A/N: Long delay, sorry. There's a longer note on my profile page, but nothing major, so you don't have to read it. Thanks to my reviewers, as always! whatevergirl, Chicken Nova, kiralover44, Answerno42., OvenBased, CornCob, and KT ! Well, there could be an Aerith, Answerno42...possibly. I just don't talk about her in this story.

Sephiroth could feel his body trying to react, coolness having descended on his skin like a frigid layer of ice.

He did not move from the tree for a long while, paying no heed to the way his back had begun to ache steadily from metal biting into it. The blood was thick in his mouth, but he kept swallowing it, allowing it to wash over his tongue where he savored it for an instant. He knew his normally white teeth were likely outlined in red; he had made quite a gash, and not at all inadvertently.

There were the sounds of bugs and even a few birds. It was almost fully dark, but the forest seemed to have come alive more than ever. He caught sight of glowing eyes, reflective like mirrors, similar to what his own must have looked like. Some were on the ground, but most were high up in the trees, watching him from a distance.

The air was still heavy with condensation, bringing moisture to his skin and dampening his hair. The lack of a sun would prevent it from getting any hotter, but it would still not cool off much regardless. It must have been at least ninety degrees, not unbearable, but definitely not comfortable with full leathers. He could feel the sweat beading, rolling down at times, though he remained completely still.

He still had not processed what he had been told. It was too sudden for him to fully comprehend it, particularly when he was already preoccupied with thoughts of other things. The reaction of shock and denial was absent; it was frightening how easily he had accepted what his friend had said. Perhaps because it added up?

It wasn't as though he hadn't realized something was wrong. He had known. Was that why it was not the surprise it should have been?

It didn't hurt like it should have, not just then. But he knew in time it would finally reach him to the furthest extent, rather in the distant way he was currently feeling it. It would be better if it did not all come on until later. It was the worst possible time for him to wallow in sorrow, if he ever did, that was.

Angeal, Genesis.... How would they be cured? Hojo was dead, he had seen to that himself in a foolish fit of revenge. He had done it because of Vincent, to atone for his own sins, in a way. Had the boy never been in the situation, Sephiroth would have gone on taking his injections from Hojo; he had no doubt about it.

He had never been overly troubled by the scientist's experiments, so long as he himself was not involved in them. It was a coldness he had developed from years in SOLDIER. He did not necessarily like it, but he had never gone to any extent to question his own intentions anyway; the scientist had been useful, so he had used him. That was the way of things. It was stupid to waste something that could be extorted.

The business about Hojo being his father still haunted him. It wasn't true, of course, but even so, it had planted something that had quickly become deeply rooted inside of him, likely because he had always despised the man above all others, more so than Jade at times. It was only natural that the idea plague him, or so he assumed.

With Hojo dead, that left Hollander. Angeal had said that the degradation involved the Director of the Science Division, but had not fully explained any of it, only saying that the man was "not really an option". That said a lot, implied things that Sephiroth did not like. Had Hollander botched some of his mako testing?

And Gast. Angeal had told him they were with Gast. He could scarcely recall the last time he had seen the man. In fact, he had not even known if he still lived at all. But that was unimportant....

If the scientist could not repair this 'degradation' as his friend had called it, that narrowed down the alternatives substantially. There were few who dabbled in mako; it was almost exclusively limited to Shinra given that they were in control of almost every reserve the Planet had. Icicle Inn, however, was a virtual mecca for anyone who studied mako, given the cold temperatures of the area were actually a direct result of the Planet attempting to revive the damage of the Northern Crater. Oddly enough, it was the most likely place that someone with vast knowledge on the subject would be located. If there were such people outside of Shinra, Gast would probably know them.

Because he did not know the particulars, it made it impossible for him to draw any answers. His mind instead came up with the more undesirable alternatives of the degradation he knew nothing about, things that were probably not even true. All that he was aware of was that it was killing both of his friends.

Gast had always been a competent scientist; he would not make a mistake about such a thing. That meant it was in fact deadly, and there was little chance that the diagnosis was wrong. Angeal had sounded convinced enough. His voice had been so consumed, vulnerable in a way Sephiroth had never before born witness to. The man had never been the overtly emotional sort, even in matters that meant a lot to him.

