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Vincent woke up, unsure what startled him from his sleep, until he heard a raucous man’s laugh from outside his room. There were people in the manor. In the basement. How strange.
Initially, he decided to ignore them, certain they would leave soon enough. The laughing man was talking to someone, Vincent quickly realized. Their voices continued creeping closer to the door to his room.
"These monsters are a piece of cake! We’ll have the town saved in no time,” said the boisterous man.
There was a quieter voice, from what sounded like a young child, responding, “These aren’t from the Dark Army, though…”
“Huh? How can you tell?”
A third voice, that of another young man piped up, stern and irritated. “Glenn. Those were sahagins. The Dark Army has been full of Dorky Faces.”
“Sahagins have pretty dorky faces,” the first man, Glenn, argued.
Vincent was positive he should ignore this group and continue sleeping. He shut his eyes against the dark interior of his coffin. He could be patient. Glenn, on the other hand, already sounded like he didn’t know the meaning of the word.
The handle on the door to the room rattled. “Huh? Hey, this one’s locked,” Glenn observed, the door banging in its frame as he tried to unlock it by force.
“Let’s try the one down the hall,” the sterner, wiser man suggested.
“No way!” Glenn denied, even if the rattling ceased. “They probably locked the best stuff away in here, right? I’ll get it open, just you wait!”
Vincent thought of the items still sitting out in the room, from the last time he decided to leave his coffin. His cloak was draped over the solitary chair. There was an unhung candelabra sitting on the table. There were jars. Books.
The only thing worth stealing might be his gun, stashed safely inside a chest, but surely they could find a better firearm elsewhere—
A deafening crash made Vincent flinch, and certain that Glenn had somehow managed to smash the door down.
His suspicions were confirmed when he heard a crow of delight from Glenn. “Hell yeah, first try! What did I tell you?”
“Oh—” the child uttered, entering. “This room…”
Galian Beast reacted, the creature rumbling warily in the back of Vincent’s mind. Primed to fight. Suspicious.
“A coffin?” observed the stern man, immediately making Vincent wish he picked a more inconspicuous location for his atonement. Though, in Vincent’s defense, he wasn’t exactly expecting a random group of rabble rousers breaking and entering, especially not all the way down in Shinra’s secret lab.
“Hey, look at this!” Glenn said, and there was a rustle of cloth as he undoubtedly picked up Vincent’s cloak. “I bet this would work.”
Damn, Vincent thought, hoping they wouldn’t use it as evidence that someone living was still here. If he remained quiet, acted as the corpse he should have been, perhaps they would leave him alone.
“Here, put it on,” Glenn demanded.
“I don’t think it will fit me,” the stern man protested.
“Sure it will! A badass like you should have a cool cape, don’t you think?”
There was a sigh, possibly of resignation. Then another flutter of cloth. The clinking of metal as the belts on the cloak hit each other.
“Oh, it looks good!”
The child in their party remained silent, though Vincent could hear him padding softly around the room, nearing the coffin like he was drawn to it. The nearer the boy approached, the more Galian wanted to bare its fangs. Then the boy halted, asking, “What do you think this is?”
An ordinary corpse, Vincent wanted to tell him, keeping himself as silent and still as possible, despite the beasts brooding in his blood.
“Hmm,” Glenn pondered, his footsteps heavy as he meandered closer, to inspect the coffin. “Fancy. Looks like something a vampire might sleep in,” he laughed.
“We should probably leave it alone,” said the sterner man. “Unless you’d like to pick your costume off a corpse.”
Costume? Vincent wondered.
“Not like whoever’s in here is using it!” Glenn joked, and then Vincent heard him put his hands on the coffin lid.
So, corpse was a no-go.
Scaring the man shitless would have to do. Before Glenn could lift the lid so much as an inch, Vincent growled, “Who dares disturb my slumber?!”
“What the hell—?!” Glenn yelped, the lid slipping out of his grasp.
Vincent launched it off of his coffin, and then quickly flipped himself upright. He landed perfectly straight, towering over the flabbergasted, would-be graverobber. Glowering, Vincent stared him down, intent on looking as menacing as possible.
Glenn looked as animated as he sounded, his blue eyes wide with shock, and his jaw slack with disbelief. He was muscular, Vincent noted—Wide set shoulders and tall, with a giant, makeshift ax strapped to his back. Despite his obvious status as the muscle of the group, Glenn was every bit as intimidated as Vincent hoped, spluttering, “V-V-Vampire?!”
