Chapter One

         His world was the tunnel.

         The tunnel swirled, dragging him onward, a mixture of substance and thought. One moment it was light, the next dark. Spun from the streams of the galaxy. Carved from the rock of the Planet. Lifestream. He could feel it all about him, just at the edge of his thoughts. Tunnel of thin white strands. Tunnel of hazy blue energy. It all changed so quickly. Why was he here, he thought? He could feel the presence of the other, the one who was dragging him on. He could feel that dark, baleful presence pressing in on the corners of his mind like a sickness.

         Sephiroth.

         The name came unbidden, bursting from the confusion that was his mind and screaming of its significance. Hate. Hate accompanied that name. Hate--and fear.

         The tunnel began to widen, falling away into thick bursts of wind. Blackness ahead. And then, suddenly, there was his opponent. The other's chilling green eyes stared up at him in silent challenge, a ghost of a smile on his thin, handsome face. Long white hair hanging down his back, the enemy stood stripped to the waist, his terrible sword held easily at his side.

         Sephiroth.

         The warrior's eyes narrowed. The grip of the tunnel faded. He had arrived. He floated, landed upon the blackness. Staring across at the other in despair. It was over! They had killed this one, he and his companions. The enemy's demon-angelic body had disappeared in a flash of blinding white, leaving their party once again at the bottom of the volcano that was the Lifestream, the blood of the Planet. It was over. They had won!

         The challenge in his enemy's eyes, the daunting half-smile that played across his enemy's face, spoke to the falsehood of those words. Sephiroth had worn that same mysterious, mocking smile many times before. He had smiled just like that as he pulled his great sword from Aeris' frail body. Had smiled as she fell, her eyes wide, her mouth an open question, not even a scream escaping her lips.

         His town. His mother. Aeris. His enemy had taken them all. And now Sephiroth wanted his world as well. The warrior felt his rage building, his blue eyes burning with sudden fire.

         No.

         The enemy fell into a ready stance, his legs tensing, his sword falling into an aggressive position just above his head. Waiting. Waiting to strike.

         No!

         Silently, the warrior raised his massive sword, feeling its might coursing through his body, burning power inside his veins. The Ultima Weapon. Truly, if anything could finally destroy this evil once and for all, it was the weapon he held in his hands. His companions were gone, vanished without a trace. Had Sephiroth taken them as well? He was alone, here. Facing one who would destroy the solar system with barely a thought.

         But it did not matter. He was the only one left to stand in the way of his enemy's conquest. So stand he would. He would stand--and fight.

         He felt his own body tense, waiting for the other to strike, prepared to defend against his rain of deadly blows and counter with a riposte of his own. The other remained still, ready, regarding him with quiet disdain, his green eyes burning with a million unspoken taunts.

         I know you, those eyes seemed to say, those smoldering eyes which burned into his brain. I own you. Tell me of your pain, boy. Amuse me with the futility of your thoughts. You have felt nothing. How dare you speak to me of anger, of revenge?

         He could not answer. He did not try. It appeared he was to make the first move. So be it. He would not need to strike more than once.

         Without warning he leapt into action, harnessed the Ultima Weapon's power inside himself as he had learned to do so well, narrowing his mind to encompass nothing beyond his target, letting all else fade away.

         "Omnislash!" a voice cried, a strong voice. It was his own.

         The blows landed, breaking past his opponent's guard with barely an effort. A deadly barrage of blows were struck, each swift and sure, immeasurably deadly. Fifteen blows in the space of a second. As the last blow landed, a giant flash of light blinding him as his soul spent the last of its rage upon the one who had dared to defy it, he knew he had won. Nothing could have survived such an onslaught. Nothing.

         "Foolish boy."

         The sword struck without warning, the deadly tipped blade known as Masamune. It pierced the center of his heart, sliding through his body with an unexpected, incredibly sharp burst of pain. His mind balked at the strangeness of the sudden turnabout, unable to comprehend what had happened. This wasn't right! This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen!

         The burning glow of the Mako furnace was all about them, the thin bridge on which they stood the only thing that saved them from death in its churning depths. Sephiroth and the Shinra soldier who had dared to defy him. They struggled, wrestling, one refusing to let go his grip on the sword, the other with no choice in the matter. They stumbled dangerously close to the edge.

         This had happened before. The soldier remembered, suddenly. Desperately, he tried to summon the strength that he knew he possessed, deep down inside himself. Enough strength to wrench the sword that had pierced his body upward with his hands, to force the one who refused to relinquish it off of the thin bridge on which they stood. But, despite his best efforts, the strength wouldn't come.

