#vincent valentine is half chinese no one can prove he isn't
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Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH. 3
A little from Nero's perspective. Finally.
edit: added a pic of his arms marks and darkness tentacles cause i really think they're neat
It was an act of cruelty, to resuscitate his body. The cruelest thing anyone had ever done to him, in his lifetime of torture and captivity.
The dearest wish of his heart had finally come true. He had abandoned this mortal husk and they had become one, at last. Truly united, in body and soul.��In that moment of sublime joy, he surrendered his entire self, to be swallowed up and assimilated, once and for all, into the one he loved.
Then that fucking red-caped bastard tore them apart again. Ripped him violently away from his other half and left a gaping, bleeding hole in his place.
Now, his every breath was a misery to him. He was shattered, ragged, raw and gutted; consumed by aching, gnawing desperation, that made his bones itch and his teeth feel hollow.
He stretched his jaw, but there was no soothing resistance to push against. He crossed his arms tightly, but there was no reassuring pressure to hold them down. He missed his muzzle and straitjacket. He even missed the darkness and the chains. To sleep away the years in nothingness would be preferable to this waking nightmare, where he was alive, without his brother.
And they had the sheer audacity to say Weiss was dead. As if Nero wouldn’t know it, the moment his only beloved’s soul left this plane of existence. They were severed halves of the same whole. He would know it, if the other half of his heart died. He would fucking know.
Too agitated to sit still any longer, he got up and paced about, from the window to the closet to the bed, arms crossed rigidly, black fingernails digging into the black, tattoo-like patterns that were crawling along his arms, writhing and shifting, in response to his emotional turmoil.
A purple tendril reached out tentatively from his forearm and twined itself around his finger, almost like a pet, nuzzling its master. Then another, and another. When he pulled his hand away, thin purple strands had got themselves webbed between all his fingers, and stretched out between his hand and his arm, like tacky slime.
He scowled and shook them off. They dangled there, for a minute, flopping around and acting pathetic, but when it became clear he wasn’t going to pity them, they sullenly retracted, into the markings on his arm.
Hearing clanging noises outside, he stepped back to the window and peered out, through a crack in the blackout curtains. That obnoxious blonde man, with scruffy stubble and a cigarette permanently dangling from his lip was out there, doing something to one of the rusty old vehicles, that involved wrenches and cursing.
Nero went back and curled up into a ball on the bed, hugging his knees to his chest. There was no way to escape from this place. Not with that absolute monster Sephiroth always around, guarding the place like an overenthusiastic Doberman.
An overenthusiastic Doberman that was also a full-time nanny. What the hell was his obsession with that stupid baby? He had her more than either of her fathers did, and he was always talking to her (half the time in Mandarin), as if she was an adult who could understand him, in any language.
The bandaged wounds in his chest throbbed, suddenly, making him wince and take short, panting breaths. They said the puncture wounds went straight through his back and all the way out the front, collapsing both lungs and just barely missing his heart. They all agreed he should be dead, but no one could figure out what weapon had been used. The prevailing theory was a trident. Doctors were idiots.
When he was considered well enough to present a serious and immediate danger to the stability of society, he was moved from the hospital, to a Shinra owned maximum-security super-prison, where they kept him muzzled and chained up, just like he’d been in the reactor. It wasn’t much different from normal.
But then lawyers started coming to see him. Saying things like ‘not competent to stand trial’ and ‘traumatized victim’ and ‘horrifically abused over a sustained period.’ That wasn’t very nice of them, but he didn’t care what they thought, and never deigned to acknowledge anything they said to him.
Then they started in with the ‘DNA testing has confirmed paternity’ and ‘only living relative’ and ‘father.’ What the hell were they on about? He tuned in for a little while, till he understood that the red-caped bastard who beat him senseless, was also the one who’d dragged him out of there and ‘saved his life.’ And now they were claiming that very same bastard was his father. Which, ironically, made Nero the bastard.
