Ceaseless Oblivion

I am so shocked. It seems like every time I check my email, I find someone who favorited the story. I am loving every single one of you who do, you make my day when you do that! Thank you to KyubbitheKid for reviewing, it means so much to me. To all of you, for you made this happen. ^^ Sorry it took awhile, college is eating me alive!

If it seems like Sephiroth's character jumps around a lot in this chapter, I made it intentional. I think that is plausible really, considering the circumstances. And I am taking a massive creative liberty with Cloud in this chapter.

I own nothing. At all. Sadly.


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"What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form, in moving. How express and admirable! In action, how like an angel! In apprehension, how like a god! Thee beauty of the world, the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?"-"Hamlet" by Shakespeare

Delirium became him. In and out he floated in consciousness, and he was aware of a few minor sensations, such as the feel of something wet on his cheek, or the noise of a stream somewhere nearby. Aside from that, Sephiroth could not focus on one or more sense at a time, for his mind was not ready for that. He knew enough that he shouldn't have been capable of thought, or trusted to think. Puppets had no souls, nor were capable of movement. Thought was a joke.

There was one constant sound though, a sound that became touch. Two senses making one? Impossible! Still, it persisted, and it reminded him of a voice, someone telling him one single phrase, over and over. He tried blinking, moving his eyes behind the lids. It didn't work. All he wanted was sleep. He was so tired, so weary. Exhausted from life altogether, from living. And above all, from witnessing the truth.

The truth! The truth had nearly killed him! Whoever had said that honesty could stir souls and set one free had obviously never been exposed to the horrors he had. Horror…what a word. What he had seen was truly horrifying. His own father, probing him as if he were no better than an insignificant animal, something that could be dissected, picked apart, and then put back together. All in the name of science…

And above all, the word truth held no meaning for him anymore. What he had thought was true and absolute, his own purpose had been taken from him. Jenova was not his mother. He was not the chosen one. He was merely a pawn in some sick and cruel game, and had been blind from it since day one. Happiness was fleeting and mutability had become his life. It had been brief, his reason, a falling star over his endless night that had been his existence. But right then, he was in nothing more than a black eternity, a velvet nightmare that knew no end. This oblivion was endless, and this abyss of his mind was without an exit. Sephiroth longed to scream at the Goddess until his throat was raw for showing him reality. Ignorance was the deepest bliss there was, and one could live in it, completely happy and unaware of the chaos and calamity that lived outside their closed doors. Those doors remained closed for a reason.

The noise persisted, and Sephiroth felt himself roll over and place his hands over his ears. Was he in Hell, a place with no peace? Of course he was. Any notion of happiness for him was scattered to thousands of fragments, placed on some angry arctic wind that loved tearing him apart, again and again. Besides, mannequins had no souls, so there was no thought of an afterlife, of a rest. He was nothing more than spare parts, even less than a Remnant than Kadaj and his brothers had been. He was less than them. Sephiroth felt ruined, as if he had been a wooden play thing sitting on a shelf, one that got abused, all of his limbs torn askew, eyes gouged out, and had been left in an attic, gathering dust all the while. Never had he been one for self pity. But that was before he knew that vile word: truth.

Once more he heard the voice, and at last, his ears managed to have coherency to where he knew they were words, one sentence, over and over again. And the feeling of touch was someone shaking his shoulder.

"Wake up." Sephiroth blinked his eyes open, and found that there was nothing to see. There was no difference if his eyes were open or closed, for what was behind his lids reflected what was in reality: absolutely nothing. There was darkness all around him, a blackness that threatened to consume him. Good. He would let it tear him a part, making him charred smoke that floated away, becoming part of the stratosphere. Foolishly, he had tried to find his old pride and coat himself with it, as if it were his shield, one that he never took off. It fell to debilitated ruin in his fingers, ash coating his fingertips. It was nothing more than corroded armor now, rust and rot that had been his origin and undoing.

