loosening, the throbbing tautness unwinding. 

Nero’s body now felt relaxed and comfortable, being held tightly in Chaos’ arms. Actually, he hadn’t felt this good since…well, in a long time. Now that they believed everything was back as it was supposed to be, the formerly tormented nerves were humming with vitality. Suddenly, the urge to use the wings he’d missed so sorely, was so strong he could taste it.

Nero’s own wings had nothing to do with his ability to defy gravity, so it was something of a shock to him, when he gave Chaos’ wings an exploratory flap, and the two rocketed into the air. 

He jolted and cried out in alarm, as the ground fell away and the rooftop shrank below them at a dizzying speed. Chaos, however, appeared patently unconcerned, only taking control to give his wings a few beats (to stop them plummeting directly back out of the sky, and to gain some height for safety reasons), then returning control to Nero. 

Nero wasn’t afraid of heights in the least, but he didn’t particularly want to smack into the earth like a meteor, so he scrambled to flap the massive wings. With an effort, he got them under good enough control to keep aloft, then gingerly began to try changing direction. 

He was uncoordinated, and kept going awkwardly off kilter. They tumbled and veered multiple times, before he actually began to get the hang of it. But by the time half an hour had passed, Nero was able to fly in relatively steady circles, above the Valentine-Highwind property.  

All this time, not a single word passed between himself and the ancient demon, whose body he was essentially sharing, at the moment, but at times he could feel its wordless intent, guiding him. Spread. Glide. Tuck. Bank left. More thrust on the right. 

It occurred to him, with a series of complicated emotions, that his father was teaching him to fly. Just like a real father teaching his real son to ride a bicycle. Patiently and calmly, ready to catch him, if he fell. He felt something deep inside him, begin to crack. 

Nero, being Nero, bridled and balked. Furious with himself, for being so soft and stupid, and letting himself be taken in so easily, he sullenly withdrew his control from the wings and let them fall, till Chaos lazily caught them and swooped back upward, with effortless elegance, as if it were no more difficult than breathing. 

That drew Nero right back out of his morose ruminations. He had thought he’d been doing well, but he clearly had no idea what flying even was. Chaos used far fewer wing beats to achieve the same height and speed, and seemed to be exerting ten times less effort. What the hell? How was it that much different to what he’d been doing?

Spinning like a corkscrew, the demon rapidly ascended, higher and higher, till they emerged from the storm cover in the clear, black sky, where the air became thin and icy-cold, and the the moon shone pure and bright over the sea of clouds. 

Nero was staring in undisguised awe at the tens of thousands of glittering stars, when Chaos tucked his wings tightly against his body and dropped abruptly into a freefall. Nero’s stomach flipped and he had to choke down a cry. They fell faster and faster, the wind beating furiously at his face, making his eyes tear up, as they plunged back into the grey clouds, plummeting earthward at terminal velocity.

Just above the treeline, Chaos extended his wings partway and used the downward momentum to shoot forward like a bullet, speeding over the blurred tops of the trees. 

As if on cue, thunder rolled and lighting crackled, as the heavy clouds burst, at last. The cold water droplets lashed Nero’s face and his bare torso, as they flew at that logic-defying speed, but he was actually rather thrilled by it. He wasn’t bothered by cold, and he’d never felt rain before. 

Apparently sensing that the weather didn’t trouble his passenger, Chaos kept going, soaring nonchalantly through blinding sheets of rain, doing spectacular loops and dizzying barrel rolls, throwing off spirals of water as they went. 

Nero had to force down the swell of mirth, that bubbled up in his chest, at the idea of this apocalyptic demon playing around in the rain, to amuse itself. Chaos was having fun, and it showed. If he could have admitted it, without gagging to death, so was Nero.

More than two hours evaporated, and soon they were circling back around toward home—er…toward the Valentine-Highwind house. When they got in close, rather than landing, Chaos did that teleportation thing with the whirling crimson, and they were simply standing in Nero’s room. 

Nero hadn’t got his sea legs yet, and turned around unsteadily to blink up at Chaos, who was Vincent again, in his slashed up black jeans and crimson henley, with that stupid headband, as usual. He was also perfectly dry, as opposed to Nero, who was soaking wet, from head to toe, black hair pasted to his white forehead, and quickly creating a puddle, on the wood floor. 

Conveniently, Sephiroth (because the world had gone thoroughly insane, and the hero of Wutai was now some kind of super-housewife) had left folded bath towels on the dresser, and put the fresh linens on the bed, while they were out.

Before Nero could say anything, Vincent picked up an oversized bath towel and spread it open, holding it up between them, like a privacy screen. Not quite understanding the prudishness of the gesture, Nero peeled off his soaking wet jeans and underwear, then let Vincent wrap the plushy towel around him. 

He still had no idea how to process what happened, tonight. No idea what it meant, or how to react. So he just stood there, dazed, while his father carefully rubbed his long hair, with the other towel. 

Fatigue settled on him, with the warmth and the weight of the gentle touch. Now that the pain was alleviated, he was exhausted, down to his bones. Without realizing it, his eyes drooped shut, and his head began to tip forward, by degrees, till it was resting against Vincent’s chest. 

Darkness tendrils slithered out of the black markings, all over his naked body, and coiled themselves around Vincent’s arms and waist and neck, like affectionate boa constrictors. If they could purr, they would have, fucking embarrassing things.

“Nero.”

“Mm?”

“The next time you’re in pain, don’t wait for it to become unbearable. Come to me, and I’ll help you.”

…

“Mn.”

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY:

nero the wet cat: *HISSSS GRRR HISSSSS* cat dad vincent: *pats dry with towel* nero the dry cat: …. *purr*

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