Vincent heard a sword being drawn from its sheath, and he turned his gaze to the rest of the party. The child was dressed only in what he would expect from a local of the area—a simple shirt, pants, and a hat. The other, though—
“Who are you?” asked the owner of the stern voice, who looked far younger than Vincent estimated. Silver hair fell to his jaw, which was set in a firm, determined line. He held a katana in front of him, the defensive pose clearly learned from disciplined training. The armor and leather the young man wore seemed reminiscent of a uniform, and Vincent immediately assessed that this boy, despite his age, was a far larger threat.
The uniformed boy was also, unfortunately, not intimidated.
“You will tell me your names, first,” Vincent demanded, scowling, a little worried his act wouldn’t hold up when the boy with the sword didn’t so much as flinch. “You are the intruders, after all.”
“...Oh,” Glenn laughed self-consciously. “Yeah, I guess we are, huh?” He eased up, intimidation wearing off sooner than Vincent would have liked, shooting the supposed vampire a big grin. “Name’s Glenn,” he introduced himself brightly, despite Vincent’s expression of contempt. Then he gestured to the boy with the sword. “That’s Sephiroth.”
Sephiroth.
Vincent’s heart sank to his stomach, heavy as a stone, as Lucrecia’s desperate pleas for her son rang in his ears.
“This is, uh…” Glenn began, his eyes on the child standing just behind Sephiroth. Hesitant, Glenn scratched the back of his head. “...did we ever get your name, kid?”
The child wasn’t paying attention to Glenn, though, studying Vincent with a wary stare. “What are you doing in a coffin? Are you a monster too?”
Vincent leveled his gaze to the child’s, Galian’s rumble roiling in his gut. Wasn’t that a question. More importantly, though, his eyes were drawn back to Sephiroth, and he hoped against hope that he was wrong. That the name, although rare, was somehow common enough now for this boy to be an entirely different person. That it was a trick of the light that Vincent saw Lucrecia’s face in his. That the slope of Sephiroth’s jaw, the line of his nose, the pale freckles along his cheeks, were just a coincidental match.
“We’ve answered your question,” Sephiroth stated, with the flat intensity of a jaded veteran. “Answer ours.”
“I…” Vincent started, knowing he shouldn’t. He should be making them leave. Be done with it. Should assume the boy with the sword is just that, and nothing more, even though he knew Sephiroth’s face would haunt him for decades to come. “...you’re with Shinra?” Vincent guessed, more gently, his gut twisting to see Sephiroth grown, geared up for battle, for the Company that ruined his life before it could even begin.
“Yeah, SOLDIER,” Glenn proclaimed proudly.
SOLDIER was a hell of a program to send Sephiroth through. Vincent’s brow furrowed, uncertain why Hojo would subject the boy to such treatment. The original project mentioned nothing of the sort. At least, not to Vincent’s knowledge. But, as he pondered, he saw Sephiroth shift his grip with more intent—growing impatient, as the silence carried on.
Vincent was damned, as ever, no matter what he did.
“My name is Vincent Valentine,” he admitted quietly, unsurprised when the name drew no reaction from any of them.
“Nice to meet ya,” Glenn grinned. “Vincent Valentine, vampire. Got it.”
“I’m not a vampire,” Vincent stated, noting that Sephiroth was still on guard, but his sword lowered as Vincent continued in a more reasonable manner. “You said you’re with SOLDIER,” Vincent repeated, a spike of concern in his chest as he wondered if Hojo finally ordered someone to come finish him off. “Are you here on a mission?”
“Yeah!” Glenn said excitedly, too much so for Vincent to believe him.
“...we’re not here in an official capacity,” Sephiroth amended, directing an annoyed look at Glenn. “We’re only resolving a local problem so we can return to our original assignment.”
Glenn only laughed at Sephiroth’s expression. “Relax, relax. We’ll find a way back! We just gotta find the big boss monster, beat it up, and take its Portal materia.”
“Portal?” Vincent questioned, not following the plan in the slightest.
“We were stationed elsewhere,” Sephiroth helpfully explained. “A portal wound up in our base of operations, and someone,” he glared at Glenn outright, finally lowering his sword completely, “decided to go through it without taking precautions.”
“It’s fine,” Glenn insisted, waving it off. “I’ve got our fearless leader with me, don’t I?”
Sephiroth scowled. “Only because I came to retrieve you.”
Vincent scowled, too, but more so at how Sephiroth, still barely even a teenager from the look of him, was, in fact, the team leader. He was too young for that. Much too hardened already. Galian latched onto Vincent’s distress, feeding off of it, wanting to find something, someone he could bite, and rip, and tear—
—and the child they brought with them watched him with a curious glint in his eyes, that neither Vincent nor Galian liked in the slightest.