His eyes focused and he saw that Cloud was beside him, in a pair of dark blue pants, black boots, and a cobalt shirt that was fashioned similar to his old attire. There was no mark or crest of the Fenrir though. Sephiroth smirked, understanding the significant loss of that symbolism: the wolf was gone, and thus was his title. They were erased, and supposedly, given a clean slate. Again, the thought of starting anew made him laugh.

Sephiroth found that he was laying to his right side, his cheek on something damp. Grass. The sound of water came from a stream that was directly above his head, liquid that trickled and flowed, never ending. Nothing ever did. He gave a short sardonic laugh. He tried to get up from his resting spot, and wound up falling right to the ground. How low he had sunk.

Once, he would be able to weaken anyone in his path, from the supposed excelled warriors of their time, to those that thought themselves the champions of the world. How he had torn them from their pedestals, stripping them of their strength, knocking them to their knees. All hail Sephiroth? He laughed again, and this time, he let himself laugh until he collapsed in hysterics. He must have sounded insane, rolling around on the ground, snorting and giggling like a wanton schoolgirl who was letting her lover do unspeakable things to her. But who would judge the man who was nothing more than…pieces?

Cloud shoved him hard, and this got Sephiroth's attention. He smiled up at the blonde who he was able to see more clearly now, for his eyes adjusted to their dark surroundings. Instead of the nothingness he had thought himself in, he was in a forest type setting, without the appearance of the colors of the sky, or any sun or moon that gave light. Nothing was lit in this world, and it was up to their own eyes to modify their sight as they saw fit. Where the Hell were they? Sephiroth found himself uncaring, for he was incapable of such a feat. Puppets didn't feel.

"Wake up! And for Holy's sake, stop your laughing. You're creeping me out." Sephiroth looked up at Cloud and smirked up at him. The puppet master had taught him well, bending his muscles and sinew to where his lip muscles could stretch, and a semblance of a smile would form. Cloud looked at him, shivered and looked away, as if he were trying to make sense of the world. What was the point? There was none!

"Why?" Cloud looked down at Sephiroth, and Sephiroth had the feeling that Cloud was not only figuratively looking down on him, since he happened to still be on the ground whereas Cloud was in an upright position, but literally as well. So be it. Strife, in this instance…was the greater of the two. It was the strangest sensation to say that, to say that Cloud was better than him. It was laughable. It was seemingly inconceivable. But it was real.

Cloud was not the one who had gotten overcome by an alien entity, allowing her to control him to her bidding. Yes, he had been taken over, but that was not his fault. Cloud was the victim, whereas he was nothing but the pretty little pawn, the naïve wooden thing that thought that maybe, just maybe at some point, his efforts would pay off and he would be allowed to see what the fruits of his labor made. Oh, he had reaped what he had sown. There was no more anything in him now. His heart beat, and he could feel the sensation of the ground on his ribcage, the rise and fall of his breathing. He could think, so he had a brain and mind. But there was no drive, soul, or anything that made him human. So he was a machine.

The blonde blinked at him a few times, and then turned his face away, as if he wished to not face him right then. Good. It was always best to leave the mess of child's play for someone else to pick up. Sephiroth had no longing to rise from this position. The ground could engulf him for all he cared, passing him down a long line of demons until he reached the Devil himself. He had no favor in Hell either.

For a long time, neither man spoke to the other. Cloud was thinking of who knew what, and Sephiroth…was playing with a blade of grass between his fingers. He had picked it, for it had been tickling his nostrils when he rolled over to find that he was clothed as well, dressed in black pants, boots, and a shirt of similar fashion to Cloud's, though his was the shade of midnight. Of course. Black had no beginning or end, and technically, it was no color. There was no place for it on a color wheel, whereas the blue Cloud wore was always used in full quantities. It painted the skies, oceans, flowers…whereas black was used for the night scenes and the abstract thoughts of half mad painters. It was the shade of madness, and blue was his antithesis.

Still, he twisted the blade of grass over and over in his long fingers, fingers that were not gloved. He had not remembered the first time that he had done such a thing, gone bare handed. In his delirious state, he thought that for the longest time, he had placed a respectable amount of armor on himself. Always had he been fully clothed, for though he sweated, he never once overheated, or got a chill. That made him believe that he was two things: a machine and a puppet.

