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"I should have killed you for besmirching my Mother," The tall, silver-haired man rasped out. In front of him, there kneeled the one man who dared to ignite Sephiroth's fury. Green eyes, so alike his, yet more wizened, older and dare he think – tired? – stared at his face fearlessly. "You would. You should." The damned voice was so young and so fucking gentle and understanding, it made Sephiroth squeeze Masamune's handle with all his might, his hand trembling, as he levelled the blade at the fragile dark – haired man.
Distinctly, he heard the creak of the enforced wooden handle, felt the tiny crack inder the wraps and it seemed that with the light shimmering against the naked blade, that Masamune itself was crying - "But will you?" the soft voice asked him gently.
Sephiroth gulped.
Those fucking eyes – those eyes, whose colour he saw in the mirror almost every day, so green and light and dark, like pyre flies he watched his opponents turn into, after he had slain them, the colour of death –
He steeled himself, as the hand with the sword lifted, as to prepare to take another life with a single arch of silver, leaving behind only death, blood and a small breeze.
The man in front of him was smaller than him – really, he only came up to Sephiroth's chest – and he was like a bird, so fragile and yet so strong, Sephiroth could easily say he was the only one to coming to equal the SOLDIER's General and so called Perfect Warrior.
And why, why, why, did his damned chest hurt so much, just by looking at that one man?
Why, by Cetra, did his throat have to clog up as if someone was trying to kill him with a dull pain throbbing through his larynx?
Why, then, did his eyes sting?
The man in front of him – why didn't he act hateful, terrified - even disappointment would be better that this… acceptance and serenity radiating from that youthful face with aged eyes. His stomach was coiled in painful knots. Hell, his whole body ached.
The battle had been ferocious, but they were winning, with Sephiroth at their side, the Silver General looking like a fallen angel, delivering death to all who were unfortunate enough to come under his blade.
Until He came, locking his too-heavy sword with Masamune's shiny, thirsty blade, the sound loud and clear ringing through the battlefield.
It had been a sight for gods, for surely neither of them could be mortals wielding their swords like that, in a lethal, yet strangely beautiful dance of death.
They were too fast, too good – and for the first time, enemies and allies alike were treated to the sight of Sephiroth going all out.
He had lured Sephiroth out of the shrieks of battle, not that anyone cared – they were simply too exhausted, too tired – and then, they proceeded to beating the living shit out of each other.
Black versus Silver. Green against green. He had wounded Sephiroth, green eyes dark with grief and resolve.
Finally, Sephiroth managed to knock away the heavy sword form tired hands, his palms sweaty and bleeding with strain. And even then, he had to wound his smaller opponent pretty harsh; the feat which was not achieved easily, was a testament to the stranger's fighting ability. His sword was dull from the strong blows delivered to it, and Masamune was looking pretty battered, too.
"I – I – " Sephiroth gulped, his lips quivering.
He had seen him. He had dreamt of that man; the only dreams that he had been free to be himself. Just Sephiroth, the only time he could smile and laugh and not be such a cold bastard. He had dreamed of green eyes, sparkling with laughter and life, a body, pressed into his, embracing him into a warm hug, full of safety and comfort.
He had felt so cold, so fucking cold, when he was woken up in cryo chamber to discover it all was a lie, a big, damned lie, but still, he longed; and so he began to listen to that slithery voice, and those dreams became dark, those bright eyes sad, and he still, still wanted… and slowly, he began to want something more.
He told to no one of his desires, as he was conditioned to be perfectly emotionless, a perfect weapon.
So it had been a huge shock to see him. It was only for a moment, but it had been enough.
It was, as if the time was frozen, green eyes meeting with green, and it felt like an eternity, and then, it was all over – the time sped up again and the mysterious yet somewhat familiar stranger vanished into the crowd, much to Sephiroth's despair and frustration.
The sword was swung –
-Clang!-
- and it clattered on the frozen ground, silently gleaming beside the old battle sword as Sephiroth fell onto his knees. "I – I CAN'T! Cetra help me, but I can't!" It burst out of him in great sobs, lithe body, encased in black leather shaking under the force of repressed feelings that poured out of him in silent torrents. Dimly, he noted that it was a stupid thing to do, being weapon less within the enemy's range, but in that moment, he didn't give a flying fuck.
