It wasn't as if anything had ever changed, after all. Some were gone, some were still near—but the overall story was the same.

He sighed and gazed down at the city he'd fought so hard to protect, at the world he'd fought so hard to protect.

'Was it worth the cost?' Such thoughts plagued him, narrowed his glowing blue eyes and tightened his mouth. 'What else could I do?'

The answer, as always, was nothing. Perhaps it was that very powerlessness that had so drained him these last few years. Powerlessness…and guilt—the only constant companions he had. And while he mourned the dead, the gone, those he had failed, the living slipped further from him. And that, too, was a grief he could not conquer.

"So maudlin," a voice purred, startling him from his dark thoughts. Reflex caused him to turn instantly, sword drawn, eyes narrowing on his target.

A boy was behind him, standing with slim arms crossed over his chest, his weight on one hip so that he looked to be draped where he stood—lazy grace, the same lethargic negligence of a cat. But the sword at his back was no toy and he radiated an eerie danger that belied his youth.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he asked, his voice a hoarse bark. There was something disconcerting about this child, something familiar in the set of his shoulders and the shape of his lowered head.

"Who are you? What do you want?" The boy's silver head lifted and he gasped, a vision of sliver grace tearing through his mind's eye.

Green eyes and hatred, hatred as sharp as the blade he'd wielded so cruelly…

He bared his teeth and tensed but the boy had not moved, merely smirked, one silver brow arching. He had those same light jade eyes, same manner of staring from the tops of them, head lowered a little. Same arrogance that was as unconscious as it was deserved.

"You disappoint me, Cloud," he purred, letting his arms drop and walking towards him. He flowed over the ground, confident and graceful, hips swinging in a way that would become a swagger in a man. But in this young creature it was as sultry and distracting as the most experienced stripper's strut. Indeed, young and androgynous as he was, there was much of the feminine in him—the long lashes, the round cheeks, the full lips, the studied and lithe movements. This boy was beautiful and, more, he knew it. There was no little vanity reflected in his eyes. But then, that vanity was well-deserved.

"I had thought you would be more…" he trailed off, head cocked to one side, silver hair falling to cover one eye. The other eye gazed at him critically, flicking over the minute details of his person. It took a second to register the insult in that breathy, crooning purr and he stiffened in response, swinging his sword up to pause the slender youth.

"How can you be disappointed in someone you've never met?" he questioned. "Answer me! Who are you?"

The boy shrugged, a wry smile curving his full lips. Those lashes flicked once, twice, drawing attention to his feline eyes. "Does it matter, brother? I'm the same as you—something used and discarded, forgotten."

He smiled again, and this time there was a feral cruelty there.

"But I won't be ignored! I won't let them forget me!"

"What do you want here?" he questioned sharply, alarmed by the sudden turn in the child's mood.

Again his head cocked prettily to one side, his look that of a fascinated cat.

"Why, brother, he wants you, of course!"

Cloud took an unsteady step back, the comment like a physical blow to his chest. He didn't have to ask who, there was no mystery here. This boy was a slender, feminine version of a ruthless man he'd once loved beyond all reason—and had twice murdered. Secrets, such secrets he'd kept, eroding him slowly but surely, cutting him off from the innocent and guileless.

The boy shifted fluidly and took a step towards him, checking only briefly when Cloud's blade touched the pale column of his throat. Cat-like, he pressed his cheek to the flat of the blade and, purring, languidly slid alongside it until his small feet framed one of Cloud's own. His look was predatory, amused, teasing.

"He's coming," he whispered, eyes intense and not quite sane in their excitement, the pupils drawn to snake-like slits. Again that head-tilt, fluid and sleek. "What will you do, brother?"

"You're no brother of mine!" Cloud snarled, surging to knock that slender form back. That offensive form—offending in its eerie similarity to one who'd perished in madness, offending in its corrupted youth and innocence.