He consciously decided to not allow himself to continually analyze it. He knew too little. He would have to wait until Angeal told him the rest before he could even begin to attempt to come up with some kind of solution, if Gast was not already working on one.

He had slipped his phone into his inner pocket, changing it to vibrate. He shouldn't have left it on at all, but if Angeal called again, he wanted to be available. He did not like being in the dark about things, but he had confidence in the Commander to tell him what was necessary as the time came. He could wait patiently, if required. That didn't mean he had to like it.

Sephiroth pushed off of the tree, cautiously taking his time, glancing around slowly. He hadn't heard anything out of the ordinary while he had been speaking with his friend, but he had been distracted enough. He could have missed something. It was stupid to allow his emotions to run away with him, but he had permitted it.

With an animalistic paranoia, he began his trek again. It only took moments before he returned to his quickened pace. He gracefully avoided the curving roots that jutted from the ground, stepping over them as soundlessly as he was able. Occasionally there was the creak of leather, but nothing too noisy as he wove between the trees that only grew thicker with time.

He was constantly searching for signs of someone walking. There was quite a bit of land to cover, but he knew that there were some beaten trails that winded through the forest, created from years of locals going to the coast on foot. Chances were, the target would stick to those as a guide. Where he was headed was very important; the coast was again, the obvious answer.

Sephiroth could have gone straight to the coast himself, but his inkling had been to check the forest. It seemed the more than likely that the target would linger for awhile. He had known he was being followed; that was stated in the report from Tseng. It would be foolish to head straight for a getaway when there was the possibility that he could get caught by doing so.

It was all conjecture, however, the General's instincts were often strangely correct. He could usually predict what people would do. The more he knew of someone, the higher the chance that he could discern their moves before they made them. It was an aspect of his skills that made him more than formidable.

He welcomed the distraction. If he spent a few useless days wandering the forest it would not matter. If anything, he needed to concentrate on something for awhile. Something told him it would not be in vain, that he would find Hudgens.

Part of him wanted to abandon everything, go to Angeal, and even Genesis. But he knew it was useless. They were more than capable of taking care of themselves. Gast was also with them, and he was certainly not the power hungry scientist that both Hollander and Hojo were. The man would try at least, give them the chance that no one else would. The difference was that Gast would care. Their lives would not be meaningless to him.

The scientist may not have always done the right thing, but he was not cruel. He was one of the few in his field who looked out for the people involved in experimentation. He had, after all, provided the only love Sephiroth had ever found in his short, cold childhood.

Without Gast, he might have never believed in any sort of kindness from others. He would have blocked it out entirely. It was painful to admit, but he did not fight it.

It was the truth.

Vincent was dreaming, he knew he was.

Everything was so real that he wanted to believe it, the way the fog swirled around him, coating the ground so thickly that the dirt was almost completely obscured. Moss and wet earth, smells that rose up from beneath him, driven up by clawed feet that tore brutally without effort, without noticing.

It was a blur of landscape, the sharp inhalations of a deep chest. The panting, tongue hanging from his mouth, it felt right. Nothing about it was unsure, instead only backed heavily by instinct, which seemed to dictate each thing he did. The way he moved, shoulders hunched, always tensed, ready. The gait turned to a lope, one that was easy to fall into, easy to maintain. Even when it felt like he had run on forever, his body did not tire, even as plumes of steam emanated from his wet mouth. He should have been gasping.

He knew he had been trying to get away from something, trying to flee, but none of it mattered. He had covered enough ground that whatever it was had to be gone, or so he reasoned.

His large, furred head turned as he looked back at where he had come from, ethereal yellow eyes scanning the distance keenly. An expanse of trees, some with a reddish brown bark that appeared almost shredded. The scent of pine was very strong, causing him to snort irritably at how it burned at his sinuses.

No one there.

There was a hint of a growl as his attention went to what lied ahead. His ears pricked forward at the steady trickle of running water. Gruffly enquiring with his nose, he could smell it, the dirty scent of ground and rocks too long wet, swimming with slippery green algae. Thirst gnawed at the insides of his throat in that instant, beckoning him forward. Mindlessly, he let his desire lead him where it pleased. Enemies were quickly forgotten, blotted out by need.