“What are you doing down here, Vincent?” Sephiroth asked.
“Sleeping, duh,” Glenn supplied with a scoff. He frowned at Sephiroth in an almost pitying manner. “Didn’t they ever teach you about vampires?”
“Again, I am not a vampire,” Vincent asserted.
“...so, what were you doing in that coffin?” Glenn countered, rounding on Vincent with his hands on his hips.
Vincent bit back a defeated sigh as he admitted, “...sleeping.”
“Aha!” Glenn pointed at him triumphantly.
“Glenn, that’s enough,” Sephiroth, thankfully, chastised.
Glenn looked put out, pouting for a moment, before addressing Vincent again. “So, you’re not part of the Dark Army?”
“Dark Army…” Vincent echoed, frowning at the man, the phrase ringing the tiniest of bells. A children’s tale. A holiday, where people dressed as monsters to trick an army of real beasts. And then, he recalled Sephiroth mentioning costumes. “You’re talking about the Autumn Harvest? The children’s fairytale?”
“That’s a no,” Glenn determined, crossing his arms disappointedly. “Damn. Was kinda hoping you were the big boss.”
“The Dark Army is real!” the child piped up, emboldened enough to step forward, toward the coffin. “There are monsters hiding in the village, wearing costumes!”
Vincent looked confusedly at Sephiroth, who shrugged before explaining, “There are monsters among the villagers—We’ve been exterminating them as we find them. We came to find costumes to help us blend in with the populace.”
Sephiroth was too mature in his responses. In his body language. He was so straightforward, so eloquent, that Vincent was torn between pride and pain. He stifled it, clearing the emotions choking his throat. “I take it that’s why you’ve donned my cloak, then,” Vincent observed, nodding at the brilliant red cowl covering Sephiroth’s shoulders.
Sephiroth startled, the briefest expression of childish embarrassment flashing across his face, apparently having forgotten he was wearing it. He removed it immediately. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
Vincent shook his head, finally stepping down from the coffin onto the stone floor. “Never mind that,” he said, hating the way the apology clawed at the shattered remains of his heart. If this boy was truly that Sephiroth, then Vincent should be the one begging for forgiveness—
“So, if you’re not with the Dark Army, and you’re not a vampire,” Glenn commented, tilting his head to look at Vincent with a suspicious squint, “...who are you, Vincent?”
Vincent was hoping they would drop the matter, after enough run around, but no such luck. He could lie—but, on meeting Sephiroth’s serious gaze, Vincent felt his resolve crumble to join the dust on the floor. “I once worked for Shinra,” Vincent revealed. “...in the Department of Administrative Research.”
Both Glenn and Sephiroth snapped to attention at the name.
“You were a Turk?!” Glenn exclaimed.
“I hadn’t heard of any Turks going missing. How long ago was this?” Sephiroth questioned.
How old are you? Vincent wanted to ask, miserably, praying to gods he didn’t believe in that he was wrong about the boy’s parentage. “I’m uncertain, but I would assume it’s been well over a decade,” Vincent estimated, wishing he could say two. Or more. Enough for the thought of Sephiroth risking his life fighting monsters, being a SOLDIER team leader, to be even the slightest bit more palatable.
“Over a decade…?” Sephiroth repeated softly, his gaze dropping as he pondered over the words. Something occurred to him, Vincent was sure. Some connection. He was a bright boy, judging by how he carried himself. Sharp and quick as his sword.
Just like—
Vincent shut his eyes, briefly, in an effort to banish his own demons, knowing his attempts were futile. When he opened them again, he saw Glenn sidling up to him, to squint at him that much more suspiciously.
“I don’t buy it,” Glenn decided. “What’s an ex-Turk doing all the way out here?”
“Um,” the child interjected. “Can you help us fight the Dark Army?” he requested, looking pleadingly up at Vincent. “You guys work for the same place, right? Does that mean you can fight, too?”
Something about the boy made Galian want to snap his head off his neck, but Vincent restrained himself. “...I suppose I could,” he relented, telling himself he was only doing it to confirm whether Sephiroth was the same child of Vincent’s nightmares.
“Great! You got a weapon?” Glenn asked expectantly.
Wordlessly, Vincent walked over to the chest against the far wall. He knelt to open it, and then retrieved his gun. Holding it up for Glenn and Sephiroth to see, he asked wryly, “Will this suffice?”
“That should work,” the child at Sephiroth’s side said, and then looked up at the SOLDIERs again. “But, the two of you still need costumes…”
“There was another room down the hall,” Sephiroth noted. “We can check there.”
