A/N: Ooh, look! It's an update bonanza! It's a distortion in the space-time continuum! It's a blue moon! Two updates within two weeks!

…You may put away your large author-whacking sticks now. ;

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They were so close now, right at his feet. He could even hear them, feel them…like a wretched, insurmountable poison. All this time…all these years…they'd held that poison at bay, away from the grand capital that stood as the very heart of the only country Shinra had yet to overwhelm and taint.

But now, one man -- the very same man Hottori had insisted was little more than a brazen insult on the Company's behalf -- had changed all that.

And what had that confidence gotten Hottori?

Death, along with the rest of his soldiers, cut down in one of the 'insult's' infamous solo endeavors.

That 'insult' had now gotten the bulk of Shinra's forces within easy attacking distance as well.

Awhite-haired oni wielding the Demon Sword of legend, clad in black, with cat-like verdant eyes that could supposedly assume the ominous glow of white-hot hellfire. Some of the more skilled and observant scouts even swore up and down that despite this young man's unique coloring, his features had a vague Wutaian set to them.

To which he had simply sworn a fierce oath in response -- there was no way anyone who had such an unnatural…demonic…appearance was or ever had been a part of Wutai. He had, at the time, even gone so far as to say that some 'creature' like that had to have been won by the Shinra hounds through a dark deal with some cruel-humored devil.

Godo Kisaragi, his expression as hard-set as the age-old auburn cliffs of Da-Chao, stood on the uppermost floor of Wutai's central pagoda, somberly observing the activity below through a space left by two parted decorative panels. The wan sunlight that filtered in only encouraged his war-soured mood, for even it seemed to understand the gravity of the situation he was in.

"Lord Kisaragi!"

At the sudden call and rush of harried, encroaching footsteps, the stern Wutaian lord turned to watch a breathless youth, no more than sixteen or seventeen years old, careen around the final corner of the staircase, pause briefly at the open threshold to offer hasty respects, and practically leap halfway across the room.

"Lord Kisaragi, I bring spectacular news!" The boy's words were strained with exertion; he had come from some distance away, racing as fast as his legs would carry him.

"You are a scout, that I can tell," Godo remarked off-handedly, not bothering to ask his name. "Who commands you?"

"Commander Kaizen of the Lower Western Province, Lord Kisaragi."

"Kaizen…I see. Tell me, then, scout…what is your spectacular news?"

"Commander Kaizen has just formulated an ingenious plan to route over half of Shinra's main SOLDIER contingent, and…!"

"…I suggest that plan go no further than his mind."

His enthusiasm was crushed; the boy bobbled back in surprise. "Lord Kisaragi?"

"Kaizen is not to deviate one iota from the set plans. The formation and strategy he was given will stand, unless he wishes to lose even more of his men than he has to."

"But…his plan is foolproof, Lord Kisaragi," the boy insisted, "and I haven't even explained it yet. I don't understand why…"

"Nothing is foolproof when it involves Shinra!" Godo barked. "Especially now with their devil-child of a general making fools of all of us!"

The bewildered scout was at a loss for words.

"He has wreaked more havoc in his short time here than the whole army has since this war began! Mighty Wutai is being trounced by the wiles of a hell-born, Company-bred child, and I am tired of it!"

"Then…forgive me, Lord, but do you have something in mind already?"

Godo fixed his gaze on a simple gold pedestal nearby; a single, fiery orb lay upon it. The pale sunlight gave it an eerie, sanguine aura. Without anything being said, the scout knew exactly what that materia was…and had a gnawing suspicion he knew what was to be done with it.

"I will summon Leviathan."

Exactly the words he didn't want to hear.

"Lord Kisaragi!" The blood drained from the youth's face. "You…you can't be serious!"

"Oh, I am quite serious." He wasn't even angry that his decision had just been questioned; no, that decision had been too hard-won, and he couldn't allow even a split second of indecision or distraction to sway him.