         His mind rallied against the unfairness of it all. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen! Sephiroth's eyes burned into his own, his face twisting in a cruel grin as he wrenched the soldier off of the bridge, drawing his sword from the other's chest and letting him fall toward the burgeoning energy below. The soldier screamed in horror as he felt the fire begin to consume him, just as the inferno that his enemy had started barely minutes earlier consumed his town and his people. He had failed.

         Sephiroth's eyes stayed with him even as his body burned to ash in the fire of the Mako furnace, taunting, smiling.

         I own you, those horrible eyes said, glinting wickedly of fire and evil. I own you.

         And the warrior knew it was true.

         A scream broke his sleep, a scream of fear and agony that sent him bolt upright in his bed, his face streaked with horror, his blond, tangled hair matted with sweat. It took a second for him to recognize his surroundings. The darkened room. An inn. The town of Kalm. He tried to force the sound of its name to soothe him. Kalm. Calm. Just a dream. It was just a dream.

         Far more than a dream. A nightmare.

         The warrior known as Cloud Strife forced his emotions back to more acceptable levels, trying in vain to push away the weakness in his limbs, the rush of fear and adrenaline still burning through his body. It had all been so real. Just like it always was.

         Footsteps in the hallway outside alerted him to the presence of another being, approaching his room. Without thinking, he knew who it was.

         A hand slowly turned the doorknob, which he had left unlocked. He had nothing to fear here in this town, or so he was led to believe. He was a hero to all. One of the saviors of the world. Why, then, did he suddenly feel such apprehension about the person who was slowly opening his door?

         "Cloud?" a voice called softly, as a figure entered his room on cat feet. She was exquisitely beautiful despite her disheveled appearance, having risen from sleep just as recently as he. A woman whom any man would have taken into their confidence without hesitation, a woman with the fighting skills of a master warrior and a heart of gold. A woman who loved him.

         He forced a smile to his lips as he reached for the switch to turn on the lamp beside his bed. "I'm fine, Tifa." His voice was not entirely convincing.

         He felt her hand fall on top of his, gently pushing the pair away from the lamp. Light was not necessary. They had been friends for so long that they could recognize one another without sight.

         "Was it the dreams again?" she asked in the same soft voice, aching to offer comfort, but fearing to offer too much.

         He didn't answer immediately, drawing his hand away for reasons he wasn't fully sure of, lying back in his bed and turning his blue eyes to the ceiling. He felt the weight of her body settle onto the bed beside him, could feel her eyes watching him, their concern for him almost more than he could bear. How could she love him so much? How could his soul still stubbornly balk at returning such adoration? What was wrong with him?

         "I had a dream," he admitted, though that was hardly an answer to her question.

         She lay down beside him, not attempting to touch him again, even though every fiber in her body ached for his embrace. She joined his contemplation of the ceiling in silent mediation, considering his words.

         "I'm sorry," was all she said.

         "Don't be," he responded immediately, instinctively. He didn't want her to be sorry. He didn't want to hurt her. He would fight for her, die to protect her, without a thought of his own welfare.

         But that was just it. He would die for any of his friends. That was why it was so easy. He could care for her, protect her, just as he would care for and protect Barret, or Red, or Cid, or Yuffie. It was almost second nature to him. A true leader fought for his soldiers as they fought for him. Why, then, could he not care for her in a deeper way? In the way that she wanted? In the way that he hadn't cared for anyone--since Aeris?

         "It's not your fault I can't sleep." He fought to keep his tone light. "I'm just stubborn, I guess. I hated Sephiroth for so long that I just can't believe that he's finally gone."

         Tifa said nothing for a brief second. "Was he there?" she asked finally. "In your dream?"

         Cloud didn't answer. He was an open book to this woman. She had known the answer to her question before she had even asked.

         "He . . . yes." His voice was suddenly weak. Sephiroth's words echoed through his mind again, those green eyes glinting with evil. So real. So alive.

         I own you, echoed across the synapses of his brain.

         Suddenly he felt her leaning up next to him, the feeling of her closeness appealing and warm, but he still had to fight to keep from flinching away, as her hand closed over his own once more and her arm stretched across his chest, as her lips moved close to his ear.

         "He's dead, Cloud," she whispered, trying to reassure him. Trying to banish those glinting eyes from his conscience. "We killed him. You and I, and the others. We stopped him. We saved the Planet."

         She was right. Wasn't she? Sephiroth had died. The Lifestream had burst forth from its containment, and those who had given everything for the Planet had barely escaped its wrath. The Highwind had been reborn once again, bursting like a phoenix from the ashes of its buffeting in the Lifestream. They had barely escaped. Meteor had come, and Holy had come to stop it. And Holy had failed.

