#sephiroth-taejin

[sephiroth-taejin]

D for Discipline

“Wrong.”

That one word was enough. His fingers were roughly grabbed by the tutor’s meaty hands, then crashed down upon the table. Again. The boy struggled to hold back tears of pain and kept utterly still, because he knew he was being recorded. He would always be recorded all the time. If he resisted in any way, they would know, and they would punish him later.

“Pick up the pen and write! What are you waiting for?” The tutor bellowed in his ear, making it ring. His ears were recently enhanced to have better hearing, and the pain of hearing a loud noise was undoubtedly doubled and amplified. Steadying the tremors in his right hand, he tried to grasp the pen, but it fell out of his grasps. He tried again. The pen clattered out of his hand and upon the table. His fingers; he could not move them at all, no matter how he tried.

“Do I have to tell you? Use the other hand! Quickly! Don’t waste my time!”

The boy obediently used his left hand to complete the new equation, correcting the error in the previous one. The words and numbers produced were a little shaky, yet startlingly similar to the ones written using the right hand.

The tutor pulled out the piece of paper right after the last number was written, and scrutinised it, his eyes narrowing into little slits. “Finally correct.”

The boy suppressed a small sigh of relief, and stared stoically at the tutor.

“Translate this into simple speech all over again,” The tutor handed him his previous work; a handwritten manuscript of all the poems in LOVELESS, “using your left hand. If there is a single grammar error; a letter out of line, like the mess that this equation is,” he threw the piece of paper that contained the slanted equation earlier at the boy, “you will write it again. Again and again until you can write in straight lines.” He eyed the boy. “Do you understand?” He demanded.

He nodded, catching himself before he glanced at his right hand.

“Do you understand me?” He demanded again, his voice rising with intensity and irritation.

“Yes sir.” The boy replied, his young voice monotonous.

Another memory.

A slap resounded in the room, leaving his cheek a burning red. Scratches appeared, and blood; even redder, dripped. “Tell me again, what should your plan be? Where should you allocate your troops? Why?”

He remained silent, then very slowly, pointed to the north, southwest, and east entrances into the fortress. “Why?” The lady asked calmly.

He opted for silence, as his finger remained on the ‘X’ that marked the east entrance.

“Answer me!” She screamed, but the shrill voice did not make him flinch anymore; he had been slapped for doing just that earlier. His ear rang, but he ignored it.

“Your troops will depend on your decisions; you think this is a mere game where you randomly throw darts?” She clutched the collar of his shirt, and brought the boy closer to her face. The boy then saw, with clarity, the ugly scar that stretched from the edge of her left eye down to her chin. “You are just like him,” she hissed, disgust apparent, “useless.” She spat the last word out as she threw the boy towards the ground.

The boy fell, of course, but was promptly grabbed by his collar to stand up straight again. The lady grabbed his right hand and forced it to point at the north entrance. “Why here? Why?” She screamed for his answer.

A crack of bone as she pressed the finger; not hers, against the board. The boy opened his mouth, not to yell in pain, but answer, just as she wanted, in short, detailed gasps as he tried futilely, to drive the pain away.

 Footsteps. In the hallway, walking, walking.

He could not suppress a shudder; the temperature of the room seemed to have gone down drastically. Shuddered, and trembled.

As the footsteps appeared, he made out the tapping of boots. So, it was him.

The tapping stopped.

The door opened.

His eyes opened, slowly, slowly.

Cat-like green eyes glowed in the darkness of the room, blinked once, twice.

It was a dream, it was a dream, it was a dream…it was a memory.

When the time came for him to be able to protect himself, tutors were no longer needed. He had already learnt all he needed to know. In place of the tutors were trainers and coaches, but after defeating them all, only one remained. His sensei, the one who gave him his weapon.

And after that, the sensei left. He could still remember the blood that flowed out through the space between the door of his sensei’s room and the floor. It was the day he first felt loss, and the day that he relinquished emotions, until a certain redhead and a certain black-haired man stretched out their hands for friendship…

Those cat-like eyes never closed once, until the sun rose over the horizon.

[ingustaejin]

Meteor Forecast | Ingus and Sephiroth

"Nng!"

Strands of charred straw flew into the air, as it was simultaneously burned and slashed asunder. A wave of heat followed the strokes of steel and fire, utterly incinerating anything that wasn't already engulfed by Ingus' blade. He stepped back to view his handiwork, deeming the makeshift training dummy defeated.

"You put up a good fight, friend. A valiant effort indeed."

A chuckled escaped his lips between heavy breaths, replied only with the dull sizzling of straw and wood. Fighting scarecrows wasn't the optimal way of training, but Ingus found solace in it. Only on rare occasions did anyone bother him, and it was nice to cut solid objects rather than practice form in the simulation room. It wasn't often that access to it was allowed anyways, especially to a beginner such as himself.

As ironic as it sounded, the battle with the dummy actually drained Ingus slightly. Beads of sweat rolled down his flushed cheeks, begging him to remove a layer or two of clothing. In an agreeable mood, Ingus sheathed his blade and rested his sore self on the ground. What a week. It started with an evaluation session with Faris, a strange journey with Luneth, and a scary experience with the manadrives. Ingus was ready to crawl into bed and sleep for days. And days. And days.