Technically, he had been engineered before he was little more than a fetus in Lucrecia's womb, and everything about him might as well have been hand selected. His eye color was the shade of poisonous mako, his hair was light silver because it was abnormal, no shade, no anything. He was the tallest in his class, and every single man had been right handed whereas he was the only one who was writing notes with his left.

"Hmm. I'm a freak." Sephiroth stated it so matter of fact like, that he knew that not even the brightest of scholars, or those that enjoyed debating for a living would argue with him. He said it as fact, for it was true, the one truth he could rely on: he was abnormal, a freak of nature, and the wrong kind of aberration.

He saw Cloud look down at him again, and Sephiroth looked up at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes were endless shades of aquamarine, and they looked so…devoid of feeling as he looked to Sephiroth, oculars of apathy. As he should be. He didn't expect this man to understand him, come to grips with, or attempt to comprehend the inner workings of him. Even he could not grapple with his own situation. It was all so asinine! Here he was, laying on his side on the ground, dealing with the aftermath of what Minerva bestowed onto him. There was truth now, and it hurt. Oh, how it hurt. But, there was never any sense on dwelling on pain. Being a warrior had taught him that, to simply dismiss pain as something mental and nothing more. There was no need to think about it. And upon not thinking of it, it didn't exist.

Still, it was getting harder and harder to think that way. Especially with Cloud looking at him in the way that he was. Sephiroth stared right back, for he knew it disturbed the man, to have himself in such close proximity to the man that he hated. At least he was allowed the simple pleasures. Cloud looked away quickly, and Sephiroth suspected that he shuddered. It was hard to tell of course, for there was no light here. There was nothing.

"Enough with the self pity." Cloud rose from his position beside him and looked around, first at the sky, and then at their surroundings. "Get up. We need to get moving. If we're lucky, we can find shelter before…it gets darker." Sephiroth knew he meant to say nightfall, but since the place was shrouded in black, there was no knowing if this was not night, or if they were in a world of perpetual midnight.

The self pity talk made Sephiroth think. Was that what he was doing? Allowing self pity to touch him? How he hated self pity. Then again, what was he supposed to do? Here he was, this deposed spirit who had been shown the truth of his lineage, life, and his place in the world, and he was left to pick up his own pieces. Sephiroth didn't even know where to begin. That being said, what was the point? That's right. There was none.

Sephiroth sat up, looked Cloud in the eye, and said "No." Cloud glared down at him with impatience. He folded his arms over his chest, and he looked very much like a frustrated mother, one who was counting to five in her head, simply waiting for her child to behave. So he was misbehaving was he? Sephiroth expected anger, accusations, fury…but not an attack.

Cloud reached down and grabbed Sephiroth up by his collar, and threw him in the lake that was directly behind them. It was a strength that was almost in inhuman, something he knew quite well. It shocked him, the once imperturbable and unshakeable man, caught off guard. Well, everything certainly had changed. That being said, nothing lasted.

He hit the water with a huge splash, and he surfaced immediately, for it was extremely cold. The shock of the water woke him up from his stupor, and he stood for a moment, in water up to his hips. In a way, what had just occurred was his life. Sephiroth had been living as a half asleep man, not discernible of what was taking place around him. More so, to the effect of Jenova's control over him, not thinking about his true ancestry, and allowing everyone around him to use him. Shinra. Hojo. SOLDIER, making him their own personal battering ram. And the false hope of having a powerful mother, one that he would rule at her side with. What a joke. Hitting the water was Minerva's eye opener that she forced upon him, showing him the honesty of a life that had begun in favor of others, and his own misunderstanding that led to severe consequences.

If there was one thing he knew to be true, it was that at some point in ones life, one had to take liability for their actions. Everyone had to own up to what they had done, and for him, he had much to atone for. Wait. Since when did he have to atone for anything? Sephiroth sighed aloud, and got out of the river, not looking at Cloud, his surroundings, seeing nothing in his vision, or eyes. He was so tired.