         They had watched from the new Highwind, helpless to do anything further, as Meteor's twisting tendrils of energy tore the city of Midgar apart. As Holy, far too close to the planet to do any good, added to the destruction.

         "Forget Midgar," Red said darkly as they stared in disbelief at the carnage. "We've got to worry about the Planet."

         But they hadn't. The Planet had worried about them. The Lifestream had come, from everywhere, from everything. It had surrounded the locked forms of Meteor and Holy. It had merged with the terrible energy, an eerily beautiful mixture of red and white and green. The storm assaulting Midgar had begun to wane.

         And the Lifestream had saved them all.

         As it had touched the locked forms of Holy and Meteor for the first time, everyone aboard the airship had suddenly realized that things would be all right. Some force larger than themselves had come to tell them. To save them.

         He saw her face again in his mind's eye, her beautiful visage doing what Tifa's words could not, momentarily destroying the glinting green eyes of his dead enemy. Aeris. The savior of the world, its guardian even in death.

         Why couldn't he love Tifa? Why couldn't he care for her more than he did? Deep down inside, hidden beneath his layers of armored, protected emotions, he knew the answer.

         He was in love with the Planet.

         Barret Wallace was not sure, for a second, what had roused him. He stared at the ceiling of his small room, sleep still slowing his thoughts, wondering briefly why he should have come so abruptly awake.

         Then he heard it again. The barely perceptible creak of the wooden floor in the hall outside his room. All drowsiness vanished. He rose to a sitting position in his bed, listening intently.

         Nothing else. Just the wind, surely. These old wooden houses tended to creak, especially now, after being buffeted by the storm that Meteor had unleashed on Midgar. The outskirts of Midgar, the slums farther outside its borders, hadn't suffered as heavily from the onslaught, but even so the devastating storm had taken its toll. The sound of the wood creaking outside replayed itself over and over in his mind. Surely, as he thought, just the wind. But it wouldn't hurt to be sure. No use in letting his old instincts rot away, right?

         He slid his legs off the bed and got to his feet as quietly as a towering man of six-four, 259 pounds could do. Then he heard the sound of the door of the room next to him creaking open. The door to Marlene's room.

         Forgetting all thoughts of stealth, he rushed to Marlene's door and tore it open.

         He took in the entire room in the space of an instant: Marlene's bed, with Marlene in it, sleeping softly, unaware that anything was amiss. The open door from the hallway, and the soldier standing halfway inside the room, clad in black cloth and armor, a pair of night-vision goggles affixed to his eyes. Barret recognized the uniform immediately, and felt hatred bursting to life inside him. A Shinra Commando. Here, standing in the room of his only daughter, with a gun in his right hand, and a knife in his left. He had no right!

         But Shinra Commandos never worked alone, and his instincts told him that at least two more men waited outside the door. So they had come to take his daughter, had they? Well, he'd make them regret attacking the daughter of the leader of AVALANCHE.

         His gun arm came up and fired, but upward, shattering the ceiling light. In time with its destruction, the room was momentarily illuminated in a blinding flash, as the light-rods inside exploded. As it was, the flash totally destroyed Barret's night-vision. That was why he was certain that the Shinra Commandos, wearing their highly sensitive night-vision goggles, were now as blind as bats.

         The first Commando's rifle came up, and then Barret was moving, his gun arm tearing into the man, riddling him with bullets as he rushed for Marlene's bed. She awoke at the sound of gunfire, screaming shrilly, and then Barret had her, flinging himself away from the bed as two Commandos fired blindly into the room, stitching gaping holes into the bed and walls. He rolled, keeping his body in between Marlene and the enemy gunfire, and returned an unaimed barrage at the two men outside the door. A tortured scream and the thud of a body hitting the floor told him that at least one of his shots had hit.

         He rolled toward the door back to his room, pushing himself to his feet as best he could with his gun arm, holding Marlene close in his other. His world was in slow motion. He saw the third Commando, already inside the room, saw the glint of moonlight on the other's rifle, already swinging into line with his chest. It was much too late to bring up his gun arm, much too late to fire before the man pulled his trigger, so Barret held Marlene close and prayed that his body would stop the bullets from hitting her.

         The man never fired. A shrill scream of pain escaped his lips as a long, wicked pike was jammed through the hand holding the gun, knocking it from his fingers. The man's knife swung into action as he twisted to face this new threat, but then the back end of the pike swung around and smashed into his face, the business end ripping out of his hand in a shower of blood. Then the pike struck once more and the last Commando slumped to the ground, dead.

