Ningyōtsukai

By: Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-

Author Notes: As a blanket statement, this story will contain Homosexual/Heterosexual pairings, gore, violence, foul language, and death.

This story came to my mind a long time ago, though it's only recent that I've actually began thinking about it. I normally hate starting things before finishing other things, but this needed to be written down now. It didn't want to wait. As for its reasons, while I absolutely love stories where Cloud goes back in time and changes things, I always thought it would be fun to try it the other way around, where it's actually Sephiroth who remembers what happened and is given the chance of redemption. Add in some Jenova, Hojo, and the Wutai War, well... it'll be fun, if nothing else. I'm really looking forward to this, actually.

Disclaimer: I, Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-, do not own, think I own, or will ever own Final Fantasy VII or its compilation. I don't even want to know what I'd do with it if I did.

Death is a release from the impressions of the senses, and from desires that make us their puppets, and from the vagaries of the mind, and from the hard service of the flesh.

~Marcus Aurelius

Chapter 1

In the old legends of Wutai, a boy king was born from the loins of a demon. He drank her life-blood from her teet, a sweet milk only a mother could provide, and grew strong. His blood pumped of Gaia and of beast, and yet he was human, the only hint of his origin the blood on his mouth and the bright eyes of dying stars. This child was the only monster who could destroy them, bring their empire to their knees, to turn their crops to ash and their rivers to blood. Bahamut, the villagers named it in reverence and fear. Bahamut, the boy king, the demon king.

Leviathan protected them from all. She was their Goddess and offered a life of bountiful harvests, the swollen bellies of their women, and the health of their children. All she required in payment was the boy king's head presented before her, an offering of the divine, when he came to extract his pound of flesh. And he would come, for She had wronged the demon and no demon would bare their neck to a God.

And come, he did. He bathed their soil in blood, slashed babies from their mother's wombs, and burned their crops until the ash fell like a blanket of powder snow. He locked the Goddess in his mother's blood for the eternal slumber, only to take pleasure in her pain.

Sephiroth could have laughed, had he the strength and the will to move. Those stories Genesis filled his head with, what use were they where he was? Where he would stay for all eternity? The fairytale of the boy king was of little use here, where there was no light, no dark, only the endless sea of nothing. He knew there should have been pain, as Cloud did an awful amount of damage in the last battle, but more than anything, Sephiroth was weary. While she couldn't reach him here, hidden in the lifestream away from her cells, it was still so cold.

Occasionally, the collective voice of the Cetra rang through his senses and he would curl up in the tiniest recesses of his mind to hide like a child, like he had when he was four and wanted to stay away from Hojo's needles and experiments. It was worse with the Cetra, however. This was his mind torn to pieces. This was lifestream exacting its revenge for a pretty girl with a blank stare and bloody pink dress.

Sometimes, he wondered, if the few minutes of sunshine on his skin was worth the intense pain of being killed over and over again. Was the ability to breathe, the feel of supple leather hugging him in an embrace, the blood pumping through his veins for that short moment worth the Planet, worth angering the Cetra, worth his own life?

You've been dead since Nibelheim. You have no life.

Sephiroth would have blinked, had he the eyes required for such movement. Had he a mouth, he could have responded, too. The lifestream seems to have a sense of humor, Sephiroth thought as he continued to drift. It was true; his body was not his own, mind not his own when Jenova was near, that much was certain. He had given her complete control, once upon a time in a little village at the foothills of Mt. Nibel. Anything after that he deserved.

Keep it up and you'll sound like Vincent Valentine.

He continued to drift, wishing for something more than the blankness, wishing the voice of the lifestream would come back, even if its only desire was to taunt and laugh at his foolish mistakes. What had it been that sent his mind into the abyss of Nibelheim? What had it been?

Don't you remember, boy king?

Sephiroth was perplexed; he was not the boy king. It was a fairytale, something to tell little boys and girls before bed or in Sephiroth's case, told in the middle of a ditch to occupy his mind from the three bloated and decimated bodies stinking next to him. He shouldn't have needed a fairytale to stop his panic, his fear. Still it was just a story.

The Wutaians were too superstitious; Hojo's God was science and he was its priest.