Hell, he could have been naked, and he wouldn't have cared.
He felt someone gently gathering his quaking body in a hesitant embrace. The body against him was small and trembling with effort, cold and exhaustion. Like a wounded animal, he hid his head in the smaller man's neck. "It – It's alright. I know." Sephiroth's sharp ears caught the whispered words effortlessly.
The hisses in his head became more vicious, more demanding, and Sephiroth closed his eyes. "Is – Is this real?" His voice was soft, hesitant. The dark – haired man nodded. "Yes, I am here. I am with you. You…" He paused, "Are not dreaming." Gentle hand carded through that long, silky looking, silver mane that was Sephiroth's hair. "You've grown, angel." Sephiroth stiffened at the soft endearment, he waited with bated breath.
"Did you learn to fly, I wonder? To reach for the sun – Oomph!" The dark-haired man squawked as Sephiroth tackled him.
"It's you! It's really you… Father…" The excited, almost-shout ended in reverent whisper. A fresh wave of tears blurred his eyes. "Why? Why didn't you come for me?"
His father's face became full of sorrow. "I – I tried, Sephiroth. But they confined me, secure me so much – and I had to wear that damnable collar –" Unconsciously. Sephiroth's eyes strayed to that slender throat, and narrowed in outrage.
"They did experiments on me – " The man continued silently. "Hojo was having his share of sick fun, trying to dissect me and talking about you, how you were growing up to be perfect soldier, how ruthless you were –" He choked up.
Sephiroth growled angrily, embracing the smaller male protectively. "A -And the dreams?" He asked, his voice soft and hesitant. "They were real… as real as they could be. They were my only way to see you, to be with you, to watch you grow up. But suddenly, I couldn't contact you anymore." The man's voice thickened with pain. "The landscape darkened, and I was so terrified that something had happened to you - I was mad with worry, Sephiroth!"
Sephiroth winced. "Father, I – " He tried to tell something, anything, but the man interrupted him. "And then, whenever I saw you were so cold, your eyes so cruel – "
"But…" Sephiroth tried again, his heart breaking with pain at the agony the man had went through. He heard his voice hitching with pain. And he gulped. The soft voice continued, torturing Sephiroth further. "And I asked and wondered – 'Where did my angel go?'"
The evil substance around Sephiroth's heart writhed and coiled, the hissing in Sephiroth's thoughts increasing – but Sephiroth ruthlessly pushed it down.
He was being embraced again. And his body trembled. »I am glad I could see you one last time, angel.« Sephiroth blinked at the endearing words. Surely he had misheard them, hadn't he? His heart almost stopped when the implications hit him full-force.
"What – What are you talking about?" And then, another horrifying thought crept into his heart. "Is it because of me? Because I was bad?"
Green eyes widened. "For heavens' sake, NO! I would NEVER leave you, given the choice – I love you, you are my son, and nothing would make me stop loving you!"
Sephiroth basked in the fierce glow that surrounded his father – so warm, so protective – Wait, glow?
He blinked.
And almost gaped in awe.
Gentle white light surrounded his father, almost golden at times, making the man seem like an angel he had told Sephiroth so many times about –
"They're summoning me back."
"Back where?" Sephiroth whispered. Already, he had a sinking feeling in his gut. And the next words only confirmed it.
"I'm not of this world, Sephiroth. I was banished here, by accident – "His face darkened. "He was such a jealous prat – "
Sephiroth blinked. Anyway, my name is Harry Potter. And I am a wizard – a man who doesn't need Materia to heal or destroy. Back where I am from, there are two kinds of people – those like me, and those without any powers,« the man told him hurriedly. "We call we call that power magic – and you inherited it."
"M – Me?" Now, Sephiroth stuttered. Harry nodded. "Yes – didn't you notice you didn't need much of an effort while you were learning how to use Materia, and how you even duplicated it's effects when you were in a tight spot?"
Sephiroth nodded.
Harry winced. "I don't have much time left," He gritted through his teeth, as delaying the summoning was painful as hell. And he glowed brightly.
"I wanted to see you one last time, my angel." he told his son affectionately. "Be safe – "
" - NO!" Twin shouts stopped his last words.
A bright flash of light, and they were gone.
/To Be Continued/