         "Barret! You okay?" Cid Highwind cursed as he kicked the Commando's dead body out of his way, glancing back out the door. "Oh shit!"

         He leapt into the hallway, and Barret heard a loud scuffle, and the sound of a gun clattering to the floor.

         "Got 'em!" Cid yelled in triumph. "Look's like you just winged this one, Barret. Want me to finish 'em off?"

         "Hold 'em!" Barret yelled back loudly as he turned his attention to Marlene. She was sobbing, but otherwise seemed unharmed. He reached to embrace her, whispering in her ear.

         "Shhhhh, shhhhh. It'll be all right, baby. Shhhhhh. The bad men are gone."

         "Daddy . . . ," Marlene sobbed against his shoulder.

         "Shhhhhh, baby, sshhhhhh," he repeated, trying to keep his livid anger from his tone. Shinra Commandos, here? If he hadn't waked, they would have killed his daughter! Death--death was too good for them!

         For a moment, Barret contemplated telling Marlene to go downstairs to the innkeeper, but balked as he thought it over. No telling how many other hostiles were in the area. Better to keep her close.

         "Baby, I want you to get back in bed, okay?" He kept his tone gentle, a soothing rumle that always seemed to ease her fears. "Daddy has to go outside for a minute. I'll be just outside the door, okay? Can you do that, baby? Can you be strong for Daddy?"

         "I'll--I'll try, Daddy," Marlene said through her sobs, wiping her tears away with one upstretched hand.

         "Good, good," Barret murmured. "Daddy will be right back, honey. You just sit in your bed and think about the Saucer, okay?"

         Marlene nodded, sniffing once more, and then Barret was rushing for the door, joining Cid in the hallway outside. Cid was straddling the downed Commando, pinning his arms to his sides. A large wound in the thigh of the prisoner's left leg was the reason that the Commando hadn't gotten away. It had been a shot in the dark, but it had worked.

         "This goddamn loser was tryin' ta pull a gun on me when I saw 'em, Barret." Cid impaled the man with the glare of his eyes. "What'd ya want me to hold 'em for?"

         "I wanna' know what these bastards are doin' here attackin' my daughter." Barret spit and knelt at the side of the Commando, grabbing his neck roughly with one massive hand, his thick fingers slowly strangling the man.

         "What about it, soldier?" His voice was now nothing more than frightening, rumbling death. "Why'd you come after my daughter, huh?"

         The soldier gasped, trying to say something, and Barret released his grip on the man's neck just enough for him to speak.

         "For . . . the . . . Messiah . . . ," the man sputtered. Before Barret could even think about responding to that, the Commando's eyes lit up with dancing bolts of electricity, and he yelped as a strong shock tore up his arm, throwing him backward. As his vision cleared, he desperately brought up his gun arm to finish the man off, but it took him only a fraction of a second to realize that further violence would not be necessary.

         "Sweet mother a mercy . . .," he whispered with a shake of his grizzled head.

         The Commando's face was a contorted mask of pain, his eyes open, lifeless. The smell of charred flesh began to fill the hallway. Cid slowly got to his feet, rubbing his head.

         "Holy shit!" Cid swallowed quickly and leaned closer to the dead Commando, wide-eyed. "That freak just 'lectrocuted himself!"

         Barret got to his feet and looked down at the still form of the Commando, his rage slowly building. Three dead men, all sent after his daughter, and no one to blame for it.

         "Somebody's gonna' have ta pay for this, Cid."

         "You just be glad I woke up when I did," the other retorted, grinning evilly as he rose to his feet. "That last one woulda' pasted you."

         "Thanks," Barret returned, meaning it.

         "So what now?" Cid eyed the dead Commando cautiously. "Think we should call Cloud?"

         Barret brought one hand up, stroking the beard under his chin as he thought.

         "Not yet. That spiky-haired freak's got enough problems without us botherin' him every time something goes wrong. Let's look into this tomorrow, see if we can figure out who hired these guys. If we do, and it's something big, we call Cloud."

         "Sure. Think there's any chance of more of these losers hangin' out around here?"

         "You read my mind, Cid." Barret did not smile. "Stay here with Marlene. I'm gonna' check around. Cool?"

         "Cool. Mind if I have a smoke?"

         "You know I don't like you doin' that shit around Marlene, Cid!" Barret slammed a meaty fist against his gun arm, and a loud clang echoed through the hall. "It shouldn't take me more than a few minutes ta scout around. You can hold off yo nicotine cravings till I get back."