I can't rest. The army demands my strength- so I must give it to them.

Determination was renewed within Ingus' young soul, returning to him some lost strength.

"Hmm..."

Ingus took a deep breath, and scanned the environment. It seemed like everyone had left for lunch by now, leaving him pretty much alone on the field. All except a few faceless soldiers whom decided to continue their training.

"Good for them."

He noted, admiring their hard work.

[sephiroth-taejin]

When he was young, the scientists and trainers would, sometimes, bring him to the beach to train and fight the creatures that lurked under the sea. It was good for publicity, and it boosted his fame among the people as a child prodigy. 

What the people never knew was that this child prodigy secretly enjoyed these rare trips to the sea, because if there were still some time before the return ride, the instructors in charge would allow him to do whatever as he pleased. He was certainly not going to go around giving out autographs; he never liked the attention. 

No, what he would do, was to keep out of sight in an obscure cave, and build sandcastles. Before he left, he would always make sure that there would be at least a miniature-but-fully-functional castle, complete with outer walls and a canal around it for a moat.

Since then, he had mantained this interest, and could be seen making watchtowers subconsciously whenever he was alone, bored, and just happened to be near a pile of sand.     

[sephiroth-taejin]

W for Weather

He had always enjoyed the snow, from light snowfalls to raging blizzards.

Opening his black-gloved palm to let the snowflakes fall on it, he allowed himself a small, amused smile as he relished in the shock of coldness on his face, the feather-like touch of the snowflakes on his hand that always, did not stay long enough to be savoured.

The bite of winter’s chill did not bother him though. He was trained and conditioned to fight in all types of weather, but he despised the heat; summer’s sultriness made him lazy, irritable, on edge. However, since he was young, a sudden snow day would lift his spirits, making him less likely to snap at the ever-present assistants, professors and teachers. They have learnt this trait of his, and thus, let down their guard whenever it snowed.

But, they forget. Underneath the human skin, a monster still lurked.

As he moved lightly across the snow-covered plains towards the headquarters of Taejin’s Army, the pain, loneliness and uncertainty of leaving SOLDIER left him, albeit temporarily. Of all the changes in his life, there was still snow. The snow still soothed him, calmed the waves of confusion and anger, made it just a little bit easier to breathe, to live…

As long as there was a constant in life, Sephiroth could still be someone with purpose; a man, not a monster. 

[sephiroth-taejin]

E for Emotions

He watched, emotionlessly, as a group of teenagers walked by, their arms locked around each other’s necks; a sign of closeness, familiarity.

Something he never had with anyone.

He was trained not to be emotional. Emotion was something that he must never show, must never have. Perhaps, when he was young, he was punished whenever he cried or laughed; showed weakness in any way. No matter what the reason was; and he was glad that he could not remember; it was buried deep within his subconscious that whenever he displayed emotion, something bad would happen.

Thus, obviously, emotions were a luxury, and he relished in the moments that he was allowed to show them on his face. Those moments, luckily or otherwise, were only restricted to anger and arrogant amusement. He treasured those moments, chances, well, and sought them out in every possible encounter with anyone.

However, soon after, he realised, these emotions drove people away from him. You need two hands to clap, as they say. If no one wanted to interact with him, he would not have a chance to display emotion. He then understood the logic of that piece of information within his subconscious; bad things will happen when I display emotion.

For years on, until he was fifteen and formally joined SOLDIER as a member, he had never smiled, never laughed, never cried, even arrogance, anger was kept to a minimum. The emotionless general of SOLDIER was not born; he was carefully sculpted and moulded.

His first and only friends, Angeal and Genesis, were the ones who taught him how to smile. He never quite mastered it, but they told him that if he truly felt happy, the smile would be natural. For a while, he tried smiling, but it attracted too much attention from people; males and females alike; and he did not know how to react to their affection. Perhaps it was this handicap that caused him to hold everyone, including his friends, at an arm’s length, for like happiness, affection was foreign to him.

Yet, under his mask of blank civility, he felt. He felt pride whenever he finished the towering stack of paperwork, or led a team in a mission with no casualties. He felt contentment whenever he was with either Angeal or Genesis. Sadness was still something foreign, but he understood it more now, for Genesis cried when he watched LOVELESS and thus, allowed Sephiroth ample time to study the emotion.

Now, all alone, he finally grasped that emotion. There was no regret, but sadness and loneliness. He had not been alone for a long while ever since he was fifteen; perhaps, with time, he would be accustomed to it again. The logic in his subconscious rang and echoed in his mind; you never smile, you never cry, you never feel, because after all of them have faded, there will be nothing left. The emptiness will consume and devour you alive, from the inside.

Consume, devour, overtaken.He was Sephiroth; he would, could, never be defeated or surpassed, especially not by the works of his mind. There was no space for failure, for weakness, in SOLDIER, and, definitely, in the army headquarters that he was heading towards as well. He walked away, his face having returned to its blank mask of civility. 

You will never feel. You know the consequences if you feel anything.