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Was this it?
He was in the Lifestream once more, and this time it would surely be his end. It would wear at him until he gave in to it, chipping away at his edges until there was nothing left of “Sephiroth.”
He wanted to fight it. He refused to give up like this. But things were more bleak now than they had ever been. It had taken him so long, cost him so much of himself to bring about the Geostigma, to ensure it would spread to Cloud, to bring himself back to life through that worthless remnant.
It was pathetic, really—how quickly Cloud had cut him down, how he’d ruined his plans before they had even begun.
But there was nothing left of Mother. No more J-cells, and if the planet had her way, soon there would be no more S-cells either, except for what Cloud carried in his veins.
So Sephiroth dove into the flow of the Lifestream. There was no longer a place for him in the living world. There would be no more chances.
He moved through it, fighting against its current as he searched for anything that would help him. He refused to give in and let himself be carried off into a future in which he would cease to exist. Perhaps if he went far enough back, he could find Mother again.
But Sephiroth found something even better. The Lifestream made up all of the Planet’s memories. While it was true that there were no more J-cells for him to latch onto in the future, the same could not be said for the past.
Perhaps he would get his second chance after all.
Sephiroth opened his eyes, and everything was wrong.
He was wrong—small and weak and pathetic. Mother’s power no longer flowed through his veins.
He looked down at himself, at his surroundings, and he did not like what he found. His limbs were too short, his fingers stubby, and his hair barely brushed against his shoulders. He had not meant to go this far back.
But no matter. What he truly wanted was to find Cloud, to punish him for ruining everything, for killing him thrice over, for dooming him to the planet’s mercy.
With the knowledge he held now, he knew that at his current approximate age, he would still be held in the labs in Nibelheim. And sure enough, looking around him revealed the sad state of living he had been forced to endure throughout his childhood.
It was shameful, really, that he had put up with it for so long. He had been weak then, still believing himself to be human, that he was on the same level as those pathetic lifeforms that infested the planet.
A knock came at his door, and he stood up from where he had been huddled in the corner. It was more than likely that his bed had been taken away for bad behavior; it would be a few years yet until he had learned the harsh lesson that compliance was mandatory for his continued existence.
He did not recognize the woman on the other side of the door. And why should he? All of humanity was the same; they all blurred together into the same few indistinct shapes, all of their lives meaningless.
Well, all but one.
Wordlessly, he trailed behind the lab assistant as she led him to the operating room. For now, his obedience was necessary. He did not want to deal with any potential stragglers.
As a child and even into his adulthood he had feared Hojo. But now, as he approached him, such a fear was laughable to a god. Even in this weakened form, it would be child’s play to eliminate him.
“Bring the boy here,” came his sniveling voice, and it was perhaps the only time in Sephiroth’s existence that he felt excitement upon seeing him.
He allowed himself to be guided onto the metal table, but before he could be forced into the restraints, he lunged for a nearby rolling cart and grabbed at the first scalpel he found.
Before any of the vermin could react, he was throwing himself bodily at Hojo. Even at half the man’s size, his strength was more than enough to bring him to the ground.
He didn’t give Hojo the time to speak his last poisonous words before he descended upon him with the scalpel. He was going to make this hurt.
The scalpel cut cleanly through the soft flesh of Hojo’s cheek. He pulled it out and then plunged it back into his face, over and over again, reveling in the gurgling noises Hojo made as he choked on his own blood. He kept stabbing his face until there was nothing left but an unidentifiable mess of red, until the blade of the scalpel snapped off inside of Hojo’s eye socket.
Finally satisfied that the man had gotten what he deserved, Sephiroth climbed off of him and turned to the lab technician, who was frozen with fear in the corner of the room.
He leapt at her like a rabid Nibel wolf, and tore her throat out just the same.
There would be few staff in the manor, he knew, but he still would have to take care of them all if he wanted to go and find Cloud.
