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sephirthoughts · 24 days ago

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The Ghost of Shinra Manor 👻

It's still spooky season till after Día de los Muertos so it's not technically late!

summary: It's been two years since the events of Dirge of Cerberus. Cloud visits his hometown, and investigates a rumor of a ghost, haunting Shinra Manor. If you're surprised by who it turns out to be, you are beyond my power to save, comrade.

tags: g-g-g-ghosts!!! sefikura, sephiroth x cloud, sane!sephiroth (sort of), post advent children, post dirge of cerberus, canon timeline, delusions, intermitten amnesia, low drama, enemies to…whatever the hell they have going on

NOTE: i was raised by outdoorsy, log cabin, roughing-it parents and there will be a lot of details about this type of living because that is what i like

warnings: references to death, PTSD, past abuse, etc. all of hojo's greatest hits, mention of animal death in the context of ethical subsistence hunting/fishing, canon-typical violence, technical nudity but i didn't describe anything so you'd have to imagine it yourself which is not on me, pervert

rating: teen and up [for now]

Part 1: Reunion

A big, black, Fenrir model motorcycle roared up the dirt road, leaving clouds of dust in its wake. Its golden-haired rider adjusted his goggles and pulled his black scarf up, over his nose and mouth. It was late spring, which was still mid-winter in the Nibel region, and as he drew nearer to the mountain, the wind grew colder and sharper, till it felt like it was full of tiny, icy needles.

He had a little hunting cabin, up there, that no one else knew about. They knew he went somewhere, it was just that he didn’t specify the location to anyone but Cid and Vincent, who had helped him fix the place up, and were sworn to secrecy.

Why didn’t he tell the others where it was? Why would he? He went there to be alone. To decompress, when the weight of people’s lives got too heavy to carry. When their voices began to cut into his skull like buzz-saws, and he felt the thread of his tolerance strained to the snapping point.

Even for a person with a normal brain and no life-altering trauma, things would have been claustrophobic, in their little house. Marlene and Denzel were underfoot every minute of the day, and their continued presence meant that when Cloud wasn’t out on long deliveries, he and Tifa had to share a bedroom. He couldn’t fall asleep, with another person in the room, though, so they didn’t use it at the same time. He was a night person, anyway.

She tried to act like she wasn’t hurt by his refusal to share a bed with her, but she was a shit actress. He had attempted to make her feel better by explaining that he didn’t have those kinds of feelings for girls—or for anyone, really—but he could tell she didn’t really believe it. Or that she at least thought of it as something they could work on.

Everyone (except Vincent) thought that. That something was wrong with him, and that he’d get better, if they persevered in telling him so. The way he was didn't make sense to them, therefore it wasn't normal, therefore it was a problem that needed to be solved. Hooray for the neuro-typical majority.

No one ever asked Cloud what he thought. They just told him what he should think, and then made decisions for him. Most of the time, it was easier to just go along with it, especially since he didn’t want everyone to be mad at him. Them being mad at him meant they’d talk to him even more, and use louder voices. He hated that.

He should have insisted on getting his own place, a long time ago. He and Tifa had been playing house from necessity, at first, but there was nothing actually keeping them together, now, aside from habit. Habit and guilt.

Who knew when she started to think of it as a real family. As if she and Cloud were a mother and father, with a couple of kids. As absurd as that was. They were barely more than kids, themselves.

When Cid and Vincent got married, people got even more obnoxious with the hints and "jokes" about when him and Tifa were going to tie the knot. She’d act all embarrassed and explain that their relationship wasn’t like that, but she’d glance at him, with that look in her eyes, when she thought he wasn’t paying attention.

He sighed, as he rounded a long curve in the road. He knew himself well enough to know that he’d probably wind up giving in and just marry her. Didn’t seem like a very happy ending, for either of them, but who got one of those, these days?

It did seem like an especially shit deal for her, though. Marry the kid no one liked, from your backwater hometown, live in a shithole two-bedroom over a bar, slinging booze and taking care of two adopted kids, while your asexual husband spends most of his time away, for work.

Asexuality was a spectrum, though, and Cloud was somewhere near the middle. It just wasn’t the heterosexual middle. He made an earnest effort, once, but he couldn’t get it up for a woman, no matter how hard he tried, and it just wound up being awful and making the girl cry.

Fucked a couple of guys back when he was a trooper, but that was rare. Not that there weren’t plenty of interested troopers and even SOLDIERs, it was just that he had never wanted any of them. What he had really wanted was Sephiroth.