The tiny creek was much further away that he had ever suspected, at least a quarter of a mile. His mouth pooled with saliva at the sight of it, sticky from lack of fluids. The earth was cold under his feet as he advanced cautiously, ears rotating to the side, listening intently. The sound of the water moving over the rounded river rocks was enough to put his fears to rest. There was a peace to it, something that calmed him for reasons he did not care to think on further.

He bent down to drink, one clawed hand bracing him as his tongue reached out tentatively to lap at the water. It was very cold, chilled in fact. Almost like freshly melted ice. It felt wonderful as he drank his fill, pink tongue darting out from between yellowed teeth.

His elation died quickly.

A rippled reflection appeared on the surface of the water next to him, long and silver, shining with a wicked, evil gleam. His breath caught as his eyes spun to look upward, his entire body gone rigid instinctively. The fur along his spine bristled, guard hairs standing out starkly from the rest, a dark purple that was tinged with hints of black. A low bellow of a growl came from his chest without warning, purely reflexive. Ears flattened to his head, jowls curling as they dripped with the liquid that had brought him so much pleasure only seconds before.

The sound was cut off quickly, as Vincent realized something was terribly wrong. He seemed to know he should probably not show hostility.

Sephiroth stood above him, standing in the center of the little creek, water sloshing around his boots as it brushed by him. His green eyes were unreadable as usual, making the beast sniff at him suspiciously, questioningly.

"You cannot drink from this place; it is sacred," the General stated tonelessly, Masamune barely six inches from the monster's neck, floating above the ripped surface of the water.

Vincent only glowered, eyes ablaze, defiant. He did not know who the man was, but he was uninterested in whatever he was uttering with harsh sounds. The words were familiar, he knew them, yet he did not care to acknowledge them, whatever they meant.

"You desecrate it with your impurities. You are not good enough to drink from it."

The snarl came out without anymore prodding, natural, right. Vincent knew this should have been strange, but the beast in him did not like being threatened. Though it was a cautious creature, it also loathed backing down from a fight. It did not like being encroached upon. It owned the creek, not the man in black leather. The human could wait his turn, learn his place.

Like something automated, Sephiroth was unaffected. "Leave this place now, or I will be forced to kill you."

This time Vincent's head snapped up from the water, teeth bared from the inflection of the voice. His long-nailed fingers retracted from the soil as he stood up aggressively, all furious eyes and fur on end. The horns that jutted from his skull only proved to make him more menacing in appearance, adding to the show of dominance as he growled at his adversary from the edge of the creek bed.

The General did not move, unblinking, uncaring. It was the blatant disregard that caused the beast to almost hiss, coming forward boldly. His feet touched the water, but he made no indication of the coldness he felt because of it; that would be a display of weakness. The iciness gripped at his ankles, but he ignored it, filling his lungs with air, pushing his muscled, broad shoulders back to make a show his own feelings, his power.

The sword slashed through the air, biting through it with the delicate whistling sound that only metal can create. Vincent easily cast it aside with a dangerous hand, growling again in warning. The man in front of him only smiled, the first show of emotion. Instead of happiness, it relayed a strong arrogance and distaste. It was more like a grimace or baring of teeth than a true smile.

The sword was at rest, held just above the water. Again, fueled by instinct, Vincent lashed out, swinging at the man's vulnerable-looking neck with a merciless barbarity. The General only moved back with a quickness that was almost disorienting. He answered with his blade barely a second later, striking with grace instead of raw power. As the animal dodged it, he could not avoid the sphere of energy that burst forth from the man's unoccupied hand.

Like a physical blow, the Galian Beast was nearly toppled, staggering through the slick rocks, only keeping balance because of his taloned feet. Vincent's chest felt as though it was alight, singed by the magic that had easily burned through the first layer of skin and fur like an acid. He let out a yelp of pain, shaking his maned head, teeth exposed. His clawed hands had clenched at his sides, eyes radiating fury and surprise.

There was no time to think as the sword flew at him again, hitting him in the chest with a disgusting ease that came with years of experience. There should have been tremendous pain, but instead there was nothing, nothing but the blank face of the General Sephiroth and a sword that never actually touched his skin.

When he tore himself from sleep, he was confused and foggy. He blinked in the darkness, eyes focusing just barely.

