Part Nine

“Seph,” Tiphareth said as she removed her right glove, “what do you suppose this number means?”

Sephiroth shed his own glove and looked at the black number one tattooed on the back of his right hand. It contrasted sharply with his pale skin. “I wish I knew Tiph. I hope we find out someday.” Tiphareth nodded slowly, more than aware that searching in vain for answers that must be waited for patiently would only cause her unneeded stress and strife. Little did they know what changes would be brought to their lives when those answer they so hoped to find would finally reveal themselves.

Some years passed, we find Sephiroth and Tiphareth adults, according to their ages; their mannerisms and personalities having been equivalent to far beyond childhood and adolescence for quite a long expanse of time. With Sephiroth 22 and Tiphareth 19, their training completed, they had risen to positions of top-ranking co-generals of SOLDIER. Their powers and levels of strength could not be rivaled by any other than themselves, their genetics providing them with amazing, virtually alien abilities, so above and beyond the capacities of normal human beings. They both suspected, deep in the backs of their minds, that they were different from everyone else, more than merely human somehow, but that concept frightened them, for after all, if they were in fact not human, then what were they? For their own peace of mind, they rarely discussed it, though in quiet times, not distracted by war or other SOLDIER functions, their unanswered questions plagued and assaulted them, and they thought of nothing else. Sephiroth always slightly more passionate in his worrying, however.

Tiphareth found herself much revered, looked upon as a hero of sorts, so respected was she for her position, given her sex and age, taking for granted her extraordinary talents as a fighter. Never had a woman risen to such a rank in SOLDIER. The fame served to alienate her, she depended greatly on Sephiroth for his companionship, cold though he was, even around her, though it was to much less of a degree when she and no one else was there. True that in her presence he allowed himself to relax, as much as he was able, still, Tiphareth sensed that he held something back. He was always so cautious, his rare playful moods coming less and less the older he grew. She saw how life wore on him so, and worried for his peace of mind. He was too serious for his own well being, Tiphareth saw that clearly, and tried her best to soothe and calm him whenever he would accept it from her.

Part Ten

Tiphareth and Sephiroth were, in short, perfectly suited for war. For a near three year period, their lives revolved around it. Their training had successfully instilled into them a passion for combat, and there were none better at it than the two of them to be found. The both of them were near gods in battle, cutting the enemy down with a frighteningly minuscule amount of effort. Their sheer unharnessed power gave them an incredibly unfair advantage over mere human beings, and the combination of Mako and Jenova cells instilled into them brought the equivalent of immortality; they could take any wounds, and neither feel nor care. While battling, they were untouchable, and acted as if without conscience, slaughtering without second thought, for that is what their orders were, seek out the enemy, and destroy. They reveled in the bloodshed, and saw beauty in battle; the show of strength and endurance gave them a satisfaction that was beyond measure. During times of war, they had little opportunity to obsess over their unknown origins, their minds busy strategizing their next move. The oncoming attack was planned carefully, meticulously out in their minds, and always, Sephiroth and Tiphareth swept down upon the enemy with an unexpected vengeance and ruthlessness, they foresaw the advances, and measures taken by the foe, and planned their own accordingly, like a gruesome game of chess. Engineered to kill they surely were, and did nothing short of excelling at it, and society revered them for it.

Somewhat disturbing this all may appear to the reader, onlooker of her tale. Tiphareth unknowingly carried out the dirty desires of ShinRa, at her partner’s side, the whole while, the truths of their beginnings unknown, and buried. Soon, however, all of that would change. Chance brought the two of them to Nibelheim, to investigate a malfunctioning Mako reactor, and reports of various creatures in the area. Such were their usual orders now, since the wars had all been fought and won. In times of peace, ironically, things within the private world of Tiphareth and her partner were less peaceful than times of war, because now their thoughts had time to wander, and always drifted back to their unknown beginnings, sooner or later in their ponderings. Upon entering the Nibelheim reactor, Sephiroth and Tiphareth were stunned to find an alien creature, surrounded by pods, containing humans being subjected to the living entity, named Jenova. This startled the two of them, for they had been told their mother was named Jenova. Tiphareth secluded herself on her obelisk, to meditate and try to sort things out in her mind, and made a grave mistake in doing so, for Sephiroth was left alone, and was less than able to handle the horrific knowledge that he was soon to uncover about himself and his partner. His unanswered questions gnawing at his consciousness with such a passion, he could do naught but lock himself in the basement of ShinRa Mansion, the secret library of professor Ghast, who had worked with Hojo, years before. He poured over every book there, reading with a feverish lust to discover whatever pearls of knowledge the books and notes of experiments had to offer him concerning his origin. He did nothing but read for hours, leaning up against a wall and moving only to turn the pages and lay finished books aside and reach for a new volume. The hours stretched into days, reading at a voracious pace. He soaked up nearly every written word that was to be found before coming across what he was looking to find. Finally, his search was rewarded, he found the book he sought, and when he had finished reading it in it’s entirety, the novel fell to the ground from his shaking hands. He had come to conclude, from pouring over the information logged in the book, that Jenova, his mother, was an ancient, member of a race that had inhabited the planet prior to humans, that had been all but completely annihilated by a curse from the sky centuries before. He believed that his relation to the ancient made him heir to the planet, and the shock of discovering that he was the result of an experiment, and that his mother had been used in such a way, drove him insane. He was sickened to learn that he himself, as well as Tiphareth, was the artificial production resulting from a demented scientific project, and his rage with the human race, which he believed he was not a part of, was enough to demolish his sanity. His years of being fed lies and manipulated came back to haunt ShinRa, indeed they had created the ultimate soldier, when they created Sephiroth, but they neglected his metal health.

