Subject: [FFML] [ Fanfic ] [ Spoiler ] [ Crossover ] [ Final Fantasy VII / VIII ] Untitled
From: DirandauAlbatou@aol.com
Date: 4/6/2000, 12:38 PM
To: ffml@fanfic.com


Hallo hallo!

I've been throwing around this idea for a while, and I'd like to run with it. Buuut I'm gonna pull the ol' sob story and ask if anyone thinks this is even plausible before I keep going. Some C&C would definitely be welcome, as well as any story suggestion ideas. Thanks much :}

- Kus Kus
http://www.crosswinds.net/~dilandau/

Disclaimer: FFVII and FFVIII are copyrighted Squaresoft.

WARNING!!
Spoiler for FFVII Disk 2 ahead
Spoiler for FFVIII Disk 3 ahead
Includes adult language


-- Attached file included as plaintext by Listar --
-- File: ff78.txt

Sometimes...

Sometimes things change...

Sometimes things happen... and you wonder what if?

...What if you'd made the right decision?

...What if you'd been given another chance?

...Or perhaps, just a chance to make someone else's life right?


Aerith smiled at him, through her fear. He was going to be sad, she knew, and 
that look of frustration on his face almost broke her serenity. But he would understand 
in the end.

Her smile faltered at the sounds above; a howling rush of air, leather flapping, the 
hiss of a sword leaving its scabbard... A moment of doubt clouded her resolution.

Wasn't there another way?

Don't let Cloud suffer...

Don't let Sephiroth suffer...

Please...


* * *


"Please listen to me, Seifer!"

He drew in a ragged breath, already spent from his wounds and the exertion of the 
recent battle, standing on virtually willpower alone. Yet he was the Sorceress' Knight,
and there was still work to be done.

...Right?

Then why did Rinoa's sweet voice suddenly cut into him like a knife? Why were Fujin's 
last, pleading words echoing in his head?

Manipulated...?

My dream...

Something's wrong...


* * *


No...

I'm not being manipulated...

Mother...

Lamb to the slaughter...

Glory for Mother...

Such an innocent...

Innocent...

I love...

No...

...What am I doing?!

Something's wrong...


* * *


Stars burst behind his eyes. For a moment he thought that Squall must have caught up 
to them and had struck him from behind. The coward!

...And suddenly he was falling. His heart raced suddenly in panic. There was steel in 
his hand! Far lighter than he remembered, strangely balanced, and raised above his 
head as if to strike at the young woman who knelt below. She looked up at him, 
smiling. What the hell was she doing just sitting there?!

He twisted mid-air, and his side slammed into the stone floor with enough force to 
knock all the breath from his lungs. Whatever blade he'd been holding skittered away 
and clanged loudly against something or other. Taking into consideration his wounds 
and his depleted physical state, there was no way he could stand after such a fall.

But then again, he wasn't wounded. And he wasn't tired. And there was this annoying 
little voice in his head telling him he needed to kill the stupid bitch! He clapped his 
hands over his ears.

"Damnit! Shut the fuck up!"


***


He stumbled.

There was no longer the sound of rushing water, or the haunting echoes that blessed 
the underground hall in the Ancient City. In fact, the multi-colored sheen on the rocky 
face nearest to him would definitely not be the dusty gray rock that he was familiar 
with.

That, and he was tired. Blood trickled out of the side of his mouth. Each breath he 
took was an effort, the chest movement sliding up and down broken ribs. Idly, he 
remembered similar (and worse) wounds he'd suffered back in his days as an elite 
ShinRa SOLDIER.

...My god...

He remembered!

A euphoric smile broke on his face. For the first time in weeks, months, YEARS, he'd 
had a thought unhindered by hate and ambition, free from the madness that had 
engulfed him so long ago. Laughter began to rumble in his chest, but whatever injuries 
he was suffering from twisted it into a harsh fit of coughing. Once it was done, he 
looked about; there was an individual in his midst that required more than just an 
apology.

Then he caught sight of the frightened young woman, beautiful in her own right, her 
upper arm grasped in his hand. His eyes followed the black glove up along the gray 
sleeve, peered at the blue shirt crossed in white, trailed across the steel-toed boots, 
then fixated at the absurdly constructed blade in his other hand.

The only other living being around was the woman. He shook her roughly.

"Where am I?"



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