Blindly, he just began walking, peering into the darkness of the world. He felt naked without masamune's sheath knocking against his hip, but that was the price of misusing the weapon: having nothing to defend oneself. Shit. That was what happened, wasn't it? He had misused everything from his own body and mental state, and it led to a being that was scattered, broken beyond repair. If Sephiroth looked closely, he could see shattered glass all around him, fragments that sparkled and glimmered, and then winked out. A black hole would swallow him, killing the stars, sun and moon, until there was simply…nothing. How good it must have felt to simply disappear.

Who would care? There was no one who had cared for him, no one at all. Rufus Shinra had once praised him, as had SOLDIER. Now he was only around in their nightmares, a menacing shadow that had no reason to exist. Genesis and Angeal were dead, and even when they had been alive they had not tried to comprehend him. Yes, they were his friends. But not once had they attempted to know him. Hell, he didn't even know himself. There was Zack Fair, and he had tried so hard to get to know him, chatting with him in the barracks and sticking by him until the very end, when he had to fight him. And everyone else? There was no who would vouch for him. No one would care if he simply…vanished. That was what nightmares were supposed to do, right? At the crack of dawn, no matter how heinous the thought and grip on the terror, it left come morning.

Upon that thought, Sephiroth broke out in a sprint, one that was meant to leave any trailers in his dust. Cloud shouted at him, but his words were lost once again, in oblivion. He didn't care. He just needed to get away, to find that morning, and be lost in it. Cloud wouldn't care, least of all people. He was the one who he had called a puppet, the one who he made give him the black materia. Cloud should have been telling him to leave, to disintegrate with the dawn's light. After all, he was the cause of the death of many people, people Cloud cherished. He remembered telling him once that he longed to know what he cherished, simply so he could take it away. How arrogant he had been!

He ran until he felt his leg trip over something, a mangled root of some sort. Sephiroth fell face first into the ground, and he got a mouth full of soil. He spat it out, and dislodged his foot from the obtrusion, hell bent on leaving all of this behind. He would tell the Goddess to take him to Hell, to take him anywhere. Somewhere where he could be out of the way.

All memories vanished, didn't they? He had been wrong before. He would always be a memory, and nothing more. Gaia would be haunted for a while with his evil legacy, but after time passed, he would cease to be. His footsteps would be washed away with the tide, buildings would be rebuilt, the ones he had helped destroy, and Nibelheim would come about once more. And he? Sephiroth would only be a name, one that made people scratch at their heads, thinking it sounded vaguely familiar, but they couldn't ascertain where they heard it.

A loud crash resounded through the forest, if that was where he was, and within moments, a huge weight pressed on his back. It was Cloud, kicking and struggling with him. He gripped his hair in one hand, and punched his face once, twice, and then a third time. Well. This was the puppet, rebelling against his master. Though, in reality, they were both pawns. Sephiroth batted him aside with a mighty swing of his arm, and he sent the blonde against a tree, the sound of wood splintering echoing through the glade.

"Why did you follow me?" Cloud panted and rose within a moment, falling in a fighting stance.

"Damn you. Damn this!" Sephiroth rose from his position on the ground, and wondered if this would be when Cloud would again, tell him he hated him. That was fine, he was used to the term, the sentence. Ever would he be hated. "Don't you even know what we're supposed to do here?" The question struck him, for he had no idea. He had no idea where he was, and why he was still with Strife. It was ridiculous to think that a Goddess had placed them here for her own amusement, to see two enemies fight to the death. Ever would he be the pawn as well.

Cloud was waiting for an answer, and when Sephiroth failed to supply one, he sighed aloud. "Of course not. We're here because Minerva wants us here. If we can find a way out of here, we'll know peace." Peace…what a lie. Sephiroth allowed himself a sardonic laugh, one that was of the same breed as the laugh that Cloud found perturbing before.