“The archive,” Vincent informed them. “I’m not sure why the former residents would have costumes, but there’s certainly plenty of odds and ends in the storage, there.”
“Perfect! Let’s go, team!” Glenn cheered, and then led the way out the door, the child racing after him.
Sephiroth seemed so nonplussed by the maneuver, quietly following suit, that Vincent couldn’t help but ask, “He’s always this…exuberant?”
There was the barest hint of a smile in Sephiroth’s voice, even if his face was obscured by the bangs framing it. “Exuberant is a word for it.”
The walk to the archive was a short one, and Glenn had already beelined for the deepest part, digging through boxes of books and table cloths and lab equipment. The child was with him, searching another box not far away. Vincent supposed he could also look, though he wasn’t sure what they were expecting to find. Unless, of course, Glenn planned to throw an old sheet over his head and call it a night.
Before Vincent could walk into the hall of bookshelves to join them, though, he heard Sephiroth speak up softly behind him, “Vincent?”
Vincent turned, and Sephiroth looked suddenly his proper age, unable to keep his fingers from fidgeting as he seemed to gather his nerves. “You said…you were with the Company over a decade ago, right?” he asked, his gaze lifting from the floor to meet Vincent’s, his eyes looking younger. Hopeful.
Throat too tight to speak, for fear of crushing that hope, Vincent nodded.
“Then—” Sephiroth started, his hand moving to a pocket on the inside of his leather coat. He pulled out a square of paper—a photograph, Vincent realized, as Sephiroth turned it so Vincent could see the image. “Have you ever met this woman?”
Lucrecia’s image smiled up at him, her expression relaxed and carefree in a way long since lost to the world.
The last, escapist dream that this boy was not the same baby Lucrecia begged to hold had been eradicated, with a solitary photo. Vincent couldn’t take his eyes off of it—off of her, so young, so beautiful, so naive. Not yet burdened by the weight of Vincent’s, and her own, multitude of sins. The photo was in his hand before Vincent even realized he reached for it, his thumb tracing the line of her cheek.
“She’s my mother,” Sephiroth clarified. “Her name is Jenova.”
Fury surged through Vincent’s veins, his eyes snapping back to Sephiroth in disbelief. “Jenova?” he hissed, appalled. The name of the creature Doctor Gast discovered. The name of the project. The bastards at Shinra took everything—took Lucrecia’s child, and couldn’t even be bothered to preserve her name—
But Sephiroth, ignorant to all of this, stiffened defensively at Vincent’s anger. “Yes,” he affirmed. “Do you—?”
“Sephiroth—” Vincent began, his anger bleeding away into despair as he looked at the boy. As he saw the worry. The fear. The rapid calculations of worst-case scenarios, to explain why someone would react so strongly to his mother’s name. Vincent deflated with a sigh, ashamed of himself. If he had done more—intervened properly—they wouldn’t be standing here like this. Sephiroth wouldn’t have such nonsense in his head.
Sephiroth might have even still had his mother.
“...this is your mother,” Vincent reaffirmed, seeing her expression of worry painstakingly clearly in Sephiroth’s face. “...but, who told you her name was Jenova? Who gave you this picture?”
Sephiroth was already bracing himself, making a good show of keeping it together, but with breathing too shallow to fool a Turk. The boy’s poor heart was probably racing with the implications. “Professor Hojo,” he answered.
Of course.
Vincent couldn’t stifle his own disgust at the mere mention of the professor. He tried to keep his voice gentle, and steady, despite the rage and grief and agony threatening to crack every word. “He lied to you,” he told Sephiroth. “Your mother’s name was Lucrecia Crescent.”
Sephiroth’s lips parted with surprise, but it couldn’t be much—he recovered rapidly, latching not onto Hojo’s falsehoods, but Vincent’s certainty. “You—You knew her? You knew my—?!”
“Hey!” Glenn called loudly, waving at both of them from down the hall. “You guys gonna come help, or what?”
Sephiroth glanced desperately between Glenn—his duties—and Vincent—his wants, at a loss. Fighting with himself. “I—”
Vincent handed the photo back to Sephiroth, and then carefully placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder to calm him. To ground him, and to finally, after so many years, intervene. “I’ll tell you everything I know,” Vincent assured him. “We can wrap up this business with the Dark Army, and then find time to talk.”
“...but I’ll have to go back,” Sephiroth protested, unable to mask the mounting anxiety in his voice. “I can’t stay here—”
“Sephiroth,” Vincent said firmly, drawing the boy’s attention again. “We will figure it out. If I have to travel to Midgar, or some mission in the middle of nowhere to find you, I will.”