He hunted down the remaining lab technicians and Shinra troopers, cackling with glee as their blood spilled across his face and hands. He didn’t even mind when it got in his hair.
When it was over, he left the Shinra mansion behind. It was time he headed into Nibelheim.
It was easier than he’d expected it would be to find Cloud. It almost seemed like his puppet had come to him, even if he knew that couldn’t be the case.
Cloud was playing by himself in the woods that surrounded the mansion, looking especially sad. Who other than himself had dared to put such an expression on Cloud’s face? Only he could make him suffer.
He looked older than he should have been. Sephiroth estimated himself to be around nine years old. Cloud should have been little more than a toddler, yet here he was, approximately seven years old and with all of the ferocity of his adult self.
He was cursing to himself, swinging a stick around as if it were a sword. It was rather pitiable; his form was atrocious.
Sephiroth was almost upon him when Cloud snapped his head up to meet his eyes. It was uncanny, almost as if he had known he was there, impossible as that was.
Cloud was supposed to react in fear. He was supposed to take in his blood-stained image and cry and scream for his mother. Instead, when Cloud mentioned his mother, it was for another reason entirely.
“Are you okay? What happened? Come with me, my mama will help you!” Came his tiny voice. Cloud, too, was wrong.
Before Sephiroth could scoff at the notion of needing help, before he could show Cloud why he should be feared, a tiny hand was wrapped around his wrist.
Cloud’s grip was stronger than it should have been, and Sephiroth was so caught off guard by it that he allowed himself to be dragged through the woods and to the Strifes’ crude excuse of a home.
He meant to threaten Cloud, to torment him and mold him into his puppet through his pain and suffering.
Instead, he found himself brought in front of one Claudia Strife, the woman fussing over him and looking for injuries she would not find. All the while, Cloud refused to let go of the tight grip he had on his hand.
The woman was kind. Sephiroth wanted to spit insults at her, but he was so shocked by this sequence of events that he couldn’t find the words. She grabbed for a rag and a bucket of warm water, and slowly began to wash the blood away from his skin. Was this what a mother’s love was supposed to feel like? It was all wrong.
When Claudia discovered that there were no wounds, that the blood was most certainly not his, her face hardened. In contrast, little Cloud seemed overjoyed that he was okay.
He expected Claudia to chase him away. To know of his crimes and banish him from her home. Strangely, he found himself hoping she would not.
Claudia looked down at him then, but it did not feel condescending, not the way that most adults did. She looked at him as if she could see him, as if she knew he was older than he appeared. He respected that. Her expression softened when their eyes met, and Sephiroth didn’t know what to do with the words that she offered him, “You can stay here. I don’t have much, but it’s safe and warm. You won’t have to protect yourself any longer. Me and Cloud will take care of you.”
Somehow, Sephiroth had found himself in the most surreal situation in all of his lives.
Even worse, he did not want to deny her offer, insulting as it was. He was worn ragged, this weak body likely in shock. He could always abandon them later.
Little Cloud started jumping up and down, still tugging on his hand, begging him to stay. He was telling him about all of the things they could do together, how he would share his books and toys, how they could play wolves in the woods.
Sephiroth found himself agreeing. If anything, it could prove to be amusing. He would have unrestricted access to Cloud, and all of the time in the world to spend with him, to mold him into what he was meant to be.
It was a few nights later, and his situation felt no less surreal.
Cloud was jumping up and down on the bed that he happily shared with Sephiroth, beckoning him to come over and jump with him. Sephiroth did not do that.
Claudia had told them to settle in for bed, and besides, Sephiroth had little patience for this young Cloud’s antics. He simply stared at him with a look on his face that terrified grown men, but still, Cloud did not react. However, he did finally calm down, ceasing his jumping and screeching. It was only when he patted the mattress beside him that Sephiroth finally deigned to join him.
“Ya know, I really like your hair. It’s so cool! You should grow it out more so we can match!” Cloud giggled as he began petting at Sephiroth’s hair. He hadn’t even asked to touch him, and Sephiroth felt his eye twitch before he pulled away in disgust. How dare Cloud touch him with those grubby hands of his?
