The heavy silence of the Underworld broke with the sound of dragging wheels and squeaking iron hinges. In the dim, smoldering chamber where Helios hung in chains, barely conscious, the rhythmic creak of the cart echoed like the ticking of a dreadful clock.
Hades strode in, arms wide, voice booming with false cheer.
"Ready, kid!" he announced as the doors flung open behind him.
Helios stirred faintly, eyes fluttering. His body hung limp, bruised and blistered. Dried blood cracked around his wrists where the manacles held him, and the scent of burnt flesh still lingered from Hades' last visit.
Behind the god came his bumbling minions, Pain and Panic, struggling to push a twisted iron cart bristling with cruel instruments—thumbscrews, jagged saws, pliers blackened by old blood, and devices so ancient they had names lost to time.
"Sorry we're late," Pain puffed, wiping sweat from his brow. "The saws kept clanking into the skull grinder."
"And I lost one of the ear spikes under the bed!" Panic added helpfully.
"Not to worry," Hades said, flicking back his flaming blue hair. "The guest of honor's still breathing and isn't upset."
Helios weakly raised his head. His lips were cracked. His voice, when it came, was a rasp. "You… call this hospitality? I've… had better."
Hades chuckled and clapped once. Flames burst up from the floor in blue and green spirals. "I call it service with style. But enough chit-chat. We've got ourselves a theme park of torment, and your FastPass just activated."
He stepped closer and used the pliers to start removing Helios nails, and then—
Helios screamed.
It was a long, raw cry that filled the chamber, echoing against stone, until even Pain and Panic winced.
"That's the sound, boys," Hades said, grinning. "You hear that? That's the music of someone realizing the afterlife isn't just harp solos and floating clouds."
He pulled out the last nail and watched as blood dripped from Helios' fingers and toes.
"Now," Hades said, voice suddenly silky and cruel, "Let's talk shop. Are you going to tell me what Hecate whispered into your little ear? Or will we continue our little bonding time?"
Helios met his gaze, jaw clenched. "She said you're… an idiot. I'm starting to see it."
Helios let out a pained chuckle which was followed by Hades' belly laugh, flicking the side of Helios' head like a pesky fly. "Kiddo. I'm really going to enjoy this next part."
Without another word, snapped, and Pain and Panic attached and started twisting the thumbscrews. Helios howled again, his body thrashing against the chains, muscles spasming, and his wrist bled from his thrashing.
"That's the spirit!" Hades sang. "Or what's left of it, anyway bring that one next."
Elsewhere…
The moon cast pale light over the shattered hill, and in its glow danced silver and shadows.
Sephiroth's blade was a blur, slashing horizontally, then vertically, then vanishing in a teleport dash as he reappeared behind one of his shadowy dopplegängers.
There were eight of them—each one a twisted silhouette molded in his own image, bearing blackened imitations of the Masamune, their movements a perfect mimicry of his own.
They attacked without pause, without fear, without fatigue.
And Sephiroth, for all his supernatural grace, was beginning to feel the weight.
His breath came harder now. A faint sheen of sweat coated his skin. His coat was sliced in places, and his boots dragged just slightly slower as he shifted stances.
Still, none had landed a hit.
One shadow leapt, blade arcing downward. Sephiroth blocked it with a metallic ring, then sidestepped a second slash and drove his elbow into the copy's throat, sending it crashing into a tree, only for another to take its place instantly.
They moved like a pack—perfect coordination, inhuman reflexes. He knew this tactic. He'd used it himself.
From a high perch, he landed lightly in a crouch, eyes narrow, scanning the eight forms fanning out beneath him.
"You're efficient," he muttered. "But you're flawed copies without any imagination."
He raised one gloved hand, and a swirling black light formed above it.
"Heartless Angel."
The magic took hold in the air—twisting space, draining energy. The shadows paused, trembling as dark halos formed above them, siphoning their regenerative essence, their monstrous stamina.
Their flickering eyes dulled.
Sephiroth dropped from the ridge, sword drawn at his side.
In a single breath, he vanished.
A heartbeat later, he reappeared among them, his Masamune drawn in a wide horizontal sweep—an Iai strike.
The line of motion gleamed in silver.
And then the shadows fell.