The determination in his tone gave Sephiroth pause—enough to calm down, marginally. “...you will?” he asked, like he hadn’t remotely considered the possibility that Vincent would come to him, instead.
The reaction, the doubtful, dubious expression on the boy’s face made Vincent wonder just how long Sephiroth had to put in all the effort, alone. “I cared deeply for your mother,” Vincent said slowly. “Telling you about her is the very least I could do. Now,” he indicated the archive with a tilt of his head. “Shall we?”
Sephiroth was reluctant, but reassured, and nodded.
They made their way into the back of the archive, surrounded by books and boxes on all sides. Again, Vincent didn’t understand why they would think to look here for costumes.
Glenn grumbled as he continued to dig through the assorted paraphernalia, but perked up when he noticed the other two. “Oh, there you are. What were you guys doing? We’ve got costumes to find!”
“Vincent knew my mother,” Sephiroth explained, bypassing Glenn to search the other side of the room.
“Wh—Really?!” Glenn spluttered, looking quickly between Vincent and Sephiroth. Then he laughed, beaming at Sephiroth. “Wow, guess all that uncool asking around finally paid off!”
Sephiroth huffed quietly, Vincent catching the briefest, subdued smile on his lips.
Some sort of in-joke, Vincent supposed. “We were working for Shinra at the same time,” Vincent elaborated, keeping his own connections simple, unsure how willing Sephiroth would be to share these personal discoveries with Glenn. They seemed like they might be close, but Glenn was so casual with the whole group, it was difficult for Vincent to gauge.
“Oh, yeah, makes sense,” Glenn said absently, looking around the room. “...man, speaking of Shinra—Doesn’t this room remind you of the Shinra Building?”
The child looked pensive, and then asked, “What is Shinra, anyway?”
Vincent and Glenn stared at the boy, while Sephiroth seemed too preoccupied to have heard the question.
“You don’t know Shinra?!” Glenn blurted out, aghast. “You’re messing with me, right? The electric power company? The mako reactors?”
Sephiroth let out a sudden grunt of pain, and when Vincent looked he was alarmed to see Sephiroth was clutching his head, wobbling in place.
Glenn, who was standing closer, moved to Sephiroth’s side in an instant. “Sephiroth! You okay?!”
Sephiroth didn’t respond, worryingly, swaying again before he fell to one knee.
As another, stifled groan escaped his lips, Vincent searched the room for what might have caused such a reaction. There were only books, dust, and equipment. The child, Vincent noted, was observing Sephiroth’s agony with curiosity. Not concern.
It made Vincent’s blood boil.
“Hey! Stay with me!” Glenn urged, crouched by Sephiroth, his hand out for the worst-case but still hesitating as Sephiroth tried to pull himself together.
“Sorry,” Sephiroth grit out shakily. “I suddenly felt…uncomfortable. I’m fine, now,” he claimed, getting to his feet.
Glenn stood with him, immediately arguing, “No, you’re not! Take it easy, will ya? You don’t have to always push yourself just because you’re the leader. Learn to slack off once in a while.”
Vincent was grateful Glenn and Sephiroth at least had enough of a rapport for Glenn to call out the blatant lie. It wasn’t enough to put Vincent’s fretting at ease, though. Especially when he saw the odd, almost amused expression Sephiroth wore in response.
“No one’s ever said that to me before,” Sephiroth said, crossing his arms over his chest. “In fact, I’ve always been told the opposite.”
“More of Hojo’s lies, I take it,” Vincent interjected, unable to help himself. Judging by how quickly Sephiroth’s eyes flicked down to the floor, he guessed correctly.
When Sephiroth forlornly looked up again, he was overwhelmed with sudden alarm. “Behind you!” he warned, drawing his sword.
Vincent spun around, gun already in hand, sparing not a moment’s hesitation before he fired on the Dorky Face that managed to sneak silently behind him. The monster’s pumpkin-shaped head exploded, the ribbons remaining floating gently to the ground. A quick assessment of the hallway revealed there were no other monsters to worry about, for now.
“Damn, nice shot!” Glenn said, coming up to inspect the creature’s remains. “So, this is where they’ve been hiding.”
“Or perhaps I led them here,” Sephiroth countered. “They feed on negative emotions, don’t they?”
Negative emotions—and from the sound of it, referring to whatever episode Sephiroth just had. Yet, the young SOLDIER’s face was inscrutable when Vincent turned around, relaxed into a blank expression that would fool most people. Not an ex-Turk, though, who knew that feigned attempt at calm all too well.