Sephiroth was the sacrificial lamb.

One of the worst parts of being segregated from the rest of the lifestream was the loneliness. He had grown up alone, his only friends the other experiments and his books. It had taken years to open up to Genesis and Angeal, and then Zack Fair. Friendship was still more often found in the comforting embrace of his leather chair and a musty, decrepit book he'd read over and over again. Still those three... they had been his connections to humanity, his friends.

He missed them, more than he cared to admit to himself. The curtain was up, the cast assembled before him, the stage dotted in flowers. If he thought about it long enough, it reminded him of the final showing of Loveless Genesis dragged him to, before the fateful disaster in the training room, before their friendship began to wither and die. Before either turned into a monster.

And, Sephiroth regretted. More than anything, he regretted. It wasn't a feeling he was well acquainted with since he allowed Jenova to take him by the hand into the madness. At first, it was uncomfortable to accept that he, no matter how far he had descended into her embrace, it was still his hands. He hadn't felt that way since Wutai, after he murdered scores of men and shed their blood like water from the heavens. There hadn't been regret in the beginning, but every night their mouths would scream in his dreams and even Hojo's concoction of pills did nothing to combat it.

Angeal had explained once it was Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but Sephiroth scoffed. While he understood his men to have these problems, and fought with the President to get the adequate medical care his men needed and more than earned, he didn't need it. He was fine, he was strong, he was Shinra's prize lamb. All he needed to feel better was Masamune and a good book. He was not broken, for he was the General and a warrior.

The boy king, the cryptic voice of the lifestream said again. Sephiroth, Sephiroth. It seems you don't understand me. You do not understand the tale. You don't understand your tale.

Sephiroth would have scoffed, had he a mouth. After being murdered three times, his tale was as clear as the Costa del Sol ocean—die, die, die again. Always controlled by Jenova, always drowning in her hatred and anger and fear of humans. What else was there to his tale; like the stories Genesis tried to drown him in, there was no happy ending for the monster at the end of the book. It died bloody and alone and the good guys won. Cloud won, every time.

Sephiroth was okay with that ending in the way of it ending Jenova. It broke her and Sephiroth would be free until her cells invaded his mind again.

And she would, because Hojo made sure when he made Sephiroth that she would control him.

If you want your own life, then just accept what I'm offering.

"And what kind of offer is that?" Sephiroth felt his mouth (a real mouth, one with muscles and teeth and by Holy, he could even feel the words on his lips, words he'd made himself.) Still, there was nothing to see and nothing to hear other than the lifestream's response.

An offer for revenge.

"Not interested." Was the voice even the lifestream? It didn't feel like Jenova, but that wasn't particularly the best way of judging the character of things talking inside his head. "Going after Strife is pointless and I don't want to." He didn't like the kid; he had spunk and courage, but that didn't change the fact that it wasn't fun to get run through by a six foot Buster sword.

It's not fun to get run through by a seven foot Masamune, either.

Sephiroth conceded. It really wasn't. "And what can I do about that?"

In the Wutai War you were baptized with the name 'Demon' on the alters of blood. In Nibelheim, too. Let's not forget Shinra Headquarters or the Ancient in her ancestor's Crystal City. You know of blood, and you know of Masamune's destruction.

"And your point?" It felt weird to be able to speak and hear when he couldn't see. The feeling of his mouth was a comfort, though he couldn't feel anything else.

Perhaps it's time you freed yourself from them. I can offer you the power you need, the abilities you seek. You can destroy her.

Panic struck Sephiroth; an offer. How foolish could he be. A voice in nothingness offering him freedom... The last time he'd accepted an offer of power he'd given his control over to the alien bitch in his head. "No. I won't become your pawn."

You don't understand who I am and what I'm offering. I'm giving you the chance to right the wrongs, fix and meld this broken planet.

"Why would I want to?"

You were planning on abandoning Shinra before Nibelheim and finally grew the spine to turn your back on a company killing this Planet. I'm offering you the chance to turn back time, to return to when you could still destroy them. Save the Planet, save yourself. It sounds like a good deal, boy king.