Cloud was nine years old, when he fell in love with the perfect face, that he saw on television and the recruiting posters, that were always plastered all over every vertical surface, in town. The obsession only grew stronger, as he grew older.

He joined up as soon as they’d take him, at age fourteen. The training was miserable and grueling, but he gritted his teeth and worked his ass off, keeping his idol firmly in his sights. Whenever the opportunity came up, he applied to the SOLDIER program. For all his diligent efforts, he met with rejection after rejection.

Several years passed, that way, with disappointment weighing ever more heavily on his heart. But just when he was losing hope that he’d ever meet the object of his worship face to face, he was assigned to a mission with the silver soldier himself. Wouldn’t you know it, that mission was to check on the reactor, in his very own hometown.

They say never to meet your heroes, but the implication is that you’ll be disappointed. Cloud was not disappointed. Sephiroth was everything he had ever imagined, and more. Ten times more beautiful, and a hundred times stronger and faster. His legendary height was one thing to know logically, and another thing entirely to experience in person. He was literally superhuman.

And yet, despite his angelic appearance and godlike strength, he wasn’t arrogant or demanding, at all. He was thoughtful and soft-spoken, and obviously cared for his subordinates. He asked their opinions, and actually listened. Encouraged them, rather than berating them. He even learned and called them by their first names. It was the most humanely Cloud had been treated by any superior, apart from Zack.

Following those two around, on that mission, Cloud fell more hopelessly in love with his silver-haired deity, than ever. He loved Sephiroth with his whole young soul. Right up to the moment he watched that famous blade pierce his mother’s heart.

Cloud Strife died, that night, as surely as Claudia had, and whatever this thing was, that he had become, was born. This thing capable of killing gods and monsters. This thing that survived years in a mako tank, being tortured by that bastard Hojo. This thing that had absorbed Zack’s memories, and remembered everything but Zack. This thing that hated Sephiroth, with every fiber of its being. Hated him as much as Cloud had loved him.

The sun was low in the sky, behind a blanket of grey clouds, when he finally pulled up to the clearing, where his unassuming cabin was tucked away.

He swung his leg off the saddle, then he winced and clutched his chest. His heart had been aching more and more as he approached Nibelheim. Not in the metaphorical sense, because of the tragedies he’d been through there—it was actual, physical pain.

He wasn’t exactly sure when it started, though, bcause he was so used to pain, it just got shoved to the back of his mind. Which it did again, now. It wasn’t bad enough to incapacitate him, so he ignored it, and unbuckled the leather panniers, which he slung over his shoulder.

The cabin was locked up tight, just like he left it, with all the traps and wards in place. Not surprising. No one came up this way, anymore, since the reactor shut down.

Fortunately, the cabin didn’t need the reactor, for power. He’d bought an old, Wutaian, nuclear generator, to heat the water and supply electricity, and hooked it up with Cid's help. Thing was expensive as hell, but it was quiet, reliable, and would last literally forever.

He stepped inside and typed in a code on a wall panel. When the generator hummed to life, he switched the electric lights on, and took a look around. The place was a little dusty, since he hadn’t been there since last summer, but otherwise, everything was just how he left it.

It was a simple, single-room cabin. Nothing fancy, except he and Cid had redone the insulation and added the electrical wiring. Water came from a dedicated well, deep enough to take advantage of the Nibel region’s unique geothermal situation, and not freeze.

There was a bed in one corner, with a frame of roughhewn logs, and a cedar trunk at the foot, where the blankets and pillows were stored. The bathroom door and the kitchen were on the other side (just a stove, small refrigerator, a few cabinets, and a sink), and the fireplace was central. In the opposite corner to the bed, there was a steel camp table, with two folding chairs, as if he’d ever have a guest here.

He tossed his panniers on the bed and went right back out to carry in firewood. Supply was getting low. The cupboards were pretty barren, too, but he’d go into town tomorrow to stock up on canned and dry goods. Those were just a supplement to the main source of food, up here, which was hunting.

When he was a kid, hunting was a long and grueling ordeal, with uncertain payoff. Now, augmented by Sephiroth’s cells and whatever else Hojo did to him in that lab, it was as easy as a trip to the grocery store. He left and returned with a brace of rabbits, within half an hour. It was late spring, so they were already nice and fat, too.

With the ruthless efficiency of a seasoned survival hunter, he skinned, cleaned, and washed them, and set them roasting on the iron spit, over his little hearth. He was out of anything resembling spices, but the meat was good enough roasted, with just a little salt.

That night, as he lay in bed, that ache in his chest seemed to grow worse, and made him toss and turn restlessly. When he finally drifted off, he dreamed of being impaled on Masamune and lifted into the air. Sephiroth’s green cat-eyes, staring up at him, with that deranged smile on his beautiful face. Black feathers fell like snow all around him.