"But Lord Kisaragi…that will kill many of our own forces as well! You would be willing to…"

"…Sacrifice their lives? Yes. I would rather sacrifice their lives so those left can live in a free Wutai, then not and let us all live in a defeated Wutai." Godo turned away to look out over the Shinra-riddled plains below, his expression grim. "It was not a decision made on a whim, and if the gods require that I spend my afterlife paying for the lives lost under Leviathan's swell, then so be it, for in this life I will not allow those vermin to infest my country without a valiant fight."

"Summoning Leviathan isn't valiant, Lord!"

"I do what I must!" The Wutaian lord glanced over his shoulder at the mortified scout. "Let anyone think of it what they will; I will not simply sit here and watch while they overrun my Wutai! It is high time that demon child of a leader they have be crushed."

"Why was he not stopped before?" the youth pleaded, his voice thin and plaintive. "Could…could Leviathan have not been summoned at a more opportune time, when there weren't so many Shinobi in its path? What about that SOL…"

"Enough." Godo slowly drew the crimson materia from its pedestal. "I will summon the Sea Lord tomorrow at dawn, when the Shinra dogs attack. And no one is to know about this, for I will not have my Shinobi displaying any cowardice in the face of death before me or one of their gods. You will, however, inform Commander Kaizen that he is not to deviate from the original plans. Is that clear?"

The dumbstruck youth mumbled an affirmative, bowed numbly, and backed out of the chamber. "Lord Kisaragi…doesn't have the right to abuse the Sea Lord's power like that…not for the sake of one particular man's death," he mused, plodding back down the stairs. "It's…sacrilege. And killing many Shinobi in the process…even if it is for Wutai's future…"

He lingered at the next floor, staring a long moment at the magnificent Wutaian crest emblazoned on one of the otherwise immaculate walls. He finally heaved a great sigh and continued, this time at a much quicker pace.

"A thousand extra prayers are not even enough to redeem this situation," he murmured, hastening with each step he took. "Not even close."

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The next day's gray, storm-threatened dawn found the foremost plains of Wutai awash in blue and red, colors which, as those clad in them hoped, would soon prove fatal for the nation. Waves of tight, painstakingly arranged SOLDIER and trooper formations stood poised to sweep over the matched and waiting Shinobi ranks that stood as the last barrier to their capital. The tension was tangible; many rifles and blades on either side warmed in impatient hands.

Shinra's general stood at their front lines, observing and scrutinizing, one ebon-gloved hand draped idly over the hilt of the great katana sheathed at his hip. His First Lieutenant was at his side, double-checking the functionality of his sturdy, well-used rifle. Occasionally he'd bark at some nearby overzealous trooper to pipe down and keep in line.

Navy and crimson clashing with drab and black…

Sephiroth's viridescent eyes, not yet stoked with the heat of battle-fired Mako, raked over the whole of the field, envisioning the impending clash. Everything was so precise -- the plans, the formations…even the order of retreat, if it came to that. The SOLDIERs and troopers were all as ready as they could possibly be, whether they understood the magnitude of their duty or not. The Shinobi even seemed amply prepared.

Something, just…something was amiss, though. What really bothered him about that, however, wasn't the idea that something was out of place, but the idea that the last time he'd felt anything of this sort was the time Burkell ended up trying to kill him. While having the premonition itself was fine, this was a bad place and time to be having it. Burkell's murder attempt was one thing -- a single, vengeful man with a gun, but here…there were massed Shinobi, all of them vengeful, purposeful, and most wielding more than a mere gun.

She laughed -- a soft, amused, almost…pleasant…sound this time.

He scowled.

Cressmore presently joined them, a sturdy cobalt Buster Sword strapped across his back. He appeared as enthusiastic as any of the young, battle-hungry…naïve…troopers that stood in perfect, albeit restless, formation around him. Surprisingly, the Mako in his system already had his cerulean eyes set ablaze.

"Y'know, of all the weapons you could have specialized in, I never did understand why you chose one of those big bastards," Reyburn chuckled, raising the rifle for one last check on its balance. "You have got to be the last person anyone would expect to see with one of those."