“If that’s why they’re here, then there’s a good chance they’re here for me, too,” Glenn commented.
Vincent was fairly certain the words were meant jokingly, but he opted to carry on the sentiment, directing what he hoped was a comforting smile at Sephiroth. “In that case, it would seem we all drew the monsters here.”
Glenn snorted, amiably slapping a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. “Yeah, if anyone’s got negative energy for monsters to eat, it’s Mr. Not-a-Vampire.”
The antics brought a faint smile back to Sephiroth’s wan expression, before he went back to business. “Right,” Sephiroth said, “Now, let’s go look for those costumes.”
Miraculously, the pair found costumes that could fit, and the party left the manor. Vincent could see the celebrations were indeed in full swing, with lanterns and autumn décor lining the streets, as well as the many townsfolk dressed up like monsters. Glenn was apparently not entirely sold on his costume—his attire looked more like a vampire than Vincent’s, arguably, were it not for the carved pumpkin mask on his head. Sephiroth, meanwhile, wore a half mask over his nose and mouth, with feathers and horns to top off his monstrous ensemble.
Vincent, of course, needed no costume, only needing to flex the golden claws of his gauntlet to get that point across.
It was while Glenn was making jokes about Vincent’s regular clothes already being like a costume that Vincent spotted an odd, fiery ball of light coming from the center of town. “There’s something there,” Vincent pointed out to the others. With a quick nod from Sephiroth, the team headed directly for it, joining the crowd that came to stare.
“What the hell is that?” Glenn asked.
“I think you might’ve found their leader,” the boy, still without a costume, piped up.
“What, they think they’re some kind of superstar?” Glenn scoffed, eyeing at the veritable stage the ball of flame had created for itself. “Show-off.”
“I bet it’s gonna keep getting bigger and bigger, and when it bursts, their leader is gonna pop out,” the boy said.
Vincent frowned at the purple flames, floating in mid-air. He saw nothing that would indicate the boy’s observations. He didn’t have proof of otherwise, though, much to his chagrin.
Sephiroth, too, seemed uneasy, glancing surreptitiously from the boy to the ball of flames.
“Let’s get rid of its friends in the meantime,” Glenn suggested, drawing his ridiculously large weapon.
“Time to end this,” Sephiroth declared.
“You got it,” Glenn agreed, and then eagerly shouted, “Tussle or treat!”
The call rallied more monsters to the area, and Vincent drew his own weapon to shoot down the Dorky and Doltish Faces. With the three of them fighting, it took no time at all. Glenn was erratic in his fighting style, but strong. Sephiroth—
Sephiroth was terrifyingly powerful.
Lucrecia’s son tore through the monster ranks with precision. The only critique Vincent could even think to give was that the movements felt too precise—like Sephiroth was still in the stage of overthinking and perfecting his attacks before striking. Even then, it didn’t matter in the face of the boy’s raw power, and soon they were surrounded only by the fallen remains of their enemies.
What did they do to you? Vincent wondered mournfully, as he watched Sephiroth execute the last monster with practiced ease.
“Okay…” Glen sighed, his ax balanced on his shoulders as he regrouped. “We finished off most of them.”
“Look!” the child shouted, pointing at the now enormous fireball.
Vincent glowered at it, as Glenn spoke to the boy. Something wasn’t right. If the flames were really connected to the monsters, they shouldn’t be growing more powerful. More worryingly, the townsfolk were still hanging around close by, trying to make sense of the mysterious flames.
“We need to evacuate everyone,” Sephiroth pointed out.
Glenn, seemingly about to agree, suddenly startled. “What’s he doing?” he asked, peering between the shoulders of people in the crowd.
Vincent looked, and saw the boy they’d been helping slowly approaching the flames.
“Is he…” Sephiroth uttered quietly.
“Hey! Get back! It’s dangerous!” Glenn shouted, waving his hands and succeeding in getting the attention of some of the crowd.
As the boy stood directly beneath the ball of flame, calm as could be, Vincent withheld a groan at his own folly. Not a boy, but a monster. One that played them all night, and was now all the more powerful thanks to their efforts.
When their foe revealed its true form, a gigantic version of the Dorky Faces they fought, wearing a pointed hat, Glenn was taken aback. “Man,” he groaned. “That really was a great costume.”
Sephiroth was unsurprised, merely readying his own weapon again. “He knew a little too much. I had my suspicions.”
The monster taunted them—taunted Glenn, mostly, in a way Vincent didn’t care to pay attention to. After the creature rambled about its master plan, to assume leadership as the last monster standing, Vincent opened fire.