I will never be a memory…

In the morning, Cloud went into town. Despite the reactor being shut down, Nibelheim was more lively than ever. With no Shinra, there was no one to pay mortgages to, so the residents weren’t eager to leave the homes which now belonged to them, free and clear. Then the WRO came in and added infrastructure, opened a school and clinic, and paid subsidies to local shepherds and artisans and the like, so the little town was actually prospering.

“Howdy, Mr. Strife!” the round-faced, balding man at the general goods store said cheerfully, when Cloud brought his purchases to the counter. “Been nigh on a year, since I seen ya. Stayin’ a while?”

“Little while,” Cloud answered noncommittally. “How are things, in town? Anything needs looking into, while I’m here?”

The man scratched his chin. “Nothin’ particular. Just the usual rumors, is all. Monsters in the woods. Creepy things goin’ on at the old manor. That kinda thing.”

“Let me guess. The vampire, again?”

“Nah, nah, ain’t heard nothin’ about that fella in a long time. These days, it’s a ghost.”

“Fiends, or something else?”

“Folks are sayin’ it’s the ghost of a woman, with long, white hair. Don’t do nothin’ but wander around inside the manor, wailin’ and moanin’. They say if you go over there, at night, you can hear her, but if she catches ya snoopin’ around, she sucks out your soul.”

Cloud snorted. “Sounds like the usual bullshit.”

“You ain’t kiddin’!” the man laughed. “Folks got too much time and not enough to do, these days, so they get to tellin’ tales. Y’never know what they’ll say, next. Maybe devils or goblins.”

“Well, if it keeps kids away from the manor, the ghost stories are probably for the better. It’s a dangerous place,” Cloud said, taking his full grocery bags. “I’ll be heading over there, tonight, to clear out any monsters that may have got in, over the winter. I’ll be sure to look out for the ghost.”

“Haha, you do that! Have a good one, Mr. Strife!”

Despite his reticence and flat indifference to overtures of friendship, Cloud was rather popular with Nibelheim’s current residents, because whenever he was in town, he’d deal with any local wildlife problems. Even if no one had anything pressing, he always checked Shinra Manor, since the ruins attracted a lot of monsters, and if they started establishing nests, they could pose a real threat to the townsfolk.

He spent the rest of the day chopping and stacking firewood, fishing using a thundaga materia and a net (which was technically cheating, but he was fishing for food, not sport), and scouting around for signs of dens, near the town. When the sun got low, he strapped on his sword and began the short, two-mile hike to Shinra Manor.

When he emerged from the woods, on the bumpy, neglected dirt road, it was already dark. The hulking ruin of the house loomed like the desiccated corpse of some titanic beast, off in the darkness, behind the bent and rusted iron fence. Cloud kicked the creaking gates open and strode in.

The property was overgrown with brambles and sedge grass, and ugly, grey vines, with huge thorns covered much of the half-collapsed structure. The front doors had long fallen off the hinges, so the entrance was just a yawning, black hole, like the mouth of a tomb.

Cloud faltered and clutched his chest, as he approached the house, but not for any fear of the supernatural. He’d killed too many supernatural creatures to care about even the biggest and vilest ones. Besides, he knew firsthand that the scariest thing in Shinra Manor had been a living human being, named Hojo.

It was just that the pain in the area of his heart had gotten steadily worse, on the walk here, and now it was throbbing insistently, aching so badly it was getting hard to ignore it.

What the hell could it be? He’d chopped wood and done other physical labor all day, without noticing it. Why was it getting worse, now, after a relatively light walk?

He was thinking about this, in mild annoyance, when he heard a noise inside the house. In the blink of an eye, his sword flashed out and he shifted into combat mode, all senses on alert.

As he stepped inside, the stench of dry-rot hit him in the face, like a wool blanket. He paused and surveyed the area. It was pretty dark, in here, but he had excellent night-vision, so it was more like dim twilight, to him.

The noise was coming from the upper level, somewhere. A rasping sound, like dry corn husks scraping the walls. Every once in a while, there was a burst of creepy cackling. His lip curled. He knew exactly what that was.

The main stairwell had collapsed, so he leapt lightly up to the landing on the next level, and stalked down the hall. Around the corner, the doors to all the rooms (which were miraculously intact), were closed tight. The scraping sound was coming from…pretty much all of them. How did those things manage to get into the rooms and shut the doors behind them?

“Dumbshits,�� he grumbled, and kicked the first door open.