"Oh? If we can escape here, we will know peace?" He looked to Cloud, and then threw his head back in deranged laughter. This was all too rich, hysterical even! He really was a puppet, placed on a stage that someone else wished him to be. His movements were not his own. Never would they be. And this was no different! He was a puppet in seeming control, and he was paired with his enemy. How ridiculous.

Cloud tackled him to the ground, placing his knees on the lower part of his stomach. He squeezed his throat, and Sephiroth wondered how he kept managing to do that, overcome him. He was weaker than he thought.

"Shut...UP! You need to shut-up, right now!" Sephiroth paused, and looked up to Cloud. His face was inches from his, and he could see every pore outlined, every shade of his eyes, ones that were enhanced with mako. How was this possible? Before he had been unable to see two feet in front of him, much less the fine outlines of his enemies face.

Then things got very strange. All along Cloud's skin, a faint turquoise light began to glow, as if he was lit alight from the inside with blue mako, or radiation. Sephiroth felt his mouth drop open in surprise, for this was unreal. All of it was, but this was without a doubt, the most abnormal thing he had seen in a long time, and he had been in many different worlds before this one. Not to mention a world of memories.

"And just what the Hell are you looking at?" Every word was laced with malice, with a venom that was meant to incapacitate enemies, when hatred infested in ones voice. It was the sound of loathing, as if Cloud's words meant to do battle with his own. Sephiroth winced as Cloud made his knees dig deeper into his stomach, but he managed to choke out words, despite the hand that clamped around his windpipe.

"Strife, you're glowing." Cloud chuckled once, and then looked to his hands. His face went from one who was extremely angry to one who was terrified. He leapt up from Sephiroth, enemy forgotten. His breaths could be heard from where Sephiroth lay, and he understood that they were frantic, as if he were going insane from what he saw.

Cloud's skin emitted an aqua tint, one that lit up the area around him, as if he were a human firefly. It lit up his face, his arms, and Sephiroth knew it was all over him. His eyes grew wide in horror and he ran from where he was standing, forgetting entirely about his interlude with Sephiroth. Sephiroth heard a splash and knew Cloud to be in the small lake.

Intrigued, Sephiroth rose from the ground and walked to where he saw a bouncing glow. His brow raised when he saw Cloud naked in the water, scrubbing at his body with sand and soil, trying to get the hue off of his skin. His eyes were wide with determination, as if he meant to peel off his skin so it would not be lit up anymore. Sephiroth knew why he was so frantic: the mako chamber he was in for years. He must have thought that he was infected with mako, or was being eaten alive. Sephiroth had a feeling that was not the case at all.

"Strife, stop this." Cloud, stubborn as ever, kept scrubbing. Sephiroth knew that he was incapable of hearing anything at the moment. It was one of those stupors one had when they were afraid, scared out of their mind. They were unaware of their surroundings, and face to face with their fear, with something they could not control. He was a puppet to his own musings, his own trepidation.

Shouldn't he have been enjoying this? Shouldn't he have been reeling seeing the man he loved to toy with, terrified? Yes. Yes, he should have. But Sephiroth felt…nothing. There was no desire to torture the man. There was no itch to take him over and send him to his knees, howling in agony. There was simply…nothing. Had he become abyss? While contemplating that, Sephiroth watched as Cloud panicked, rubbing his skin raw, his chest and back red from his washing. Should he stop him? The thought was laughable. Him, helping Cloud?

"Damn." Cloud kept swearing as nothing was coming of the act, and after a few minutes more, he sank back in the water, one that was lit up like an underwater sauna from his light. He panted, and kept his eyes closed, as if he were trying to quell his rising panic. Sephiroth just watched him, and he wondered if he should sympathize for him. Cloud was not poisoned, but he thought he was. Though, enemies were not meant to feel for the other. "What the Hell is happening to me?"

Cloud got out of the lake, and Sephiroth caught a glimpse of the man's nude form. He had toned up from the days where he was a scrawny teenager, desperate to join SOLDIER. Saving the world twice tended to do that to you. Muscles lined his biceps, stomach, and there was a lot of bulk around his shoulders, from continuously practicing swordsmanship he knew. His legs were lean and developed, as if he ran miles every single day. If anything, his body was the ideal warrior's build.