         "Daaaaamn . . . ," the other responded, but didn't protest further. "All right, but make it quick. I don't like wakin' up without a cig."

         "I'll be quick." Barret turned and started down the stairs, but he'd covered no more than five before he was stopped short by the disheveled looking innkeeper, his eyes wide with worry.

         "Mr. Wallace! I heard gunfire! Is everything all right?"

         "Hell no." Barret spit again, aiming at the nearest step. "Three guys with guns just tried to whack my daughter!"

         "Oh dear . . ." The voice of the frail old innkeeper trailed off as his eyes fluttered shut. Barret reached out and caught him just before he would have tumbled back down the stairs in a faint.

         "Sweet mother a mercy . . ." As he eased the unconscious man down on the landing just above the last of the steps, he wondered angrily if this night could get much worse.

         As she leapt off the edge of the rocky overhang, suspended more than 500 feet above the sharply grooved ground below, the Materia hunter found herself wondering if this impromptu escape method was such a good idea. It had seemed quite good a minute ago, when a swarm of large men wearing scary masks and waving large, pointy sticks had come rushing after her, shouting "Madda zullu!," in that strange tongue of theirs. If forced, the Materia hunter had no doubt that she could have defeated all of them, but that wasn't her purpose. She didn't want to hurt them. She just wanted their Materia.

         The problem was that these particular natives did not seem at all eager to part with their Materia. The fact that she had generously left a pouch of twelve hundred gil on the altar from which she had snatched the glistening shard now resting in her backpack hadn't appeased them in the slightest. Leaving the money behind wouldn't even have occurred to her a year ago, but unfortunately, hanging out with Cloud, Tifa and the rest of that bunch seemed to have rubbed off on her. As a result of that association, she'd picked up what she considered several bad habits, in addition to the beginning of something rapidly approaching a conscience.

         Despite this, staying true to her new personal beliefs didn't mean that she was going to put up with a tribe of unwashed primitives, chasing her around with their pointy sticks, for one minute longer than was necessary.

         As the rocky ground rushed toward her, she fumbled open her backpack and reached inside for the shard of Materia she had stol . . . that is, bought, and pulled it out triumphantly. It flashed bright green, further assuring her that rumors of its worth were not exaggerated. Summoning her considerable magical power, she sent her magic snaking into the Materia in her hand.

         "Flight!" she cried triumphantly. The Materia flashed and she opened her eyes, expecting to find herself soaring gracefully into the sky.

         Oops. Still falling.

         "Flight!" she cried again, more desperately, but this time nothing happened. The ground was very close now. She reached back for her grappling hook, intent on throwing it at something and aborting her fall, but then her fall was over, and it was too late.

         She winced involuntarily, wondering if she would have time to experience the pain of impacting the hard ground at over seventy miles per hour, or if she would merely blink out immediately upon contact. After a second, she found that she was still waiting for the answer to this question, which would tend to imply that she was still alive.

         Grimacing, she mumbled a silent prayer and slowly opened one eye, attempting, as best she could, to figure out why she wasn't dead yet. To her amazement, she found that she had come to a stop about eight feet off of the ground. She was now hovering in the air, bobbing up and down slowly like a cork cast into a mildly rough sea.

         "Ah hah!" she exclaimed shakily, returning the shard of Materia to her backpack, her confidence slowly returning. "I knew it would work!"

         Just not the way she had thought. She had thought that the Flight Materia, which the natives of this small island had been worshipping for the past couple of hundred years, would allow her to soar like a bird through the skies, or at least net her a large sum of money. That did not appear to be the case, however. It appeared that hovering about eight feet above the ground was about all that her newly gained Materia was capable off. Nonetheless, it had saved her from becoming a bloody stain on the rocks, and that was enough to satisfy her, for now.

         She stared upward at the cliff from which she had jumped, and with her keen vision could just barely make out the swarm of natives clustered at its edge, gawking at her with their pointy sticks raised in the air.

         "Ha!" she exclaimed, waving her arms and legs drunkenly in an attempt to move forward, slowly turning in midair as she drifted to the side a couple of feet. "That'll teach 'em to mess with Yuffie Kisaragi!"

         Hovering, however, was not as useful as she had anticipated, and after a few minutes of flailing about in the air, trying to go in the direction that she wanted, Yuffie cursed in exasperation and reached back to pull the Materia from her pack once more. She spoke a few quick words to null the flight spell and was dumped unceremoniously to the ground.

         She landed, rolled, and came to her feet in a second, pausing only to replace the Materia shard in her backpack before setting out at a brisk jog toward her ship. Threading her way through the thin forest that separated her from the shore, Yuffie wondered belatedly if the natives on this island even used gil. But what else was she supposed to leave them? A fruit basket?