His entire being revolted against the idea, and at the same time, he wondered at the fact that it hadn’t been obvious to him, the moment he saw the man’s face. Crimson wasn’t exactly a common eye color, not to mention naturally straight, jet-black hair, with almost no respect for gravity. The deathly pale, faintly olive-toned complexion and lithe, slender frame (the height seemed to have skipped a generation, but he was only twenty-three; there was still a chance he’d grow a little more). Even the man’s east Asian ancestry was visible in Nero’s face.
Not that he acknowledged that bastard as his father. He did not. Given the choice, he’d have remained in prison, rather than go with him. He was not given a choice.
The prison system felt it was inadequate to handle such an individual, long term, and pleaded the potential for immense casualties, as well as tens of millions of gil in property destruction, should they lose control of him. The insurance rates alone would bankrupt them in a matter of weeks. They simply couldn’t bear the liability.
Failing a death sentence, which they could not impose, since he was deemed insane, and not legally culpable, the court decided that the best way to keep an augmented person in check was another, stronger augmented person, who had already proven himself to be on the side of law and order. Even better, the little walking apocalypse’s biological father happened to be just such a person.
Thus, Nero was remanded to the custody of Vincent Valentine, under house arrest, term to be determined, depending upon progress, behavior, mental stability, blah blah blah.
They didn’t know how to remove his darkness power, so he was put in a permanent neckband, with some diabolical Shinra tech in it, that restrained it somewhat. Then they just sent him away, with the red-caped bastard and his foul-mouthed husband.
The prison system breathed a collective sigh of relief to have that mess conveniently off their hands, and everyone moved on with their lives. Everyone except Nero, who’d had no say in the matter.
Nero, who was now in the cold-sweat phase of a full blown panic attack, curled up in a self-soothing ball, in this teeth-grindingly spacious and airy bedroom, in this sickeningly harmonious household, with his fake family and WITHOUT HIS GODDAMNED BROTHER.
That silver-haired lunatic didn’t count, no matter how he insisted on it. Sephiroth was not his real brother, and he never would be. Never. Nero clenched his teeth and bit back the childish tears, that were attempting to force their way out of his eyes.
Stupid. Juvenile. Weak. What would Weiss think, if he saw you behaving this way?
That thought sliced through the panic spiral, and the iron bands that were constricting around his ribcage fell away. He sat up, taking deep, calming breaths and regaining his composure. He had a responsibility to Weiss. He had to get back to him, no matter what.
Escape was his number one priority, but he couldn’t overpower the enemy, so he’d have to outsmart them. In order to do that, he’d have to gain their trust. Get them to let their guard down. Bide his time and await the right moment. The second they gave him enough slack, he’d slip the lead and vanish, before they knew what was happening.
But he couldn’t suddenly become a model family member. They’d see through that immediately, and the game would be lost. He would have to run cold, take one step forward and two back, let them think they were wearing down his resistance. Getting through to him, little by little.
Just when they started patting themselves on the back, for rehabilitating this poor, troubled youth, they’d realize he was nowhere to be found. He smiled to himself, imagining the looks on their stupid faces, when they realized they’d been played for fools.
Then his smile faded and he chewed his thumbnail, anxiously. The problem was Sephiroth. Nero doubted he’d ever let his guard down, and he could very well spoil everything, if he kept the others on alert.
Well, there was nothing for it. No plan was without its hitch. He’d just have to be extra vigilant, around Sephiroth, and never let the mask show a crack. There’d be no escaping with him present, either, so he’d have to wait for circumstances to line up. When the Doberman was away, the cat could play.
LINK TO CH. 4
#nero the sable#vincent valentine#sephiroth#weiss the immaculate#dad!vincent#the vincent family#sephiroth and sister HC#vincent is sephiroth's father#Vincent is nero's father#cid highwind#final fantasy 7#ff7#valenwind#ff7 vincent#ff7 rebirth#dirge of cerberus#for funsies#though this part is a lil angsty#big brother sephiroth#vincent valentine is half chinese no one can prove he isn't
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