Sephiroth found himself tempted to cut off Cloud’s dreadful ponytail in the night, but he did not want to deal with the fit that he knew Cloud would surely throw if he did so.
“...Okay,” he said instead. He would grow his hair out to its former glory, and Cloud would realize that his own hair could never hope to compare with Sephiroth’s and would cut it off all on his own.
They laid down, and Sephiroth turned off the light, ignoring Cloud’s whining about wanting the nightlight to be on. He would not tolerate weakness in his puppet.
He found himself batting Cloud’s hands away from his hair until eventually, they both fell asleep.
Exactly three months and two days had passed since Sephiroth had found himself in the Strife home. He still wasn’t sure why he had stayed for so long.
At times, he found himself contemplating what had become of his life. But Cloud, eager and energetic child he was, did not give him time to think about much.
His hair had begun to grow out. Vaguely, he recalled that Hojo had always insisted on keeping it cut short. It wasn’t until he’d been deployed to Wutai that he’d been able to do whatever he pleased with it, and by the time he had returned from the war, his hair had become too iconic for even Hojo to touch it.
It was a bit past his shoulders now, and was always pulled back in a ponytail identical to Cloud’s. Cloud, of course, was very pleased that they “matched.” Sephiroth maintained, at least to himself, that they very much did not. Cloud’s ponytail was pathetic, really, and there was no comparison between the two of them.
He still hadn’t begun to enact his revenge on Cloud. He told himself, more and more often, that he had all the time in the world to do so. What did it matter if he dallied here? Besides, his revenge would taste even sweeter once Cloud was older, as he was currently too young and stupid to understand Sephiroth’s grand machinations.
For now, he was playing along with Cloud’s whims. Today, Cloud wanted to go to the corner store and procure some sweets. Claudia had pressed a few gil into Sephiroth’s hands that morning, knowing to trust him with the responsibility over her own son, as Cloud had lost things too many times to count.
Sephiroth did not understand Cloud’s fixation on sweets, but admittedly, he saw the appeal. He had never had such a thing in his first life, and supposed that the occasional indulgence couldn’t hurt.
Cloud had his hand clutched tightly in his own, dragging him through the town square despite the fact that Sephiroth was so much stronger, so much larger than him. He only allowed it because if he resisted, he would likely break the delicate bones in Cloud’s wrist. Even worse, Cloud might pout at him, and the less said about that, the better.
Suddenly, Cloud ground to a halt, and Sephiroth almost slammed into his back. He looked up, ready to assess a potential threat, unsure of why Cloud had stopped so suddenly.
Ah. Cloud was not the only child in Nibelheim, after all, though Sephiroth couldn’t say he had had the displeasure of interacting with the other children very often.
Cloud had told him (many, many times) that the other children did not like him, that he didn’t know why or what he’d done wrong, though Sephiroth could hazard a guess. Small towns were insular and cruel, after all, and for as kind to him as Claudia had been, there was no father in the Strife household.
Before Sephiroth had arrived, Cloud hadn’t had any friends at all. It was why he had found him playing alone in the woods that fateful day, why Cloud had latched onto him so readily. He was sure he could use this to his advantage later, to make Cloud cling to him even more as the only thing in his life that mattered.
But for now, they were faced with the children, and Sephiroth knew that it was not only adults who could be cruel.
“Hey freak!” One of them shouted. He was bigger than Cloud, and almost as tall as Sephiroth, who was in the top percentile for height at his current age. The boy was likely older than them both, around eleven or twelve years old. Even worse, then, that he had chosen to target Cloud.
Sephiroth’s rage burned bright within him. He hadn’t felt this angry since he’d met Mother all that time ago, since he’d burned this very town to the ground. Maybe he would have to do so again, to make sure the lesson truly sunk in this time. After all, only he could be cruel to Cloud. How dare this child, this fool, attempt to mock Cloud, to make him feel smaller than he already was?
