sinnatious

Title: Unsynced, Chapter 11

Summary: FF7. Someone in ShinRa HR mixed up assignments, and Kunsel gets sent to Nibelheim instead of Zack.

Author’s Note: Realised that anonymous commenting was disabled on Dreamwidth. I've turned that off now, will see how it goes, hasn't been any spam yet luckily. This concludes the first 'act' of this fic.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5

Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10

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Chapter 11

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Genesis watched, impassive, as the Second Class lost his battle against the materia and slumped to the ground, unconscious. For a moment he thought Strife reacted to it, his fingers twitching, but he was certain it had been his imagination, and he had not the time to spare a second glance.

They were still hidden here, but they would not be for long.

Genesis spread his wing wide, and took to the sky. The air stung his face – brisk, with the promise of rain. Clouds had been gathering over the grasslands since the morning, and now cast a grey pall over the normally vibrant green plains.

He twisted midair, folding his wing in close as he plummeted back to the ground. They would notice him soon enough, if they hadn’t already. But a grand entrance made all the difference.

The troopers recoiled at the blast of air above the heads, instinctively stepping back as Genesis landed before them. A safe distance, beyond easy range of their weaponry, but close enough to talk.

“Zack Fair.” Genesis couldn’t help but let the smirk rise on his lips. “It’s been a while.”

The SOLDIER General stepped forward, the troops making way for him. “I knew it,” Zack growled. “Genesis.”

Genesis took a bow. “In the flesh. So glad you remember me.”

“How dare you?!” The rage there was near animalistic – enough to give Genesis pause. “You killed Cissnei!”

“Cissnei?” The name rung no bells.

“You don’t even remember? How many Turks have you killed that you can’t even recall it?” He practically snarled the word, pulling Angeal’s Buster Sword from his back. “Why must you take everyone from me?”

Back on Mideel. “I killed a Turk,” Kunsel had said.

Genesis understood, now, how precisely Zack Fair had come to be here.

“And what of it?” He spread his arms wide, daring, acutely aware of the clicking of dozens of guns being primed. They were hardly his concern, however, given the man in front of him. “What did you expect me to do, Zack Fair? How naïve can you be? Did you think your Turk friend was meeting me for drinks?”

“Don’t you dare turn this into a joke!” Hate burned in those mako blue eyes. Zack Fair had changed.

“I assure you the only farce here is yours.” Genesis shook his head. “Angeal would be disappointed in you.” The words were barbed, calculated to hurt, but rang with truth. “Look at what you’ve become. The puppy has grown into nothing more than ShinRa’s dog.”

“That’s rich, coming from you!” he hissed. “You’re nothing but a monster!”

“He is guided by hope that the gift will bring bliss
And the oath that he swore to his friends,” Genesis recited. He fed the thinnest thread of energy into his materia, red glowing lines curling along his sword. “You may think whatever you wish of me, Zack Fair, but I have found my purpose-” He raised the blade, settling into stance “-and my redemption.”

“Your purpose ends here,” Zack said. “This is for everyone you’ve killed!” He dashed forward, Buster Sword bared.

Even prepared, Genesis struggled to block the strike, stepping back to bear its weight. Sparks flew from his sword, the air reverberating from the force of the clash.

Zack spun, and struck, and struck again. Genesis matched him blow for blow, an old familiar dance he had performed with Angeal many a time. He fed more magic into his rapier, until its edge shone faintly with light, and instead of sparks his sword trailed embers.

It was a fool’s approach. Surrounding them stood dozens of infantry, along with heavy artillery, none which could act with their General engaged in combat.

The same was not true in reverse.

With their blades locked in parry, Genesis withdrew one hand, summoning an orb of white-hot flame. Zack leapt back, already prepared to evade. The fireball sailed past him and crashed into the mounted artillery. Troopers scattered, shouting warnings mere moments before it exploded.

Zack stumbled under the force of the blast, shielding himself with his sword as debris rained over them. He stared at the carnage in dumb shock, pulling back around barely in time to block Genesis’s follow-up strike. “You- Your fight is with me!” he spat.

“Poor puppy,” Genesis sneered. “You have such an overinflated view of yourself. So consumed with your petty revenge that you’ve forgotten there’s such a thing as collateral damage?”

“Petty?” he sputtered. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?!”

Then Genesis had no more chance to cast another spell, as Zack turned into a whirlwind of fury and metal. Genesis spun and blocked and parried, with a focus he’d not needed since Sephiroth, and it was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

“You took everyone from me!” He accentuated every word with a swipe of his sword.

“Is that what your Turk friends whispered in your ears?” Genesis mocked, breathless from exertion despite himself. He pushed away from another block, flapping his wing to gain distance, feeding more energy into his materia. Zack charged after him as Genesis rained a hundred tiny fireballs across the field, dodging the red-hot projectiles with ease. They clashed again, swords ringing with the impact, and struggled against each other, each angling for the upper hand. “That’s right,” Genesis said, leaning in as he pushed his advantage. “I killed the great General Sephiroth. I killed your Turk friend. What are you going to do about it, SOLDIER First Class Zack Fair?”

With a wordless roar, Zack shoved him away. Genesis twisted from a wild swipe of the Buster, and a handful of black feathers fluttered to the ground, cut from his wing. Alarmed, he sought to leap back, but the blows came impossibly fast – afterimages of Sephiroth danced before his eyes. Genesis staggered back under them, unable to regain his footing.

It had been too long. He was far too out of practice. And even then… Zack Fair had become too strong.