         No, the gil was enough. For all Yuffie cared, the natives could glue the gil all over the altar, make it nice and shiny, and start worshipping the gil god. She cursed herself for even worrying about such things. She hadn't been bothered by such worries before she had met Cloud and the others. She had merely taken and run, clean and simple.

         Well, she had her Materia. She had accomplished what she had come here to do. That was all that really mattered.

         It took her only a few minutes to reach the beach. However, instead of walking outward to greet the two crewmen that should have been waiting for her, she crouched back into the forest without a sound, staring at the thin stretch of sand ahead in shock.

         The small rowboat that had brought her and two of her men to shore was where she had left it, but her men were nowhere to be seen. That was decidedly strange. Roan and Pace were both loyal, if not intelligent sailors, and Yuffie could think of no reason for both of them to have wandered off. They should have, at the very least, left a message in the sand of the beach to tell her where they had gone. Instead, there was nothing. The beach was smooth, with even the footprints that Yuffie and her men had left, when they had first come ashore, missing.

         That was what alarmed Yuffie the most. It was as if something had come by, snatched her men, and then erased any traces of its passage and the struggle from the sands of the beach. This was bad. Very bad.

         Of course, there was the chance that Roan and Pace could have been overpowered by a swarm of natives and carried off. However, they were both big, strong men, almost as powerful as Barret, and she doubted that natives would have been so careful to cover their tracks. No, something else was amiss here. And she had to figure out what it was, quickly, before not knowing got her killed.

         She melted back into the forest, doing a quick, silent search to the left of her landing point, looking for any trace of a struggle, or the passage of a large body of men or beasts. Nothing. The forest was still, undisturbed. It was eerie.

         She was just finishing her sweep of the left side and was heading back to do the right when her sixth sense warned her of danger, almost too late. She jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding the descending form of a black clad soldier as he dropped from the trees, a wicked sword clasped in his hands. The tip of the weapon managed to nick her shoulder, but it had originally been intended to take her head off, so this alternative was more than acceptable.

         Silently, she brought her Crystal Cross slicing across the soldier's neck and neatly removed his head from his body. She caught his corpse as it fell, lowering it to the forest floor without a sound. Then she was off, heading deeper into the forest, alert for any other threats.

         She had instantly recognized the uniform of the soldier who had just tried to ambush her. He was Shinra. What Shinra Commandos would be doing on this island was a mystery, but it was obvious that they had done something with her men, possibly even killed them. And they were going to take her out next.

         "Not in this lifetime," she vowed angrily under her breath. She sensed another soldier in the woods to her right, heading toward her silently, confident that she had not yet detected him. Of course, he hadn't counted on facing a sixteen year-old girl with top-level ninja training.

         She blocked the swing of his sword with a lightning quick parry from her Cross before launching a hard jab to his stomach, knocking the wind out of her unknown assailant. She followed this up by neatly disarming him with a quick flourish of her wrist, and then her hands grabbed the collar of his tunic. She pulled him toward her, her face livid.

         "What do you want with me?" she hissed.

         The man replied by breaking free of her hold and launching a swift kick toward her midsection. She blocked it with her right forearm and swept the man's legs, sending him crashing to the ground with the loud sound of breaking undergrowth. The rest of the Commandos surely knew where she was by now. She was running out of time.

         A man leapt from behind the tree to her left. She ducked under the arc of his sword and sliced her Cross through his midsection, cutting him clean in half. She was off and moving before his torso finished its slow slide off his waist. She was heading for the beach, and escape.

         She could hear the nearly silent footfalls of the rest of the Commando group, racing along behind her in pursuit. She could almost admire the training that allowed the men to move so quickly and silently through the forest behind her, if not for the fact that she was quicker and quieter than all of them. She could have bested any of them in a straight up fight without breaking a sweat, but twelve on one was not a straight up fight. Flight was her best alternative.

         She broke from the cover of the forest and ran out onto the beach, where she saw to her horror that a Shinra Commando had just finished demolishing her boat. He turned to her as she arrived, his eyes opening in surprise as Yuffie's weapon cut the sight from them forever.

         The boat was a wreck. There was no way it would ever be seaworthy again, but that hardly mattered. About a half-mile offshore, she could just make out a mess of wicked flames, leaping from the deck of her ship, The Kisaragi Wind. She had bought the small but sleek sailboat a few weeks after the final confrontation with Sephiroth, because Cid had started reserving the Airship for other purposes after that. He wasn't about to cart her all around the world in search of new Materia, and besides, working by herself meant that she didn't have to share, and this was good.