Cloud caught him staring and he looked away quickly, as if simply looking at him burned his retina's. He dressed quickly, and then faced Sephiroth. His look simply stated that he loved looking at someone when they were in their own distress, picking them apart until there was nothing left. If he had been who he was before, then Sephiroth would have had to agree with Cloud. Weaklings who screamed should have been laughed at, for they didn't belong with the stronger of the food chain. Those who straggled should be left alone, for that was the way it was with nature. Deer that fell behind in the herd were left to the wolves. Why shouldn't it be the same with people?

But that was before he knew that he was weaker than any of them. Even a lesser man would have passionately fought Jenova's control, sought the truth instead of burning and killing an entire village. The thought was sobering to Sephiroth, and he knew that he was the same as a human. He fought the urge to bash that statement until it was no more, for there was no sense in denying it. The facts were that Minerva found him for a reason, showed him the truth, and now he was left to struggle with the aftermath. So be it then. For now, he would let Strife distract him.

Sephiroth countered Cloud's gaze, and he shook his head. "What makes you so sure your poisoned?" Cloud looked away, and began walking, the light from his body a handy thing, for it showed off what was in their surroundings. Sephiroth saw that there were trees from where they had come from, and where they had been was a grassy bank. They may have been in the mountains for all he knew, or just a vast expanse of land.

Cloud then stopped in his tracks, and Sephiroth saw him look to his hands, as if overcome by self revelation. "Don't fear your abilities when they come." He shook his head, as if denying some inheritance, a power of the hero's cycle. "Damn. This is what she meant." Sephiroth had a feeling he was out of the loop.

"Strife, what are you talking about?" Cloud whirled to face him, and he saw hard lines etched on his face. It was the look one had when they realized they had to do something they hated to do, and would have rather been anywhere else in the world.

"Minerva…told me that. She said to not fear my…abilities." He gestured to his face and body, one that was entirely lit up with that blue light, one that looked abnormal, yet enchanting. It was the appearance of a stalagmite that was lit from the ground up, from some otherworldly source. Sephiroth felt himself look to Cloud in awe, and then in the confusion one has when they meet someone they know they will never see eye to eye with. Minerva bestowed him with this gift, with…internal light? Suddenly, it all made perfect sense. Sephiroth chuckled, understanding.

"I see. You are meant to be my light. What a laugh." Cloud balled his hands into fists, and looked as if he meant to attack him.

Truth be told, Sephiroth was merely envious. He recalled the power he had once had, and he missed it. He wished he had his wing, and was able to escape that way, leaving Cloud in his dust, grappling with his abilities. He longed for his blade, one he was the master of with both of his hands, swinging and felling his enemies. There was so much he yearned for, and could never have again. And Cloud had not asked for anything, and yet here he was, getting this ability from the Goddess herself. It was as if they were two children on their birthdays, one getting everything, thought he had asked for none of it, and the other getting nothing at all, looking at the gifts with jealousy.

"You think I asked for this? I don't want to be anything to you." Cloud walked towards him and appeared in his face, an image of hatred. "I hate you. You are the reason so much has happened, why I am now dead. And yet…you laugh. You think this is all one big joke? Death is never something to laugh at." The entire time, Cloud's voice was lined in steel, revealing nothing, showing nothing at all. Yet, it was not entirely apathetic. There was anger in his harsh tone, one that was meant to weaken another. Words killed, did they not?

Sephiroth felt nothing when Cloud told him he hated him, for he knew that was to be expected. When one expected something, it was no surprise when it happened, thus there was no shock or emotion. Sephiroth met his gaze with eyes that were as equally unrevealing. Two could play that game.

"Death is not a permanent state, as you already know. Embrace this…ability Strife. You never know when one might take it from you." He began to walk from the man, for he was through talking. Regardless if there was no emotion in him right then, he wouldn't change. There was no sense in self pity, running away, or in thinking he had anything to atone for. Nor, would he under any circumstances, feel sympathy for Cloud.