He immediately knew something was off from the first second of consciousness. His chest was heaving with effort, feeling strained, as though someone were laying on top of him cutting off his oxygen.

The room was filled with the sounds of sleep, light snoring from a few, then the loud breathing of unconsciousness from the rest. He nearly screamed from the sudden, sharp pain that traced its way up his arm, squeezing, pulsing. Like a mortal wound, it made him want to writhe to negate some of the unrelenting, terrible pain. He clutched at it in the dark, fingers rubbing at it without any thought but to make it stop.

He knew he was awake, that it had only been a dream, but the pain was all too real. It felt like someone was tearing his arm off, and along with that, he couldn't breathe. He was suffocating, whimpering in little panic breaths as he tried to force unwilling lungs to expand.

He forced himself off of his bunk, rolling onto his side with more effort than he thought himself capable. His arm was unbearably pulsating, making him squinch his eyes shut, tears running down his cheeks instantaneously, escaping from behind his lids if he let up in the slightest. It was only when he looked down and examined his hand for the first time, that he realized why his arm felt like it was being broken in two.

He had claws. And fur.

Sephiroth did not have to search for his target long. His target found him instead.

Like a hive, they swarmed, coming from around the trees and some descending from the thick branches, these men clothed in black. He had sensed them before he had neared the wide, heavily trodden path, and weighed his options. It had not been sound that had alerted him to their presence, but a preternatural feeling. Eyes upon him, gazes. Human ones. There was no way he could have known it, but somehow he had.

He could have fled. Easily. But instead he had merely stood his ground, assessing the situation with a detached coolness that cared nothing for odds. He would either pursue his mission objective, or wait it out, but why wait when the enemy was right before him? He had found them, more than one, and he saw little reason to leave so soon even if they were not the men listed. The truth was, he was searching for a fight. He had come to murder, and he had little preference as to who those people would be.

The ground was torn up, worn in by many feet. The undergrowth was broken and bent to the side, from recent abuse. Hunters came through the area often, he had heard, as did fishermen heading for the coast. But these men were not fishermen, quite as death and stealthy. Sound and sight would have never given him any indication that he was not alone. They were well trained, that much was clear to him.

Trap. It had to be.

They gathered around him, swords at their backs, handguns in their holsters. The combination of modern and ancient, things that should have clashed but somehow didn't. A few even wore night vision optics. It was the same game as always, just a different time period, a new, more simple way of doing things. Perhaps that was why Sephiroth had always favored the sword; he did not like to take an easier route, he loved the primal nature of skill against skill rather than sheer luck, as often came with guns in times of war.

None made a sound from behind the black masks that concealed their faces, leaving only their eyes exposed. Dark ponytails stuck out from the backs of their heads, though there were the occasional lighter hair colors mixed in. Most were Wutai, he guessed. Their mannerisms appeared to confirm that theory, the way they moved.

One of the men came forward from the wall of opposition, his form of dress no different from the twenty others alongside him, but there was a staff strapped over his back, rather than the katana that the others had. Brown eyes peered at the General through the slit in the cloth, the tiny patch of skin that was revealed, tanned from years in the sun. There were too many clouds and far too many trees to allow much moonlight to slip beneath the heavy canopy, so he knew that most of the men were having trouble seeing him. He could use it to his advantage if needed.

"General Sephiroth," the man drawled with a heavy accent. "How kind of you to show." There was a mock bow and a smile hidden underneath black cotton. "We have been expecting you."

"So I see," he responded, unamused.

He remained impassive externally, though he was very much aware of each of the men, listening to their breathing, watching their slight movements for any hidden signs of hostility. He may have been outnumbered, but it was how he worked best.

"The information you were given was planted. One of our associates is very interested in continuing his conversation with you."

He chose bluntness over slippery words, as his mood permitted nothing else: "Why go to all the trouble? If he wishes to speak with me, there is little reason to conceal it behind such an elaborate plan. We already arranged for a meeting in the south if I chose to learn more. Your explanation is lacking," he stated finally, flatly, green eyes glinting in the darkness.

"We did not know that you would be sent—we were ordered here to eliminate the Turks," the man said slowly. "We only knew of your arrival through the grapevine, but it is not all lost." The man tilted his head slightly. "We are pleased that they chose to send you. I could not have hoped for a better stroke of luck."