Tiphareth returned to find her partner greatly changed. She read his visible and internal struggle to remain calm as he softly spoke, explaining all he had discovered down to the barest, most gruesome detail. She stared at his slightly trembling hand, holding so tightly to the hilt of his sword that the knuckles were white in their desperate clench. She was, as could be expected, nearly as devastated as he by the news, but managed to retain her grasp of sanity, and worried as to what she had arrived too late to stop. She gently pried his fingers from the hilt of Masamune and set it on the ground, tossing her own aside as well and stepping close to half hug, and half cling to her partner, seeking as much comfort as she was hoping to deal him in return. She was at a loss to what could possibly be said, and only pleaded silently that he not shut her out now. “What will you do..?” she questioned him quietly, after he’d held her for a disappointingly too short period of time and then moved away. He readily divulged his plan to her, and as he finished she was astounded by the frightening finality she heard clearly in his tone, though the words were anything but what one would expect from someone still in possession of all their wits. ‘Too late... I came too late, the damage has already been done,’ her defeated thoughts, as the glowing twins dimmed and flit to the Mansion’s floor.

He did his best to entice her into joining his mad quest for vengeance. “We must take back what is ours, and make them pay for what they have done, Tiph.” His haunted eyes implored hers, though possessed with a hint of madness that almost caused her to choke when it registered.

She fell into a similar mind set for a time, a hateful snarl taking over her features, though she had been trying valiantly to remain composed and collected. But this was just too much for anyone to bear. “I know who the first to pay should be.” She spat the hated name of him fated to become their first specific victim, her voice endlessly cold and cruel. He had been behind all of this, and had this coming for quite some time. “Hojo.”

Night had long since fallen when the two soldiers stepped out of the ShinRa Mansion and into the sleeping town of Nibelheim. Looking for all the world like twin messengers of death, their faces endlessly stern, postures stoic and determined, resolute, countenances reeking of rage that they didn’t care to disguise any longer. Wordlessly they strode to the town square and gazed about, both pairs of alien oculars burning brightly in the darkness that had come to mirror a similar tenebrousness that had crept up to consume their minds. The Mako eyes were not the only thing fated to burn that night. The innocent town took on a metaphorical role in their view, the villagers obliviously aslumber in their beds symbolic of an entire race of traitors which Sephiroth and Tiphareth looked upon with an unspeakable contempt and disdain. Furiously chanting the most powerful fire spell they knew, they called purification in the form of flickering flames down from the sky, Mako enhanced eyes now dancing with sick delight as the quaint little town began to burn. The fire roared and leapt from one rooftop to the next, consuming everything it touched. A matter of seconds and the previously peaceful air was shattered with terrified screams of the town’s members, waking to flame licking at the sides of their beds, and the crackle of smoldering timber above their heads. Still unmoving in the center of the square, the chaos served to milk their lust for vengeance, and they drew blades silently to meet the first few angry townspeople, felling them with hardly a visible effort. They left death and a smoldering macabre in their wake, and as soon as there were none left to slay, the soldiers turned and disappeared into the blazing backdrop of conflagration, their strong silhouettes melting into the undulating, pulsing hues of ferocious crimson, topaz and saffron. Venting rage with the world can be therapeutic depending on how a person goes about doing it, but I wouldn’t suggest walking headfirst into fire personally unless of course, you too have momentarily lost your grip on sanity.