Before he could step forward and bring about his divine retribution, one of the other boys opened up his ugly mouth, “Yeah, what’s wrong with you? You look so freaky. Are you a monster?”
It was then that Sephiroth realized that the children were referring to him, not Cloud. His anger faded, and he let their remarks roll off of his back. The words of petty mortals did not matter to him.
However, it did not seem that Cloud agreed. Sephiroth looked at his puffed up cheeks, watched him square his shoulders and stand tall. That determination, that strength, even though he was but a child—there was a glimpse there of the man that Cloud would someday become, and Sephiroth was so distracted by it that he didn’t see it coming when the first boy punched him.
It startled a laugh out of him. He laughed and laughed, savoring the way the children began to back away at the sound of it. It was clear that they could tell that something was wrong with him. Was that supposed to have hurt him? Pathetic, truly.
However, when his laughter did not stop, the children grew angry once more. They would have done well to remember their fear, but Sephiroth knew all too well how anger overpowered other feelings. They were surely upset that he was laughing, that he wasn’t crying the way that Cloud would have. But he was not an easy target for their torment like Cloud was.
In truth, they were lucky that they had gone after him and not Cloud, for their punishment would have been much worse if they had. Sephiroth would have prolonged their torment, would have made them suffer.
He was still going to kill them for their insolence, however.
Before he could so much as take a step forward, Cloud jumped in and yanked at his arm. Sephiroth tore his gaze away from the older children and found that tears were welling up in the corners of Cloud’s eyes. Was he… afraid?
When Cloud tried to drag him away, Sephiroth did not protest. He allowed Cloud to run away, to pull him along, even though it would have taken no effort to stop him. Cloud was no match for his strength, in this life and the last.
They reached the woods, and even then, Cloud did not stop. He ran and ran until finally Sephiroth planted his feet and brought them both to a stop, concerned that Cloud would overexert himself and lose consciousness. Sephiroth would have to work on his endurance; he would have to begin training him in earnest soon if he ever wanted Cloud to be his equal again.
Sephiroth laid a hand on Cloud’s heaving back, rubbing at it until he calmed down. When Cloud finally looked up at him, there were still tears in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over.
Beautiful as the sight would be, Sephiroth did not want to see Cloud cry.
Unfortunately, nothing could stop Cloud Strife, not even him. Cloud began to cry, and then came the babbling, the “I’m scared” and “I got worried” and the “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
…What? Had Sephiroth heard him correctly?
Cloud continued to babble, going on and on about how scared he was that the older boy—apparently his name was Johnny—would hurt Sephiroth, that he’d take his friend away.
Sephiroth wanted to tell him that that was ridiculous, for surely Cloud knew his strength. But he could not. His mouth would not obey him. It hung open limply, his mind trying and failing to process the fact that Cloud was not crying for himself, but for Sephiroth.
Suddenly, Cloud pulled him into a hug, and Sephiroth’s mind went blank. This was not the first time that Cloud had hugged him, even though Sephiroth repeatedly told him not to. Why was it that this felt so different? Why did this hug make him feel as if he’d been hit with a paralysis spell?
Cloud did not have any materia, surely. And Sephiroth was naturally immune to most status effects…
He struggled to collect himself, to say something, to make this strange feeling go away. He could feel the weight of the gil Claudia had given him in his pocket, and his mind latched onto that. He was speaking without conscious thought, not fully aware of what he was saying until he said it, “What about the sweets?”
Cloud finally pulled away, but even then, Sephiroth was not given relief. Instead, Cloud stared up into his eyes, that blue gaze of his burning with a ferocity befitting his older self. This was the Cloud that met him in battle, the Cloud that fought for the fate of the world. But the world was not in peril, so what was it that this Cloud could possibly be fighting for?
