Pairing: eventual Sephiroth/Cloud Strife // Rating: E
Summary: Five years after the burning of Nibelheim, Cloud has stumbled his way into Midgar with little memory of what he’s been doing in the interim, and nothing to his name but a sword and the clothes on his back. He finds himself pushed into a cause he never asked for, and haunted by fragmented visions of a man who may not be quite as dead as he seems.
However, it turns out that Sephiroth may not be just a vision. And he has plans for Cloud...
Coming soon - Fate’s Design. A Sefikura fic with Remake elements.
First chapter was written for @ffseven Sephtober prompt Monster. (Short teaser under the cut, will be posted in full tonight.)
Everything was green.
The world was silent, energy swirling and pulsing around Sephiroth with an ethereal glimmer as agony tore through his body, radiating outward from the ragged hole in his gut. He sank lower into the vast sea of green, too wounded and weak to move, and fancied he could discern sinuous, reaching shapes in the ebb and flow surrounding him and his macabre cargo. Impressions of fire and lightning flickered and arced across his vision, the bright emerald glow slowly being extinguished by a menacing crimson aura until it was all he could see. An eye?
‘Sephiroth.’
The weight of that one word made him shudder, his broken body twisting under its sheer power. It was the voice of Jenova, a presence more vast than anything he had ever experienced before—it had been a mere whisper weaving through the back of his mind at first, mere nudges pointing the way to him, telling him where to look, what to ask. Then an itch gnawing at him that wouldn’t go away, a need to know, a compulsion to keep picking, to see, to dig, and dig, and DIG. It had driven him to madness trying to uncover every gods-forsaken secret in this backwoods hellhole, until the only thing that had been left to him was a horrible, burning rage that threatened to consume him, and everything he touched. Shinra really thought they could keep me an ignorant puppet forever. Even at that moment, as his life slowly seeped out and stained the mako dark, Sephiroth wanted to laugh at the utter absurdity that he had ever thought himself human. I am a monster. Alien. Ancient.
‘Sephiroth.’
His manic laughter stuck in his throat, and he seized up with a silent scream of agony, arching under the strain as it felt like every cell in his body tried to pull apart at once.
‘NO.’
Something long and thick that Sephiroth couldn’t see reached out to him, soft sinuous coils looping around his ruined abdomen. They burned, melting into his skin as if trying to become a part of him. What is happening? He couldn’t scream.
