Sephiroth returned to HQ with a single goal on his mind. He landed on the roof more than a hundred stories above ground - his new wing ached; he wasn’t used to flying. The Masamune in his hand weighed heavier than his dirtied hair and he reeked of smoke.
He destroyed the window and stepped inside. The president startled; he had always been a dutiful man working way past the regular hours and he had always held Sephiroth in high regard for his equally dutiful work ethic. Now his face reddened in disbelieve and anger.
“Sephiroth, what in the world? Are you out of your mind?”
He could not have heard of Nibelheim yet and he wouldn’t need to. Sephiroth’s green eyes focussed on him. They had lost all of their warmth, all their humanity. They were the eyes of a killer. The president swallowed.
“What is the meaning of this? I demand an answer, Sephiroth!”
He always only called him Sephiroth because his silver haired general had no surname. Sephiroth wanted to burn the man’s face into his memory before he executed him for his crimes. This man was not above him anymore, but far below and he seemed to know it, sense it, as he allowed Sephiroth to approach him.
The Masamune sank into his back like a well-made Wutaian knife into a fresh steak.
Now he didn’t demand anything anymore, never again.
Blood welled from his mouth dirtying his desk and he sank forward onto the surface without much of a sound except the rustling of his suit.
Sephiroth pulled his sword back -he still needed it - and made for the science department. Hojo also was working late; his role model, his only example, his father. Except that he had never been. He didn’t scream as the cold edge of his sword pressed against his neck, on the contrary it seemed much that Hojo, unlike the president, had always assumed he would one day find himself at the other end of his weapon.
“I have come for my brother”, Sephiroth said and Hojo only laughed as if it was funny. The motion made his Adam’s apple quiver and a thin, red line of blood appeared on his skin.
“I see you have found out”, he conceded.
Hojo knew he was a dead man; he had not raised his bastard son to be a loser who let his enemies live. His father, that Vincent Valentine, in any way had not been a man as weak. Sephiroth pulled back to let the scientist walk in front of him, but did not lower his bloodied sword.
“Lead the way”, Sephiroth ordered and Hojo did.
“I made it far, don’t you think?”, Hojo smiled. “I always worked hard and my parents believed I would never be anyone worth noticing, but then I never needed to be: I made you instead. You are the greatest triumph of my life, the height of my work. You kill without conscience, a living work of art. Adored by the masses, feared by your enemies and now you succeed me the way you should.”
Sephiroth didn’t listen nor answer to any of his prattle. Once upon a time he had given so much for his praise, but not anymore. Hojo had gone insane a long time ago he now knew and Sephiroth had too. He had never meant to be like any of those drivelling, disgusting humans.
When Hojo opened the secret passway behind a book shelf and the elevator behind it brought them deep down underneath the building, Sephiroth knew he had reached the end of his life too - the end of his old one, at least.