         The rowboat was in splinters. Her ship was on fire, slowly sinking into the ocean. Her five man crew had disappeared, most likely dead. And now the twelve men remaining out of the Shinra Commando group were bursting from the forest behind her, shouting battle cries. Tonight was going very badly.

         As they rushed her she decided she had one, last chance to live through this, albeit a slim one. Without further hesitation, she threw the Crystal Cross into her backpack and dashed into the ocean, quickly diving into a swim. The Shinra Commando group behind her halted at the water's edge, curses flying from their lips.

         Only someone decidedly suicidal would swim the waters off the coast of this island. The waters were teeming with monsters, some big enough to devour a man in one crunch of their enormous jaws, others attacking in small hordes which could rip a swimmer apart in a matter of seconds. Yuffie didn't want to deal with any of them, and wasn't going to do so any longer than necessary. She had other plans.

         She felt the rush of something big sliding past her, and heard one of the Commandos that had been brave enough to swim after her let out a gurgling cry as his scream was cut off by seawater, and an enormous beast dragged him underneath the waves. The others tore into the creature with their swords, desperately trying to save their drowning comrade. None of them noticed Yuffie, who grabbed the Flight Materia from her backpack and quietly cast its spell, praying that it worked the same above water as it did above land.

         With a loud splash, she flew out of the water and found herself hovering about eight feet above the waves. She had to resist letting out a loud yell of triumph. It had worked!

         The Commandos splashing about in the water were too busy to take much notice of her, but the three who had remained on the beach were drawing large rifles. Why they hadn't used them on her before now was a mystery to Yuffie, but she didn't plan on letting them shoot her out of the air that easily. She reached for her cross, her fingers sliding across the six gems of Materia embedded in its surface, and stretched her power into one of the green gems, feeling it bolstered by the power of a nearby blue.

         "Bolt Three!" she cried out, aiming her wrath at the Commandos clustered upon the beach. With absolutely no warning, not even a cloud in the sky, a massive storm of lighting burst from the air and tore into the unfortunate soldiers, ripping them to shreds in a shower of electricity and sparks. The power of the discharge made Yuffie's hair stand on end, even with her considerable distance from the sight of impact.

         The rest of the Commandos had disappeared, dragged beneath the waves by companions of the large monster which had taken the first of them. The water below was literally teaming with monsters, each fighting for their own piece of Commando meat, and even in the darkness Yuffie could see that the water was colored with dark, red blood.

         Well, that'll teach 'em to mess with Yuffie Kisaragi.

         Slowly, she began her arduous float back to shore, satisfied that all of the men sent after her had been eliminated. Behind her, she heard a sharp hissing sound as the last of the air in The Kisaragi Wind's hull escaped, and the burning ship sunk beneath the waves with a crackle of drowning wood and fire. Eighty-thousand gil on that ship, along with at least ten Materia shards. She would have to get Cloud to bring the submarine back over here to retrieve her stuff, after she got back. If she got back. With her boat destroyed, her crew dead, and nobody on the island to help her but a group of primitive natives who probably wanted to skewer her with their pointy sticks, prospects for escape weren't good.

         Nevertheless, as she whistled softly and neared the shore, Yuffie did not doubt that she would find a way home.

         A figure wrapped in a torn red cloak stumbled from the snow to the steps of the large wooden house, set in the middle of a large ring of mountains, the snowstorm that was raging all around him curiously warm. He could feel the breath of the beast inside him, dormant for now, but very recently unleashed. He remembered nothing of what had transpired after he had let the beast take him over, as it always seemed to be. All that he was sure of was that the squad of unidentified soldiers who had surrounded him, clothed in winter camouflage fatigues, had been alive before he transformed, and dead when he had reverted.

         He stumbled to the door of the house and knocked once, falteringly, slumping to the ground. A second later, the door opened, and the portly man inside cursed at what he found.

         "Vincent Valentine!" The man's long white beard twisted away into the snowstorm as he stared at the man crouching on his doorstep. "What in the hell did you run into, boy?"

         "Attack squad," Vincent said quietly through chattering teeth. "Don't know--who sent them."

         "Quickly, inside." The other ushered him into the warmth of his small two story home. Rocky, the green Chocobo resting in the stable to his left, chirped piteously, as if recognizing that something was wrong.

         "Sit down, sit down," the Chocobo Sage urged, locking the door and rummaging around the room with no clear purpose. "Where'd I put those Cure potions? Blast! Can't remember for the life of me . . . "

         Despite his apparent confusion, the absent-minded old man found his stash of potions without too much trouble. Very soon after, Vincent's wounds, wounds which he could not even recall receiving, were healing. The Cure potions of the Sage seemed second to none.