Cloud scowled and began walking in front of Sephiroth, so that they both could see where they were walking. Silently, both agreed to walk by the lake, for there was no sense straying from it. It was their source of water. All that was left to find was food, and some semblance of shelter.

For many minutes, both walked in silence, one that threatened to engulf them both from the inside out. There was no sense talking when they had nothing to say to the other. Sephiroth wondered if this would be his punishment, this eternal quiet. He pondered that for a moment, but he was startled out of the reverie when Cloud screamed. It was not something short, the sound of one that had been startled. It was the sound of one who was experiencing great torment, a cry of utmost anguish. Cloud had fallen to his knees, and was gripping his back, tearing at it with his fingernails. What the Hell was he thinking? And furthermore, what was happening to him?

Sephiroth walked around to where Cloud had fallen, and he looked to his face. The man had his eyes squeezed shut, and to his amazement, he saw tears rolling from his eyes. He was in that much pain?

Sephiroth blinked, and remembered when he was younger, and had first trained with a sword. He had been handed a katana, and three men attacked him at once, slashing at his arms, legs and face, leaving him a debilitated heap on the carpet of the dojo. And he collapsed into sobs, for there was no need to pretend it hadn't hurt. He had been seven years old.

The man shook his head, for there was no need to try to relate to this man. There was no sense in it at all, for they would never get along. Cloud groaned and panted, and Sephiroth saw something on his left shoulder move, as if there was something physically beneath the skin. Perhaps there was. In a former life, Sephiroth would have taken his masamune and rammed it into the man's skin, digging out what was bothering the man, simply to make him squirm. But now…he cared to not do that. He was just mildly curious as to what as going on.

Cloud inhaled quickly and let out a wail, and the sound of ripping flesh was heard, as if sheets of paper were torn, again and again. Sephiroth felt his mouth open, and then close when he saw something blue rise out of the man's back, and he knew instinctively what they were. Crystal wings. If he had been a man who had not one black wing on his right shoulder, he probably would have backed away several feet, a startled look in his eye. But he was. The sight was still…strange. And, as much as he hated to admit, beautiful. They were the blue of one of the shallower pools of an ocean, one that was clean from waste and pollutant, the purest shade of the color. His wings had never been this glorious. Again, the Goddess chose someone else for her gifts.

The man took a breath, and gulped. Cloud looked behind him, and his eyes opened wide, not knowing what to make of this development. First his skin glowed an unnatural shade…and then he got wings. Sephiroth was impressed that Cloud had not passed out by now. He touched the wings, and shivered, as if they were cold to the touch. As far as Sephiroth knew, they were.

"W-what is happening..." Cloud stopped short, and a grim smile lit his features. "Flying is not that hard." Sephiroth wondered if everything the Goddess said was a prophecy. If that was the case, then he was in for some nasty liaisons soon. He tried standing up, and Sephiroth rose with him, wondering if the man could stay on his feet. Would his knees tremble, all of this too much? Or would his footing be strong and sure, never faltering? He would wait and see.

Sephiroth watched as Cloud stood up, took a deep breath, and began walking back to the stream. It seemed as if they would never not be without that water. Sephiroth wondered what Cloud meant to do, walking back there.

"Where are you going?" He followed him, not wishing to stay without the light. It was ridiculous, how someone could grow to rely on something bright in the darkness. He should have loved being in the dark, reveling in the feeling of being absorbed. If he still wished to disappear, he would have enjoyed it. But right then, there was no need for such thoughts. He was just curious why Cloud was retracing their steps. With their progress, they wouldn't find shelter soon at all.

"I'm a mess. My…feathers are coated in blood." Cloud stripped and walked into the water again, and he fell back into it, expanding his wings, the water he was in turning the color of a scarlet cloud. Sephiroth sensed his hesitancy to say the word feathers, as if speaking of his wings would make them real. Denial was bliss, and reality was harsh. He knew that better than anyone. Cloud flapped them a few times, and he stood up, looking at them from behind. There was still a lot of gore on them, bits and parts of skin that clung to his feathers, along with blood spots, ones that Cloud could never reach. Sephiroth then realized, with a sick feeling in his stomach, what he had to do.