The General did not make any sort of reply, nothing but a living statue. He was not at all surprised that they knew of his arrival; they could have easily seen his approach in the helicopter, as it hadn't exactly been quiet or discreet. It could also mean that they possibly had an insider, though he strongly doubted it would be either Tseng, Reno, or Rude.

The AVALANCHE member continued: "You are the one who can change the tide of this war. You alone are the one who can prevent thousands from dying. This war is not inevitable, and in fact can be stopped by destroying those in seats of power."

"This is what it is about then? Kill a few, save many," Sephiroth concluded. "I have heard such claims made before, more than I care to remember. But it makes no difference. In a few years there will be another opposition, another war. Someone will dislike you and consequently dethrone you. It is inevitability."

"You killed my master, sir. You said those things then. But you said you cared for your SOLDIERs, didn't you?"

The acolyte. Sephiroth's mind quickly drew the strands into a comprehensive whole. The old wizard had died bleeding to death in the rain and filth of the mud, yet his young protégé still lived. The coincidence was enough to make a slight smile grace the General's lips. How strange that they should meet again, under such circumstances. It was not unexpected that the youth had chosen to join with AVALANCHE due to some petty desire for revenge.

"Yes, yes I did," he responded quietly, easily integrating the new information. "So why is it then that you ask for my assistance instead of killing me for doing away with your precious thousands? You do know my ways, after all." His tone was bordering on sardonic, but not quite.

"If you care for some, you are capable of caring for others."

"Is that so? You must believe it to be so bold," Sephiroth observed.

"If you will not help us to save lives, help us to save your SOLDIERs, many will die. You must take the proper steps in stopping the corporation once and for all. You are the only one in a position to do this, with the power to pull it off."

"Stop it so that you may run the Planet in Shinra's stead? What is it about that idea that sounds so repetitive? Do you not see that you continuously make the same mistakes time and time again? Do you not see that your solution is merely another problem that will have to be solved? You perpetuate what you claim to despise, and that is nothing but hypocrisy and stupidity."

"Your SOLDIERS will die. We will rage war on Shinra if we must, but it doesn't have to be that way! I don't want to kill them, not really." The acolyte's voice sounded saddened, but it did not change the bite of the General's words in the least.

"You may not wish to murder them, but I am certain your masters do. So what is it you propose? I eliminate who AVALANCHE requests and assume that my SOLDIERs will not run astray? They work for Shinra, the President, not for me. I am nothing but a representative. They will not obey me blindly as you seem so quick to assume. In case you are unaware, soldiers are not paid to think, but to do as they are instructed by the one who provides them with a paycheck and their orders."

"I think you underestimate your hold over them. I think they would stray if you asked them to. Besides, if Shinra is removed from office, they will have no choice but to follow a new master."

"And just who do you plan to insert into the President's position?" the General questioned, humoring him.

"We have someone in mind," the acolyte said mysteriously, his brown eyes not holding the older man's gaze.

"Of course."

"Listen to what my masters have to say before making your decision; I don't know specifics. They can better explain it to you."

"I am not in the listening mood, unfortunately."

"Please. You could save so many. You don't have to be the monster that everyone claims you are," the man asserted. "Listen. You would not refuse something before first learning about it, would you? And I know that you have interest in what one of ours has to say," he said more hurriedly.

"You take many risks in inviting the wolf into your den," Sephiroth stated without inflection. "Why do it?"

There was a long silence, the others only observing the exchange soundlessly. They were so still it was difficult to believe that they were truly living. Anyone else would have forgotten their presence, but Sephiroth had long been scrutinizing them through the darkness.

Finally, the acolyte spoke, almost shyly: "Because we believe—I believe—you can save the Planet from Shinra."

The General only laughed coldly, bitterly, the sound echoing all around, through the trees, wicked, inhuman. His mouth pulled into his best imitation of a smile.

"And it is that belief that makes you a fool."

A/N: That dream sequence was more hints. The one with Sephiroth from a few chapters ago expressed his issues with Vincent (the part that wants to be kind and the part that wants to corrupt the innocence), while this one reveals how Vincent wants to pursue something he can't have, or that Sephiroth won't allow. There are other meanings, of course....