“Woah, hey!” Glenn exclaimed, taking a step back from Vincent. “We were talking—!”
“It’s a monster that monologues,” Vincent described flatly, looking for another opening as the enemy shook off his last attack.
“Don’t forget, we need its Portal materia,” Sephiroth noted, and then charged into the fray.
Together, they easily defeated the leader of the Dark Army.
It taunted them a final time, summoning a brilliantly blue portal behind itself, as though to escape. Sephiroth slashed it before it could, felling the monster once and for all. The magic portal remained, luckily, even as the monster dissipated.
Glenn waved cheerfully at the sparks of green as they disappeared, his voice lilting as he called, “Pumpkin kid! Hope you make some friends!”
“You’re being kind to a monster?” Sephiroth questioned.
“I’m nice to everyone,” Glenn huffed. “Because, as you know—”
“You’re a superhero,” Sephiroth finished for him, apparently having had this conversation already. “...And you don’t let anyone forget it.”
Glenn laughed, trailing off into a pained, “...Ouch.”
“I suppose that’s your portal back?” Vincent observed, eyeing the magic with curiosity. The spell was constantly shifting, pulling in on itself. He was no longer surprised the pair of SOLDIERs got themselves in trouble trying to investigate it.
“Yeah,” Glenn confirmed, only to mutter, “Those two are probably worried sick.”
Sephiroth hesitated, staring unhappily at the portal.
Before Vincent could say anything, Glenn interrupted, pointing at one of the food stalls down the road. “Hey, why don’t we grab some food before we go? I saw some tasty-looking pumpkin dishes on the way.”
“We don’t know how long the portal will stay open,” Sephiroth protested, albeit weakly, glancing at Vincent as if for cues.
“The food’s not gonna be here for long, either. At least, that’s what my gut’s telling me,” Glenn declared.
“We can observe the portal from over there,” Vinent added, not wanting to part ways so soon. It would be wiser to discuss how to find each other again, if they were truly heading back. He had to make sure Sephiroth wouldn’t simply go right back to Midgar and listen to more of Hojo’s damaging drivel.
Sephiroth looked at the stall, taking in the signs for chicken and various pumpkin-themed dishes. His hand drifted idly over his stomach, like he was trying to check if he was actually hungry, or not. “I suppose…I could use a bite.”
“See? So, come on!” Glenn goaded, walking forward, far too close to the portal as he did. “It’s time to feast!”
Just as the magic flared, starting to pull Glenn toward it, Vincent grabbed the man’s arm. He yanked Glenn back, out of range. “Don’t get too close,” Vincent scolded.
Glenn seemed surprised to have been dragged so easily, but he grinned good-naturedly. “Nice save, Vincent! You’re a pretty good guy!” He clapped Vincent on the shoulder and then strutted toward the stall, bringing Vincent with him. “You get something, too—My treat!”
Vincent didn’t have much of an appetite, but he didn’t have much of a say, either, as Glenn strong-armed him into chicken skewers and some sort of pumpkin-flavored smoothie. Vincent eyed both tiredly, letting Glenn choose a spot for them to eat. It was mostly Glenn that did the eating, while Vincent waited for Sephiroth—the boy was waiting patiently in line for pumpkin soup, glancing every so often at the portal.
“Hey, Vincent,” Glenn began, his voice quieter and so much more serious that Vincent almost thought it was a different person speaking to him. When Vincent turned to look at him, he found Glenn was watching Sephiroth. “You’re gonna tell him about his mom, right?”
Vincent frowned, wondering if Glenn knew something he didn’t. “Yes, I am.”
“And…then what?” Glenn asked, food forgotten as he focused on Vincent.
The behavior was confusing. And concerning. Vincent stared back at him, waiting for Glenn to elaborate.
The Turk trick worked like a charm, as Glenn impatiently fidgeted. “Look,” he muttered, keeping his voice low, like he was afraid Sephiroth would overhear, yards away. “The mission we’re on—it’s his first field mission. They’re making him some kinda propaganda poster boy. He said he just wants to live a normal life.”
Vincent’s jaw clenched, both unsurprised and infuriated with Shinra’s decisions for Sephiroth’s future.
“He’s strong—crazy strong, really,” Glenn continued, keeping an eye on Sephiroth again. “...but if he could get out of SOLDIER…”
The implications were incredibly easy for Vincent to follow, seeing the worried furrow of Glenn’s brow. “You’re asking me to take care of him,” Vincent clarified.