Sure enough, a bunch of floating fiends, with markings like stupid jack-o-lantern faces on their balloon-like air-sacs, were bobbing around the room cackling at each other. When the door exploded inward, they shrieked and rushed at Cloud. With a casual swing of his sword, he obliterated all of them at once.

Their dying howls riled up the ones in the other rooms. Apparently they couldn’t figure out how to get out, though, so they just rasped and thudded around, cackling like idiots. Cloud kicked the next door down and blasted those ones, too.

He repeated this process, for each room, making his way down the hall, till he reached the room with the secret passage, to the basement levels. There was no noise from this one. He tried the knob. It clicked easily, and the door swung open, with a hollow creak.

No fiends in here, but the passage to the basement was open. He’d better go down there and clear out anything else, that might be lurking. Monsters loved dark, dank places like that.

Slapping his sword back onto the magnetic holder, he hopped down the black hole, and landed on a stone floor, three full stories below.

The impact of his boots was still echoing in the stone-walled chamber, when he heard it. A low, eerie moan, that seemed to come from somewhere far off. At the same time, that pain split through his chest like a crack of thunder, making him grab his heart and gasp for breath.

The moan stretched out into a wail, rising in pitch and wavering, before it dwindled again. The sound sent chills racing up his spine. Things like ghosts and monsters held no terror for him, but this was different. He wouldn’t even call it fear. It was more like…a rush of numinous awe.

He threw a firaga burst, to light a couple of the torches on the wall, and surveyed the crypt. Vincent’s coffin was gone. The others had been tossed about and smashed to bits. Bones littered the floor.

Step by step, he descended deeper into the basement. Toward that old library. Toward that horrible place, where he was stuck with needles and probes, cut open and sewn back together, had his eyes blinded with chemicals and his lungs filled with burning mako, till his throat was too scorched and raw, to even beg for death.

His stomach churned and cold sweat was beading on his forehead, but he kept going, compelled by that ghastly moaning and the splitting pain in his chest.

He passed through the library, still scattered all over with heaps of old books, smelling heavily of their musty scent. The door was open, on the other side. The moaning had turned into a low whimpering, punctuated with choking sobs. It didn’t sound like a woman’s voice, though.

Drawing his sword again, and clenching his teeth against the agonizing ache in his heart, he stepped into the next chamber, all his hyper-tuned senses on high alert. There were collapsed pillars and scorch marks, and slashes made by huge claws in the stone walls, from their fight with Vincent, in his beast form.

Along the far wall, were several heavy, steel doors, with locking bars on the outside. The one the noise was coming from was ajar. It wasn’t the lab he’d been confined in. It was on the opposite end of the long chamber—the one with those strange vats, labeled Project-S, which Vincent had taken umbrage to them entering, back then.

Cloud pushed the door the rest of the way open and scanned the room. In the inky, underground darkness, even his night-vision was pushed to the limits, and he could only see very dimly, but it was enough to spot the source of the noise.

It was a naked, ash-white, human figure, curled up in the corner of the room, trembling and whimpering. Its pallid body seemed insubstantial, almost transparent at the edges, like it was fading out of reality. That was probably just an illusion, brought on by the heavy darkness.

He used a materia to summon a little ball of light, and as the white glow filled the room, the figure gave a hoarse cry and curled up tighter.

Cloud squinted at it. This must be the ghost, people claimed was haunting the place, but why would they say it was a woman? Its back was to him and its head was down, wrapped up protectively in its arms, but he could see that it was a man, from the broadness and muscularity of the shoulders.

“N—no, please,” the ghost stammered, in a weak half-whisper. “Please, don’t hurt me. I’ll be good. I won’t…I won’t ask about her anymore, I promise. Please.”

“Hey. What’s wrong with you?” Cloud said.

His own voice startled him, sounding solid and very loud, compared to the feeble murmurs of the ghost, which were muted and distorted, as if Cloud was hearing them through water.

“No, g—go away! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” the thing wailed, as Cloud stepped closer.

“Will you shut up and listen to me?” Cloud said, keeping the sword trained on the huddled figure.

The ghost’s piteous pleas cut off abruptly, but it kept trembling and cowering.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Cloud soothed. “Calm down, ok? What are you doing here? Did you get lost?”

Hesitantly, the figure lifted its head.

Cloud’s heart stopped.

Time seemed to stop.

Long, silver hair hung over the ghastly-white face, and cascaded to the floor, pooling around its bare feet, like water. From between the moon-colored strands, pale-blue eyes peered up at him, with slit, catlike pupils.

“Who…who are you?”

next chap

ao3