Another impossibly powerful swing knocked his rapier askew, sending Genesis stumbling. And before he could right himself, the Buster Sword tore into his side.

Genesis choked. Fumbled, grasping for the blade, even as Zack wrenched it free.

His oldest friend’s sword, painted now with his oldest friend’s blood.

His vision blurred, and he sank to his knees despite himself. Zack struck again, the blade biting deep into his shoulder. Again, renting his wing in half. It hit the ground, broken and useless, feathers clumped with blood.

The pain hadn’t had the chance to register. Maybe wouldn’t. Some distant, foggy part of his brain analysed the troops remaining, guns still pointed towards him, ready to fire should their precious General falter. His body was going into shock. His breath came wet and ragged, his vision bleeding into grey.

“You’ve lost, Genesis. They’ll finally see justice,” Zack said, chest heaving and eyes wild. The words sounded echoed, as though shouted down a tunnel. “For all of your talk, it wasn’t even that hard in the end.”

A faint, thready chucked gurgled in his throat. Genesis summoned the very last shreds of his reserves, pooling it into his Fire materia.

“Such is…” he rasped. “The fate of a monster.”

The field exploded in flame.

………………

Kunsel woke to raindrops falling on his face.

Frantic, he sat up. Cloud sat slumped next to him.

The grasslands were strangely silent.

They were alone.

Kunsel rolled to his feet, scrambling out of the shallow gulley, boots slipping on the wet grass and mud. He was driven by a mad instinct, a need to see, to confirm.

There’d been a fight, but it was clearly already over. He kept his hand on his sword as he approached the battlefield, gaze roving the carnage restlessly. Flames still flickered around the wreckage of a vehicle, hissing and sputtering in the rain. Charred patches of bloodstained grass sent curls of smoke into the air. A handful of troopers remained strewn on the ground, bodies eerily still.

Had Genesis…?

That was when, among them, he caught sight of a familiar red coat.

“Genesis!” He stumbled over to the body.

Even as he dropped to his knees though, he could tell - already dead. The wounds as unmistakeable as they were grotesque, crevasses in his flesh, his black wing in torn and broken pieces on the ground. A Buster Sword. Thin rivers of blood still trailed from his body, washing away in the rain. Yet his face looked strangely peaceful, as though he were sleeping.

“You idiot,” Kunsel muttered, slamming his fist against the bloodstained ground. “Why would you do that?”

Genesis had only just got his life back. Why would he throw it away now? To protect them? That didn’t make any sense!

“We could have fought together. We could have spoken to Zack-”

Except Kunsel had no idea how that might have turned out. If Zack hadn’t been swayed by Kunsel… could they have won that fight, even with two of them?

He would never know, now.

Why had Zack killed him?

Kunsel bent his head, the enormity of the question too much to bear. Genesis had been… he hadn’t appreciated it, not until the very end, but he’d been an ally, a friend, in a world so set against them. At some point he’d transitioned from jailer to comrade and Kunsel hadn’t even realised it until faced with this sudden void.

His gaze fell on the crimson rapier lying half-buried in the mud by the fallen SOLDIER’s side. It had been a unique blade, forged specifically for extensive use with magic. Genesis’s trademark, once upon a time. Its hilt set with a mastered Fire materia, glowing faintly dark green.

His fingers closed around it. It still felt warm to the touch, the last of its wielder’s energies clinging to it.

“I’ll get your revenge for you,” Kunsel promised. “ShinRa… will burn.”

He rose to his feet, suddenly unbearably weary as he stared out over the wreckage. Genesis had some small measure of it already, it seemed – he’d evidently been determined to take out as many of them as he could with him. He’d succeeded, enough that ShinRa had retreated to lick their wounds rather than collect their dead and scour the surrounding area for any other possible fugitives.

ShinRa would not stay away long, however. The Turks would come pick over the battlefield, searching for clues, for confirmation. For trophies.

He could do nothing more for Genesis now than to ensure his remains kept their dignity. Grimly, he searched the fallen SOLDIER’s pockets, retrieving the last of his materia, his gil, his oculars, anything that might be useful. He left his well-worn copy of Loveless, settling it on Genesis’s chest, clasping his stiffening fingers around it. Then with a solemn thought, he cast the spell, letting the fire the SOLDIER had so skilfully wielded in life consume him in death.

Kunsel watched the flames blankly, feeding the materia until only ashes and motes of green light remained. Then he lowered the rapier and turned to leave, refusing to look back. Cloud would be waiting.

Silence once more dogged his footsteps.

He returned to the gully, slipping down the shallow embankment easily. The sodden earth would leave tracks – he would have to move quickly, in hopes that the trail would wash away rather than be preserved in dried mud. Kunsel slipped the rapier into his belt, alongside his broadsword, robotically reaching for the pack he’d dropped when they first took cover.

Halfway to picking it up, he paused.

Cloud was staring at him, head raised.

It was the first time in the months where those bright blue eyes had focused on him with anything resembling clarity. Was it just happenstance? The rain? His imagination?

Tentatively – desperately – he asked, “Cloud?”

The blond’s mouth worked for a moment, and then he croaked, "...Kun…sel?"

It was hoarse, and sounded painful.

Kunsel thought it might be best sound he'd ever heard.

"Shiva! Cloud, you’re…”

He slumped to the ground next to him. Choked laughter turning to sobs as they sat in the cold rain.

“Kunsel…” the word was still a weak, thready thing. “What’s… wrong?”

Kunsel couldn’t bring himself to reply.

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