         He slumped into the offered seat, taking a precious moment to let the warmth of the Chocobo Sage's home eat away the cold gnawing at his bones, giving the potions time to have their effect.

         "Can't say as I've been much help to you young folks in the past, as far as combat is concerned," the Sage commented curiously, plopping down in a chair opposite Vincent and steepling his fingers thoughtfully, under his chin. "But I've been in my share of brawls in my day. Ol' Rocky over there, he can tell you about some of 'em. Back in my racin' days, there was this jockey who had it in his head to slow me down by takin' a bat to ol' Rocky's legs, and I tell you, I whipped that boy . . ."

         "Please," Vincent said softly, trying to force away the pain throbbing inside his head through will alone. "Save the story for later."

         The Chocobo Sage shook his head, miffed. "Sorry, sorry. You know I get to ramblin' sometimes. Please, make yourself at home. You can stay here for as long as you like."

         "I can't. I have to keep moving." Vincent shook his head as he felt his enhanced metabolism already absorbing the last of the potions. He pushed himself to his feet. The potions felt like they had done just about all they could do, and a few minutes respite from the cold was all that he felt he could afford.

         "Why?" The old Sage's eyes glittered curiously in the dim light. "There more of those boys that you tangled with earlier out there huntin' for you?"

         "I don't know. But if there are, I don't want to bring them into your house. Give me a few more minutes to rest, and then I'll be moving on."

         "Nonsense. You're tired, boy. Least you can do is rest here tonight."

         Vincent shook his head again, with an air of finality that almost demanded an end to the conversation. "No can do. They could be right on my tail. I have to go."

         "They won't be getting in here, anyways!" The Sage rose to his feet and puffed up his chest. "This house has stood for nigh eighty years. My grandpappy was birthed here, and ain't no young upstarts gonna' come rushin' in here and take it from me. Me and Rocky will take the whole lot of 'em if it comes to that."

         "I appreciate the offer." Despite his resolve to remain taciturn, Vincent felt a ghost of a smile tugging at his grim features. Somehow, he knew that the old man was not exaggerating, despite his advanced age. "But I can't get you involved."

         "You dead set on goin' then, sonny?" The Sage eyed him thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "Ain't nothin' I can say to change your mind?"

         "Sorry, no. I'm grateful for your hospitality, but I'd best get moving as soon as possible."

         "Well, if that's what you're gonna' do, that's what you're gonna' do." The Sage started toward the pen that held his prize Chocobo and reached into a pocket for his keys. "But you won't get anywhere very fast on foot. Take Rocky there. He's old, but spry enough. He'll get you through these mountains in no time flat, ol' Rocky will. Knows these mountains like the back of his nest. If anyone's still trackin' ya, there's no way they'll be able to keep up."

         "I couldn't do that . . . ," Vincent began, but the Sage shushed him with a quick hiss as the keys rattled in the lock.

         "Don't be knockin' a good offer, boy." The gate creaked open. "I don't let jus' anybody ride my Chocobos. This is a special case, it is. Rocky knows the way home. After he gets you to where yere goin', slap him on the rump twice and he'll head on back here. You'd be silly not to take him, 'specially with the storm going like it is."

         "Thanks." Vincent found that he was unable to argue with the old man's words. He could get to a town on the back of a mountain Chocobo a good deal quicker than he could by walking. "I won't forget this, old man. I owe you one."

         "Shucks, ain't nothin'," the Sage commented gruffly. "Just treat Rocky good and he'll get you on through to where you're goin'. He was the best in S-Class in his time, ya know."

         "I know," Vincent agreed solemnly. It should only take a few minutes to get saddled up and on his way. And from there, well--he didn't know what he'd do. Getting in touch with Cloud was his best bet. An insistent feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that the encounter with those soldiers out in the middle of that snowfield had not been a random one. They had come gunning for him. And if armed men had been sent after him, there was a good chance that men had been sent after his friends as well. Best to warn them as soon as possible.

         Soon enough, they were outside, Rocky saddled and Vincent astride him as he pulled his red cloak close about his shoulders. He turned and nodded to the Sage once more before he left.

         "Stay warm, old man, and take care of yourself." And with nothing more than that, he rode off into the storm without a backward glance. Vincent sensed the Chocobo Sage watching him until he and Rocky were lost in the swirling snow, and then listened as the man heading back into his home, muttering to himself.

         Continue to Chapter 2