With a short, sharp laugh the boy easily flipped backwards, anticipating his reaction, landing lightly on his feet out of reach. With startling, familiar speed the boy drew his souba, holding it in a sure left-handed grip. And that, too, was the echo of a ghost.

"That's more like it!" the youth hissed, grinning with excitement. "I may be no brother of yours, but we both were fashioned in the image of a God!"

"He was no God," Cloud bitterly said, lunging, the boy parrying with preternatural speed. "I've killed him."

That achingly familiar child laughed, fending him off with wiry strength, defending but never taking the baited openings. "Does it eat you, brother?" he questioned, his movements snake-like and lithe. "How strong you must be, to murder the one who loves you."

Those frosty jade eyes, the pale lips parted in silent shock, the expression that plainly begged, 'How could you? How could you?'

He snarled in anger, driving the slim youth back and back again until the hilts of their weapons caught, trapping them face to face.

"How far did you drive the blade in, brother, before he finally raised his own?" that silky voice asked, eyes wide.

He closed his eyes in a wince, pained. When he opened them they were resolute, cold, but haunted. "He never did," he lowly said, grieved.

"Ah," the boy breathed, admiration on his fine face. "Now I understand what he saw in you, brother."

They broke apart, parrying fiercely.

"A merciless heart to match his own," the youth said, flipping over his head and spinning to face him. "Only you didn't play by the rules."

Clang of metal on metal, the hiss of breath. The boy leaned in, incredibly strong for all his slimness, holding up under Cloud's force.

"You betrayed him," he hissed, sharp teeth flashing. "He would have died before truly hurting you!"

"He did die before hurting me!" Cloud hoarsely ground out, a tear of rage, shame, and frustration beading in the corner of one eye. That familiar pain, sharp and deep—because after the fighting, so intense and brutal, in the end it had been he who had changed the rules. He had been the one to decide and strike true. There had been chance after chance for him to be cut down by masamune, but it had not been death Sephiroth had been after. It had been Cloud's loyalty, his heart. And like a true Judas Cloud had done the teacher one better and had delivered him into the arms of every man's constant lover—death.

"Ah," the boy purred, sidestepping and giving him a shove that staggered him. "This is a pain we know well."

He lunged, snarling, sparks striking from the blades. The child twisted, lunged, and pinned the sword between the blades of his own.

They stared at one another, panting, hands gripping the hilts of their swords so tightly their knuckles burned.

"Will you do it again?" the boy asked, silver hair floating around his mouth with every gasping breath.

He scowled, schooling himself to feel nothing, shutting it off from the inside.

"I will."

He laughed again, the sound musical and child-like, utterly innocent.

"Oh, brother, don't you understand? He would expect no less from you," he sighed. "And that is why he wants you still…"

Cloud jerked back, dragging the heavy sword out and up, falling back into a guarded stance, but the boy hadn't moved. He stood splay-legged with both hands on the hilt of the souba, gazing at him through a spill of silver hair.

"He's dead," Cloud said, the words like ashes in his mouth. The same phrase that had sucked all of the life and meaning from his life. "And that's where he'll stay."

The child chuckled impishly, an unholy sound that skittered down his spine. He wrenched the souba up and darted forward, blades flashing against Cloud's defensive movement.

Cloud spun around, putting his shoulder into that slender hip, knocking the boy into the air and off of his feet.

He twisted, cat-like, and landed on his feet in a crouch. But Cloud was already on him, pinning him against the boulder at his back, the blade held behind him and one corded forearm across the boy's slender throat. He could feel the pulse fluttering against the bare skin below his elbow, thrumming with excitement, the throat frail and tender.

The youth swallowed convulsively but made no move, even his lids were still, heavy over the glowing jade of his eyes. His lips, full and pink as a girl's, were parted slightly, the curve and shape of them achingly familiar—he'd kissed these same lips, only once time and bitterness had stolen their childish plumpness and rendered them cruel and cold.