Sephiroth, without a thought, jumped in the water. Cloud whirled around him, as if he didn't trust Sephiroth to be at his back. Sephiroth didn't blame him at all, and he didn't want to do this. But he had no choice in the matter. If he wished to get a move on and escape this abyss, then he was going to have to help him.

"Cloud…let me clean them." Cloud shook his head, and fell on his back again, working his wings back and forth, the effort one would make if he had fallen on his back in snow, trying to make a snow angel. Sephiroth sighed. He should have known it wouldn't be this easy. A thought struck him, and almost immediately, his mind recoiled at the thought. That was ludicrous! Yet…it made sense to say the words now, before it got too late.

"Truce?" The word stuck in his mouth, as if he had been asked to take a foul medicine, and the taste was still in his throat. Cloud would surely laugh in his face! What the Hell had inspired such a thought? There would be no truce between enemies, would there? Especially since he had killed what he had cherished. Cloud stood up, and Sephiroth saw that his wings were cleaner, but still had a decent amount of red in them. Blue and red, a contradiction. Just like they were.

"What?" Sephiroth squared his shoulders, feeling like the SOLDIER he once was. Those days were gone.

"You heard me. It should be obvious to you by now that we need to…work together. To leave this place, to escape. I hate it as much as you do. But in order for any progress to be made, two forces need to combine in order for it to work. Cloud, if you have not noticed before, we are not making any progress. We have traveled twenty feet maybe, in a land that may be an entire planet. The sooner we ally ourselves, the sooner we can leave one another's side." Spoken like a past General.

Cloud opened his mouth to argue, to protest, to rebuttal, but there was nothing that came out. His gaze focused on the red in the water, his own blood, and after a long moment of silence, he turned around, exposing his back to him. That was as good a response as Sephiroth was going to get. Sephiroth nodded and began taking gore out of the man's wings, as odd as it was to think those words. He wasn't disgusted with the act, for he had seen far worse on battle fields. He had seen men with their faces half burned off, and men with limbs missing. This was nothing compared to those sights.

Within a few minutes, he had taken out most, if not all of the gore in Cloud's right wing. He paid no mind to how his fingertips were turning red, for it was a small sacrifice. After all, his hands were stained red, and there was nothing he could do to erase that. Sephiroth saw the muscles in Cloud's neck tense, and he knew that trust was impossible. He saw Cloud's face in his mind: the picture of distress. He knew it must have been a huge step for him to face with his back to the enemy, to one who would have stabbed him if given the opportunity. Hell, he had done it to Aeris, a woman. Why would he go so far as to not do it to a man? Still, he wanted to be true to his word. The sooner they left and found shelter, the sooner they could leave to…peace.

Sephiroth worked faster, and pulled out even more of the blood in the man's wings, and after a few more minutes, they were completely clean. They appeared as if they were polished pieces of turquoise, each feather almost translucent. Even these were aglow, just like the man's skin. How was it that Cloud was allowed to be this way and not him? Hadn't he always been the special one? He didn't wish to dwell too hard on that fact, for being special had wound him in this predicament.

"You're done." Cloud leapt from the water, and dressed faster than Sephiroth would have thought possible. He was a young boy again, dressing quickly in the shower so that the other boy's wouldn't see his body. Sephiroth never had that problem, for even in his youth, he had been built, from all of his earlier training. If anything, he always had that advantage.

"Good. Let's go." Sephiroth hadn't expected anything but a curt response. After all, he was the one who had suggested they form a truce, one that was temporary, but still existent for the time being. He decided not to say anything, for there was no need to start something. All of their energy had to be for travel, and not for those pitiful emotions.

Perhaps he had been wrong. Sephiroth had not woken up to nothing, but something. Of which, he had no idea yet.