"I'm not a damn boy king!" Sephiroth snarled. It felt good to be able to make that noise, to feel it rumble in his throat. Yes, he had a body, no matter how disjointed it felt. He had a body...

Sephiroth relaxed his mind and felt out with his power. Years of fine detail to the curve of his spine and the feeling of each finger thanks to his sword training allowed Sephiroth to feel through the nothing for the body he knew was there. A curl of a toe, a shake of the wrist, a phantom breath that took in no air—it was something. He wasn't gone, not completely. Not yet.

The voice, however, did not stop speaking simply because Sephiroth could feel his body. It wouldn't allow him the moment of pleasure in realizing his body was still whole and he was in control.

You aren't, that's quite true. But you're so disgustingly like me that maybe, just maybe, the story was written for the both of us.

"Bahamut?" Sephiroth said, a feeling of wonder creeping into his voice, despite his attempts to cover it. While he didn't have time to believe in gods and Goddesses of Wutai, it didn't stop him from knowing of the summons whose essences were crystallized in Mako. However they were created, they existed and Bahamut was the dragon king. He'd only seen the fierce beast once, against him in the middle of the Northern Crater. That hadn't been fun.

Perhaps you do have a brain of you own.

"I don't make deals with false gods," Sephiroth countered, though there was something holding him back... a little part of him want to hear what the summon wanted to say. It was the same little part of him that fought against Jenova's pull and allowed Cloud to deliver the final blow. It was also the same part of him screaming against the rest of him, which wanted nothing to do with whatever revenge Bahamut wanted. This half-existence was better than what awaited him when Jenova got her claws sunk into him again.

What would you say if, by siding with me, I can protect you from her?

"I'd say I'm not..." Sephiroth trailed off and stepped forward into the abyss. There was solid under his feet, now. Floating for so long, it took a moment to create equilibrium, despite it being the lifestream. Senses worked in mysterious ways. "You couldn't. Her cells run in my blood and nothing can change that."

Bahamut snorted, or as close to snorting as a disembodied voice could and stated pompously, I am a God and she's nothing but a parasite. She's beneath me. Guarding your mind from her would be easier than a walk in a park.

"If that park was in the middle of the swamp in the Northern Crater, I think I'll pass." Sephiroth took another step forward, knees nearly buckling below him. Maybe, just maybe, I can walk toward light. There may be something here, something that I can use to get Bahamut to leave me alone, Sephiroth thought as he pushed himself forward, the toe of his boot to the back of his other.

What if I gave you the chance to save your friends?

Angeal and Genesis, before the madness. They were his only friends. And even Zack, who'd wormed his way into Sephiroth's office and permanently planted himself on the couch. When he'd heard of Zack's death from Cloud's broken mind, he'd thought of nothing at all. When he was killed the first time, it hit him. He couldn't say it was as raw as Angeal (Genesis had been easier to swallow since it was Genesis's own madness which allowed Jenova to plant herself in Sephiroth's head and there would always be a twinge of hatred in his gut about his closest friend) but Zack's death was certainly a blow.

He even killed the Cetra girl Zack had been so fond of.

What did I say about guilt? Valentine was difficult enough to deal with and I refuse to do it again; his guilt over your mother made me sick.

Sephiroth stopped and his foot hung in the air before he moved it back to its prior position. "He felt guilt over Jenova?" Why would Valentine, someone who had helped Strife kill him the second time round, mourn Jenova?

There isn't enough time in the lifestream to even begin, but no. Not Jenova. Maybe if you take the offer I'll tell you more, there was slyness to Bahamut's voice and while he did hold all the cards, Sephiroth wouldn't give quite that easily.

"I'm not interested in your petty game." Yet, Sephiroth knew it was a lie. He was interested, very much interested...

This is no petty game. I'm giving you the chance to right things, to finally be free of influence-

"Except for your own," Sephiroth said as he continued his hasty footwork.

I'm not asking for anything unreasonable. We want the same thing, you and I. And while I do not have the mortal body to do so, you do. End Shinra, alter this dying planet's fate, and I'll give you want you want...

Freedom.

Sephiroth opened his eyes and found himself in a place familiar to him, his home so very long ago.

The Shinra labs.

He screamed.

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