"He's coming back," that low voice breathed, his warm breath stirring his hair so that the silver strands brushed Cloud's cheek, wispy and soft as cobwebs. He closed his eyes briefly, risking attack, but the memories were strong enough to require a pause. The boy didn't so much as twitch in his grasp, just breathed softly now, the recuperative power of youth. "We will all give up a part of ourselves to resurrect him, and then he will love us all. He will lead us to a place where we aren't hated or used, a place where we aren't unwanted…"

He winced, the stigma sending him a sudden, shooting pain. The boy's eyes widened, for a split second they were frightened and utterly lost, so bewildered it tore his heart.

"Do you have it?" Cloud asked, and the youth's eyes narrowed once more, a sneer twisting those full, girlish lips.

"I am pure," he spat, offended. "The Sephiroth gene was given to you, but you're human still. My brothers and I are purely him—"

"How many of you are there?"

"—It isn't like that, brother—"

"Were you grown as an experiment?"

"We aren't like you!" he shouted, bringing their brief battle of words to a close. He sighed a little and sadly, mournfully said, "We are all that's left of him."

Cloud increased the pressure on that delicate throat only slightly, making the boy wince, his right hand fluttering up to rest on Cloud's bicep.

"Tell me," Cloud lowly said, shifting to press his hipbone into that slim belly, keeping him pinned—he had a weight advantage against his petite adversary, though he barely topped 5'9" himself and was comprised almost entirely of flat muscle.

The boy lifted his chin, swallowing with difficulty. And yet his pale cheeks did not flush with blood, his jade eyes did not bulge with the pressure on his veins—the miracle at work, alien cells working godhood in a child.

"He was shattered when you destroyed him, brother," the youth said, his voice changing slightly, becoming high and soft as a child's. "He couldn't stay in the Lifestream—she wouldn't have it. You hurt him…you hurt us. And she didn't want us, either, we've never belonged here." Those lids lowered over his incredible jade eyes, giving him even more the look of Sephiroth. "You didn't want us, and we loved you so much…" Cloud flinched, seeing the flicker of his older lover reflected in this tender child. "What could we do? There were others made from us, others who were we. We had to hide, we had to heal. But they hurt us and hurt us…"

"Shinra," Cloud said, every muscle tensing.

"Ten years of their torture, brother—even longer for my brothers," the boy said.

Cloud frowned, eyes flicking over that soft face, those feline eyes, the softly set mouth. He himself had endured four years at Shinra's "mercy"—it was no wonder this child was mad, ten years in their care.

"I'm sorry for you—"

"I don't need your pity!" the boy spat, venomous in his anger.

"You have it," Cloud simply said. "I know what they do. I know what you had to do."

"Endure," he breathed, feline eyes closing tightly in a moment of pain. Just as suddenly they popped back open, focusing sharply on Cloud's own blue eyes. A slow, sultry smile curved his plump pink lips and he turned his head a little, silver hair sweeping over Cloud's arm, tickling and soft.

"I could be him for you," he purred, gloved fingers sliding from the top of Cloud's bicep to the underneath, unerringly finding the soft, sensitive skin just below the ribbon tied there.

Cloud nearly came out of his skin it startled him so badly. He drew back, as assaulted by memories as he was by the slender sylph-like creature he kept trapped against the boulder.

Shaken, he stepped back, releasing the boy as he clenched his fingers hard on the hilt of his sword.

The child shook his head, silver hair floating in gossamer strands, that predatory smile still gracing his lips. He looked at Cloud from the tops of his eyes and his stance changed subtly, the curve of his back somehow accentuating the almost feminine curve of his hips.

"You don't need to be my enemy," he sighed, the souba held loosely in his left hand as he lazily advanced on Cloud, slender body moving with snake-like sensuousness. "He wants you more than anything, even still."

"Don't!" he sharply commanded, mesmerized by the slim youth's grace, drawn by his resemblance to one he'd loved so well and deeply. He steadied himself as the boy drew near, ignoring the small, incredibly strong hand that skimmed up his shoulder, tracing the contours of his wolf's-head brooch until it hit the pulse ticking madly in his throat—the only outward sign of his agitation.