“Screw the sweets,” Cloud growled out. He sounded almost bitter, and for someone so small, so innocent, it did not suit him. Cloud closed his eyes, and when he looked back up at Sephiroth, they were softer, watery. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. That was scary.”
This time, when Cloud hugged Sephiroth, he was not caught off guard, at least not as much. No, this time it was Cloud’s words that were affecting him deeply. He wasn’t sure what to do with his declaration, with the knowledge that Cloud had been scared for him.
He wasn’t sure how long they spent like that. At some point, Sephiroth returned Cloud’s embrace, wrapping his arms around his tiny, trembling body. Neither of them said a word, Sephiroth because he had no words for the situation he’d found himself in, and Cloud because he seemed content simply knowing that they were safe.
Eventually, Cloud pulled away, but he kept ahold of Sephiroth’s hand, clinging to him like a lifeline. When he suggested they go home, Sephiroth made no protest. He let Cloud drag him through the woods, hopeless to do anything but follow Cloud wherever he chose to lead him.
It had been around a year since Sephiroth had sent himself to the past. Ten months, twelve days, and three hours, to be exact.
Claudia had insisted on enrolling him in the local hovel they called a school, no matter how much Sephiroth told her that it was unnecessary. Even at this age, his intelligence far surpassed that of every adult in Nibelheim. There was nothing that they could hope to teach him that he did not already know, especially considering the local school was rather… lacking.
But that was not the case for Cloud. Really, it was only for his sake that Sephiroth put up with the farce of attending school. Cloud needed to go to school, to learn, even if he deserved better than this small-minded town could ever offer him. And if Sephiroth refused to attend school, then Cloud, ever eager to follow in his footsteps, would surely do the same.
And that would not do.
While Sephiroth would not suffer any consequences if he engaged in truancy, the same could not be said for Cloud. So, begrudgingly, Sephiroth became a dutiful student, if only to ensure that Cloud would one day be able to become his equal. He answered all of Cloud’s questions, and often found himself redoing Cloud’s lessons, as his teacher was often incorrect or failed to explain things in a way that made sense to little Cloud.
He also, inevitably, ended up helping Cloud with his homework, but only because it would be embarrassing to be associated with him if he remained stupid. No, if Cloud was to become worthy of being his equal, then it would not do for him to lack intelligence. Even the mind was something that needed training.
It was September, which meant that the school year had started earlier that month. Cloud was settling in nicely—he was in the third grade, now, having recently turned eight years old—though he still did not get along with the other children. Secretly, Sephiroth was glad. With every rejection Cloud faced, he clung to him harder. It was only natural that he was Cloud’s only friend, that he was his everything.
It was becoming somewhat of a habit for Sephiroth to indulge Cloud when he asked to play outside after school. It was hard to say no to him, especially when he knew that the weather would soon take a turn for the worse, making it unsafe for Cloud to explore the nearby mountains.
For now, he never denied Cloud when he asked to climb Mt. Nibel, and today was no exception.
He always warned Cloud to be careful, to stay behind him and not wander off on his own. Cloud mostly listened, but he was young and independent and foolishly eager to impress Sephiroth, so of course there were times in which he disobeyed Sephiroth’s orders.
Nothing had come of it beyond a few scoldings. Not until today.
Sephiroth had taken his eyes off of Cloud, confident that he was following behind him as they approached the caves that would lead them to the mako spring deep in the mountain. It was Cloud’s favorite place to spend time, and they’d wordlessly agreed that that was where they would go today.
It wasn’t until he heard Cloud’s cry of, “Sephiroth, look!” that he realized his error.
Cloud had scaled his way up a rock face so sheer it may as well have been a cliff. It would have been impressive, were his handholds not so precarious.
Panic raced through Sephiroth. He ran toward the cliff, ready to start climbing his way up to Cloud, but for the first time in this life, his speed and strength were not enough.