“I figure if anybody can keep him out of Shinra’s reach, it’s an ex-Turk, right?” Glenn huffed a laugh. “And, since you said you cared about his mom—”
“I’ll do it.”
“You—Oh! Really? That was easier than I thought it’d be,” Glenn laughed in earnest, cheered by Vincent’s easy agreement. “Perfect! Then, I’ve got an idea. You just have to help me with one, tiny thing.”
“And that is?”
“When I give the signal, hold onto him.”
The plan was perhaps disastrously simple. “What’s the signal?” Vincent asked.
“You’ll know when you see it,” Glenn said quickly, with a cheeky grin. Then he waved broadly, over his head, gesturing for Sephiroth to come sit with them. Space was made for the boy, and they all dug into their meals.
While Sephiroth seemed to savor his pumpkin soup, he also seemed exhausted, and anxiously kept an eye on the portal the entire time. Glenn did eventually yell at a few townsfolk to stay away from it, but otherwise they were all able to relax and enjoy the lights, and festivities going on around them. When it became clear that no more monsters were running about, the townsfolk returned to their celebrations, giving the portal a wide berth.
Then the portal flickered.
Sephiroth was up in an instant. “We have to go. The portal’s going to close.”
“Run for it!” Glenn yelled, bolting toward their exit, still holding his skewers.
Vincent hesitated along with Sephiroth, who looked torn. Vincent grimaced, uncertain—that didn’t seem like the signal, but—
“You’ll find me?” Sephiroth asked hastily.
“I may not have to,” Vincent replied, realizing the portal was already fading.
Sephiroth was reluctant, but he ran. He was faster than Glenn, catching up easily despite Glenn’s head start. It looked as though they would just barely make it through before the portal disappeared entirely.
Then Glenn threw his leg out, tripping Sephiroth, and then continued to sprint after Sephiroth fell to the ground.
That was the signal, Vincent realized with annoyance, rushing to Sephiroth’s side. He helped the boy up, but kept a firm hold on Sephiroth’s arm. They both looked up at the portal, where Glenn was already vanishing.
“Glenn?!” Sephiroth shouted, angry and confused. He tried to run forward, only to be stopped short by Vincent’s grip.
“Do me a favor, kid!” Glenn yelled back, beaming as he disappeared. “Have a nice, normal life!”
The portal vanished.
Sephiroth stared at the space it occupied, dumbstruck. “What—” he began, his voice soft as he tried to piece together Glenn’s antics. “Why did he…?!”
“He asked me to help keep you out of Shinra’s hands,” Vincent informed him, and his heart ached at the open fear on Sephiroth’s shocked face. Escape, it seemed, had been a far-flung hope. Something Sephiroth might have already assumed was impossible.
“But, I—The mission,” Sephiroth protested. “They need my help to—!”
“They’ll be alright," Vincent assured him, largely to simply get the boy to breathe before he truly started spiraling. Sephiroth cared about his teammates, clearly. Vincent was pleased said teammates cared enough about Sephiroth to get him off the battlefield. “We have a lot to discuss,” Vincent told Sephiroth, moving his grip from the boy’s arm to his shoulder. “If—after I tell you all I know about your mother, and why you were inside Shinra—you still want to find your teammates…I will help you,” Vincent swore.
“Why I was…?” Sephiroth repeated, his eyes wide with worry at the words.
Vincent doubted the boy would want to go back, once he knew. “The decision is yours, in the end,” Vincent reiterated. “...but this may be the best chance for you to break free of Shinra altogether.”
Sephiroth was hesitant, and plainly hurt by Glenn’s trick, but he nodded. He didn’t look up as they walked past the curious townsfolk, as Vincent steered him away from the scene. His gaze stayed on the ground in front of him, one hand reaching for the breast pocket of his coat, where the photo of Lucrecia was kept close to his chest.
After learning about the Jenova Project, and his mother, Sephiroth didn’t go back to Rhadore. He stayed with Vincent, staying under Shinra’s radar well enough that the Company had no choice but to give up on finding him. They scrambled to create a new narrative—a new hero, for the purpose of plastering their propaganda across the globe.
Sephiroth, meanwhile, was able to live a—relatively—normal life.
Glenn ultimately led himself, Matt, and Lucia safely home. Shinra’s interrogations of Glenn regarding Sephiroth’s whereabouts fell flat almost immediately—the man remembering nothing of the events, due to the side effects of Portal. He did, however, keep the strange, pumpkin-headed costume he walked out of the portal with, wondering for years to come what he and Sephiroth ran into on their little adventure.
His team never did believe his guesses about it, but he always maintained that it had something to do with a vampire.