The lithe young man flipped the souba around and sheathed it expertly, the movement fluid with practice. He pressed his left hand to Cloud's cheek, the gloved touch cool. It was the touch of his dead lover, but it lacked Sephiroth's possessiveness, his consuming dominance. This one was steel wrapped in silk, yielding and submissive—but only to a point.

"You want him, too, brother," the boy softly said, so close now a breath couldn't stir between them, and still Cloud couldn't bring himself to push the boy away. Small feet framed one of his own and the slim youth fit himself perfectly to Cloud's hip and belly, fingers drifting to his nape, jade eyes wide with stark excitement. So small, even shorter than himself, nowhere near the towering size of Sephiroth.

The youth's head tilted up, sweet breath spilling over his skin. Eye to eye now, Cloud could feel the soft brush of those velvety lips when he whispered, "I could be him for you…"

Cloud checked the small movement he made, unwilling to bend to his memories, his heart—guilt had eaten him, become too much a part of him to so easily dismiss.

The boy laughed, a soft, sultry sound and, tilting his head to the side, leaned up to whisper in Cloud's ear, "Would it be so bad? Reunited with the one you love, made whole again—no more pain, no more being an outcast. And, finally, love."

The tongue that touched his lobe was hot and wet, curling to draw his flesh into a skillful mouth. A split second later sharp teeth sank into the meat of it, drawing blood and a sharp hiss from Cloud. He grit his teeth but made no move to stop the boy as he worked and worried his flesh. The stigma clamored, shocking him with pain and, somehow, transferring to that slender youth, who shuddered and worked his teeth higher, opening a gash in Cloud's ear. That tongue darted, lapping at the blood, probing a wound that was already knitting itself back together.

"Mmm…" he sighed, drawing back with a glazed, satiated look on his beautiful face. Dark blood stained his full lips and smeared across one perfect cheek. He was breathing unsteadily, his eyes cloudy and half-lidded. "You taste of us…And you say we aren't brothers?"

The sting in Cloud's ear was already fading as the wound closed. He took a calming breath, trying to control his racing pulse and a deeper, more insistent ache. How long since he'd allowed anyone to touch him? He hadn't felt the draw of violence coupled with sex since he'd last endured Sephiroth's dark, utterly consuming attention. No one had touched him since…having been baptized in such heartless and cruel attention, how could any of them compare? And he'd mourned its loss every single day of his life…

"You're just like him," he said, defending himself now as he'd always had to with Sephiroth, letting a slight, cold smile curve his lips. The boy tensed, brows slamming low. "He was the same as you—when bullying, whining, or fighting didn't work, he'd just seduce to get his way."

The child recoiled as if he'd been slapped, his look one of utter outrage. Now blood flushed those cheeks, a faint tinge of color that wrote his age in emotion across his face. Vain, yes, but easily wounded—a child still, trying desperately to become an adult in a world which held no mercy for him.

"Whining?" he spat, eyes huge with shock. "How dare you?"

The blood on his face made him look frighteningly vulnerable—a wounded child, a perfect, battered doll. He backed off, his movements lithe and feline.

"Be sure you've made the right choice, brother," he hissed. "Make sure this time that it's one you can live with!"

In a flash he was gone as if he'd never been. Moments later there was the roar of an engine fading into the distance.

Cloud let the silence envelope him, shoulders slumping a little as the tension drained off. The encounter had left him shaken more than he cared to admit—his hand trembled when he sheathed his sword. The stigma pained him, throbbing beneath his skin. He didn't know what to make of that boy except that he made him uneasy and that this would not be the end of it. Of that he was sure. His lover's words were echoed in the child's, his movements and body mirrored by the boy's. That he'd managed to reach beyond the grave to seek him startled Cloud.

Love may survive Death, but Cloud had never dreamed that it would survive betrayal.