With a strangled cry, Cloud’s hand slipped, and he tumbled down the rock wall, landing in a heap on the path. Sephiroth was on him in an instant, frantically assessing him for any injuries. He had fallen from a height of around ten feet, and Sephiroth knew all too well that with Cloud’s size and lack of enhancements, such a fall could be deadly.
Somehow, miraculously, Cloud was fine other than a long gash on his left forearm. Already, tears were gathering in the corners of his eyes, but Sephiroth did not pity him.
As soon as he realized that Cloud was alright, his worry was replaced with burning anger.
Sephiroth grabbed Cloud by his bloodied arm, his grip tight on the scrawny limb, barely holding himself back from crushing bone.
Normally, he would take care to keep his voice level, to ensure it did not bely who he truly was on the inside, lest he scare Cloud. But now he took no such precaution. This was the voice of Shinra’s general, of Jenova’s son, of a god disciplining his follower, “Are you proud of yourself? Look at what you’ve done. Such foolishness, such stupidity—are you so eager to throw away your life? I have done nothing but protect you, and this is how you repay me?”
Cloud was trembling in his hold, his tears had begun to spill over, and still, Sephiroth did not feel pity for him. This was what Cloud had wrought upon himself. This was the consequence of his careless actions.
His anger was so intense that he was trembling now. Caught up as he was in the strength of his emotions, he did not realize at first when his hand began to emit a soft, green glow.
Cloud’s breathing started to hitch and he looked away from him. Sephiroth found himself following that teary gaze. He looked on as Cloud’s wound began to knit itself shut, the bleeding slowing to a trickle and then stopping.
It would seem that in the height of his anger, he had pulled on his innate ability for casting without materia and used a Cure spell on Cloud.
For a moment, he was stunned into silence.
But not even the gravity of what it meant soothed his anger. He had still told Cloud to be careful, and he had still defied him. He had betrayed him.
When he spoke again, his anger no longer burned with heat. Instead it was the biting cold of a Nibel winter, his voice low and calm in contrast to the way that he’d nearly yelled just moments before, “How dare you defy me? How dare you allow yourself to be hurt? You are mine, Cloud. Your life belongs to me. I will not tolerate this behavior, and I will not see you injured ever again.”
Instead of continuing to cry, or begging for forgiveness the way he was meant to, Cloud wiped at his tears and beamed at him. His smile was wide and bright, like the sun during the spring thaw, and Sephiroth was left utterly baffled. Cloud’s words were simple, but they struck him like a Thundaga, “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”
Leave it to Cloud to surprise him even now.
But Sephiroth was not done. He had more to say, even if it felt half-hearted by this point. His anger had faded, and the worry that he’d covered it with had eased. But Cloud still needed it to be impressed upon him that this incident was not to be repeated.
To Cloud’s credit, he took his verbal lashing dutifully. And when he finally said all that he had to say, Cloud surprised him yet again and pulled him into a fierce hug.
Suddenly, Sephiroth had no more words.
“No need to be so upset, Seph. I’m always gonna be here with you. Come on, let’s go home. We can see the mako spring another day.”
When Cloud pulled away from their embrace, it was all Sephiroth could do to keep from clinging to him. It was his turn to follow, now, as Cloud began to lead the way back down the mountain, back toward home.
He refused to take his eyes off of Cloud, his worry still lingering no matter how hard he attempted to shake it away. If he hadn’t been focused on Cloud as intently as he was, he might not have heard the words he uttered under his breath, “At least you didn’t throw a building at me this time.”
What.
“What did you say?” He croaked out, not even beginning to comprehend the possible implication of Cloud’s words.
With a suddenness that startled the both of them, Cloud tore off down the path, kicking up dust in his wake. He shrieked in panic, calling out to Sephiroth, “I think I hear ma calling us for dinner! Last one home is a rotten egg!”
Enhanced as his hearing was, Sephiroth was sure that he would have heard Claudia had she called for them.
However, even though he knew that he vastly outclassed Cloud when it came to speed, he chased after him, after the answers he surely held. And also, secretly, because he did not want to be a rotten egg.