Sephiroth glanced at the Major out of the corner of his eye, seeing the glint of the smoky-blue blade and reminded of how magnificently the Lieutenant General's Diamond Buster Sword had shattered. He absently wondered how easily this one would do the same.

(…And why would I care?)

"You're not the first to tell me that," Cressmore replied, his gaze drifting to the General. "The blade isn't as strong as the Lieutenant General's, and I'm nowhere as good as he is, but I can get the job done."

(You had better, because you're getting this materia back after this fight, whether you like it or not.)

"If you're half as good with that as you are with your meetings, I imagine you're quite a force to be reckoned with," Sephiroth remarked, resuming his perusal of the field.

That only garnered a good-humored chuckle out of the Major, but Reyburn let loose with a deep, genuine laugh. "Heh…he's got you there, Cressmore!"

"He certainly does." The blonde sobered; it wasn't hard to detect the faint animosity in the General's tone…not that he particularly blamed him for it. After all, what he had done with the materia should have been enough to earn him a dishonorable discharge from the military.

"Well, Sir," he continued, exhaling sharply, "I just got word from the last unit commander, and everything's in place." He paused, watching Reyburn lower his rifle and straighten to his full height. "Should we proceed?"

Without a moment's pause, Sephiroth wordlessly drew the Masamune and raised it high; even in the absence of sunlight, the great blade shone with a hue the faint silver-blue of moonlight.

The sword, as it had been for some time now, was all the signal the SOLDIERs and troopers needed.

Cressmore brought his Buster Sword to bear.

The Masamune dropped from the troops' sight, and their ebon and silver General walked forward, toward the waiting Shinobi…and the red and blue swell marched after him.

The Shinobi advanced.

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Godo, in full battle regalia, once again stood on the uppermost floor of the pagoda. He watched with increasing aggravation as the Company's foremost wave broke against the matched Shinobi. The crimson summon materia burned in his white-knuckled fist.

He heard the thunder of guns, the screeching and clanging of blades, the shouts and cries of friend and foe alike. Shinra's forces did not immediately plow through their opposition -- not yet, and they likely wouldn't, either.

Not until that thrice-damned general of theirs really got involved. Then a swath would be cut through the Wutaian ranks as if a cannon shot had ripped through them. And now, that swath would lead straight to the capital gates.

"A last resort," Godo murmured. "A tactic I had hoped would never need come to fruition. A tactic that does not bode well…for anyone here." A deep scowl, a scowl set in pure hatred, hardened his solemn features. "But Shinra and their devil child must be spared no mercy. My country hasn't yet been poisoned by them, and if my…no, our…faith in the gods holds fast…it never will be."

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One after another, Shinobi fell to the methodical dance of the Masamune.

The General, even knowing no Shinobi here could match his skill, pressed through them with careful and calculating focus. To his left, Cressmore struck down foes with a surprisingly well-handled Buster Sword, the force of the stout blade's strikes belying its wielder's svelte frame. At his right, Reyburn picked his opponents off from a distance, directing his rifle at whatever Shinobi he could get an open shot at.

And all around him his own men were cut down, shot…stolen from life with whatever weapons the Wutaians had. The continuous report of rifles formed a rolling, sonorous cacophony, punctuated by cries of death and battle fervor; blades sang and squealed, their melody interrupted only when they met flesh.

Mako ran hot in Sephiroth's veins. The Masamune felt weightless in his grasp. Despite all the Wutaians who had met their end at the great katana's merciless edge, very little blood stained the blade.

It was as if the sword -- or perhaps the one who wielded it -- was killing on sheer will alone.

Through it all, though, Sephiroth still heard her. That grating, derisive voice…ironically, she seemed most subdued when he was fighting, apparently content to linger at the edge of his consciousness and laugh quietly while Mako and battle sense took hold. But she was always there, always irritating and uninvited…even now.

However, this time…she may have been laughing a little louder.

But he was too intent on the task at hand to notice or care.

Sephiroth parried a charging Shinobi, bobbing out of his way and thrusting the Masamune through him as he stumbled past. He withdrew the blade as deftly as it had been driven in, snapping into a lunging silver arc in the same motion and mowing down four opponents at once. An identical backhanded motion slew the four behind them.

Some raw instinct…instinct he wasn't fully aware of, caught him up when he heard a zealous, perilously close shout. The blade still in a one-handed grip, he drove the katana back, angled to where he'd heard the cry.

The impulse had seized him for a mere heartbeat, and now released him…and it was in that second heartbeat he knew he'd made a grave mistake…even as he felt the blade drive deep into flesh.

It was no Shinobi he'd just run through.

Sephiroth pulled the Masamune free, swatted aside a trio of charging Wutaians, and whirled to face the lone victim.

Cressmore, his cerulean eyes already glassy, the expression on his face a bizarre fog of pain and bewilderment, gazed up at him. Only a tear in the fabric of his uniform marked the wound; there was no crimson blossom adorning it. The blade had found his belly, and as abrupt as the strike had been, must have run him clear through.

They both knew, in that instant, that he wasn't going back to Midgar alive.

The blonde managed to say something, and though the sound was lost in the din, Sephiroth saw him form the words.

"Sir, what…why? I…thought we…could be…"

Cressmore's Buster Sword hit the ground with a subdued, almost mournful, thunk.

He joined it not a second later…dead as the Wutaian body he collapsed upon.

A strange, burning chill, acidic yet numbing, flooded Sephiroth's body -- a feeling not unlike the aftereffects of an obscene dose of Mako.

(…He…thought…it was intentional…)

The raging battle around him seemed to plunge into silence.

(…Was it…?)

The only thing he heard, in the furthest depths of his mind…was malicious female laughter.

You lost that time, Sephiroth!

(…You!) His fury was so blinding, so consuming, it was all he could do to even muster such a basic retort.

You wanted to kill him, Sephiroth! You wanted him dead and out of the way just like you did that officer in Midgar! The naïve little fool really believed you killed him in self-defense!

(Don't even…!)

Rage had pushed him beyond its own threshold; even the split-second pang he'd felt when he saw the Major fall was faded from memory. He couldn't even begin to rationalize anything -- not her, not Cressmore, not even his own intentions. He couldn't truly place a name on everything he was feeling.

(What…in the hell…have I…)

Sudden cries of disbelief pulled him back to the battle…to reality.

Something in the air tingled.

Keeping an almost unconscious vigilance against the still-attacking Shinobi, he looked toward the Wutaian capital.

A liquid crystal sphere shimmered to life in the sky above the field.

The energy, the insistent, escalating humming in the air…was Leviathan.

"Son of a bitch! After all this time, now he summons the bastard!" Reyburn continued unloading the rifle into whatever Shinobi he could.

(His own people…he doesn't even care who he takes out.)

The Masamune no longer sang; it screamed, fueled by its wielder's sudden, irrepressible wrath.

(Too bad I won't be among those he does.)

"Reyburn!" he bellowed, lashing into a trio of hapless Shinobi.

The brunette, standing not ten feet away and firing rounds as fast as the rifle would let him, glanced over at him. "Sir, this is some bad shit! We gotta get the hell out of here!"

"Get Cressmore and go!"

Reyburn didn't need any elaboration to know the blonde wasn't going back on his own. "Damn it all!" He dropped the now-spent rifle and in the same motion, grabbed a fresh one from a fallen SOLDIER nearby. "The one time out of how many he comes out here, and some asshole Shinobi kills him!"

Harsh female laughter grated in Sephiroth's skull. …Told you…!

(Damn you to every hell there is!)

Reyburn closed the short gap between them, knelt, and swept the blonde's body up in his free arm. He heard unit commanders and practically every other authority out here screaming for retreat, but most of the troops were well ahead of their superiors' orders, and had started out for the nearest high ground. He even noticed some of the Shinobi, clearly in a panic, running along with them, but most, apparently accepting their inevitable deaths as some significant part in a grand divine plan, fought on, either against those SOLDIERs who wouldn't accept retreat or taking their fleeing foes down with well-aimed shuriken, blades, bullets, and whatever else they had handy to throw.

"Damn it all," he hissed, joining in the en masse exodus, watching for his superior's furious and fatal sword dance to slow, for him to follow his troops.

Much to his dismay, however, he only watched as Sephiroth advanced through the sweeping melee, seemingly mindless that they were on the brink of mass annihilation. "Sir! Where the hell are you going?"

"I'm going to end this war, First Lieutenant!" he shouted over his shoulder. "I've had enough of this!"

Reyburn's heart skipped a beat. "What? Holy shit, Sir, you're not fast enough to get out of that thing's path running straight for it, and there's no way in hell you can take the brunt of that!"

The Masamune howled; Sephiroth's steps toward the well-guarded capital hastened. "No one or nothing in this country is going to defeat me, Reyburn! And that includes their petty, fabricated gods!"

"Damn it, Sir, you can't do this! It's suicide!"

"It's still just a summon creature, and it's going to take more than that to stop me."

"Sir…!"

"There's no time, Reyburn! Take Cressmore and retreat with the others. That is an order!"

Painfully aware of the General's willfulness and knowing full well no amount of his protesting was going to stop him, Reyburn resigned himself to keeping his mouth shut about his superior's actions and doing as he was ordered. "…For Shiva's sake, Sir, be careful!" he called after him, shifting Cressmore over his shoulder so he could still effectively fire the rifle if need be.

He got no response…but then, he hadn't really expected one. He watched Sephiroth disappear into the surging, chaotic fray, anger and…concern…clenching his jaw. "Damn it, all this time…am I gonna lose both of them in one damn fight?"

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The crystal sphere shattered. In its place, its scintillating serpentine form half-coiled, hovered the Sea Lord. Its diaphanous fins fluttered lazily in the now-chilled air; its tail twitched, cobra-like. It regarded the fleeing humans below with the disinterest one would expect from a summon creature...a Wutaian god.

In the blink of an eye, that disinterest changed to a glare of pure domination. Its crimson eyes lit with rage only something of its own ilk could comprehend. It fairly radiated with raw elemental energy.

Sephiroth broke free of the retreating mess of Company men and Shinobi, his blade now held idle, for no one remained in his way. Everything he had -- the immense amount of Mako surging through his blood, adrenaline, sheer will, enmity toward…everything -- was focused on a swiftness he knew he had never before managed, but was now accomplishing with barely a conscious thought.

Leviathan's great gossamer fins snapped; its azure body writhed. The air around it began to ripple with a cold, aqueous shimmer. Searing scarlet eyes swept over the scrambling masses below…and focused on a lone black and silver form running the opposite way as all the rest.

Its powerful maw yawned wide in a shrill, haunting howl. An angry blue torrent of water rose behind it, rolling and roaring into an aquatic wall, reaching heights well above the earth it was about to engulf.

The Masamune clenched in one painfully tight fist, Sephiroth glared up defiantly at the enraged serpent, his eyes hot with a feral verdant glow. Mako, and some intangible swell of strength within him, had pushed him even beyond recognition of his own motion and speed. The massive tidal wave barring his path, the wave that would overwhelm him in a matter of seconds…meant as little to him as the summoned serpent who'd conjured it.

(Scream at me, you bastard. Go ahead. Do what you must, but this ends right…damn…now!)

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A/N: Oh hey, wasn't that fun? I gave you a cliffhanger and everything. ;o)

In regards to why the last update was so freakishly long in coming…let's just say it was primarily due to an evil, evil college/work schedule and the fact that pretty much all of my creativity was funneled into said schedule. I wouldn't make you wait that long on purpose, 'cause that's just plain mean.