One by one, sliced apart by an invisible cut that followed a perfect path through each of their torsos. They shattered into wisps of black smoke.
Silence reigned.
Sephiroth exhaled, letting the sword fall to his side. Sephiroth's chest rose and fell, slow but labored. His breath misted slightly, heat seeping from his skin in waves. Blood trickled down his forearm, a single shallow slash from when one had managed to graze him just before its demise.
He barely had a moment to breathe.
A flash of fire—hot, bright, and feral—erupted behind him.
He sidestepped instantly, just in time to avoid being incinerated. A blistering Firaga spell tore through where he had been, exploding in a sphere of rolling flame and smoke.
The ground where he stood exploded, shattering stone and sending molten chunks into the air.
From the firelight stepped a massive three-headed beast, its jaws snarling, fangs gleaming.
Cerberus.
He had returned—wounds healed, fury renewed.
Sephiroth narrowed his eyes. "Looks like I wasted too much time here. Round two, then."
The creature roared, its center head belching a stream of molten fire that seared across the battlefield. Sephiroth leapt skyward, dodging the first blast, his black wing unfurled in a flash of shadow and silver light.
The crackle of burned air still lingered when Sephiroth turned, his long coat fluttering in the smoky wind.
The monstrous hound's middle head snarled with murderous glee, the right head baring its fangs while the left chuffed steam. Reforged from flame and shadow, the creature stood taller than before—flesh mended by hellfire, its hide even more gnarled and armored with plates of obsidian-colored bone.
Sephiroth narrowed his eyes. "Still hungry for another beating?"
Cerberus charged.
The ground shook with each step, trees snapping beneath its weight. Its jaws opened wide, and a torrent of flame spewed forth. Sephiroth jumped into the air, flipping backward as fire scorched the earth below. He summoned Shadow Flares in a spiraling ring around him, launching them at each head simultaneously.
The explosions rang out, each head yelping in unison.
But the hound was not so easily felled this time.
Cerberus leapt.
Midair.
A three-headed behemoth crashing through the sky toward him.
Sephiroth barely crossed his blade in time to block the central maw. The impact sent him rocketing backward through the air—he flipped, rebounding off a ruined statue's shoulder, and landed in a skid. He exhaled, steadying himself.
"Stronger," he muttered. "But still nothing more than a little lapdog."
He disappeared in a blink and reappeared beside the beast's left flank, Masamune flashing. He slashed through one of the creature's back legs. Cerberus roared, the limb buckling.
But the right head snapped toward him and unleashed a cone of compressed sound—a bark so loud and forceful it cracked the nearby stones and sent Sephiroth sliding.
He planted his sword and came to a halt.
His heart pounded. Muscles ached. The battle with his shadows had worn him down. He could feel the stiffness in his shoulders and the dull sting of fatigue in his legs.
But there was no pause. No reprieve.
He shot forward again, this time arcing above Cerberus's heads. The middle head snapped at him but he twisted midair, spiraling over it and landing a heavy strike across the back of its neck. A deep, bloodless gash tore through its hide.
Cerberus whirled around. The hound snarled in fury and pain, its eyes glowing with infernal light.
Then the middle head reared back—and with a growl that seemed to shake the heavens—launched a sphere of condensed, molten fire. Not just Firaga.
Hellfire.
Sephiroth's eyes widened for a fraction of a second. He threw his hand out.
"Firaga Wall!"
A column of searing flames erupted around him, swallowing the oncoming attack. The two flames clashed—twisting into a chaotic vortex before detonating outward in a concussive explosion.
Dust and fire blanketed the battlefield. Trees fell. Rocks cracked. Silence.
Then—
Cerberus emerged from the smoke again.
And this time, so did Sephiroth.
His coat was singed. Blood trickled from his scalp where debris had clipped him. But his blade was still in hand, and his stance never faltered.
"You're persistent," Sephiroth murmured, eyes narrowing. "But it doesn't matter."
He launched into motion. Cerberus opened all three mouths at once—but Sephiroth didn't attack. Not yet.
Instead, he vanished.
And again.
And again.
Blinking around the hound like a strobe of silver and shadow.
Cerberus snapped wildly in all directions, trying to catch him.
Then—
A single step. A single draw.
One flash.
Masamune sliced clean through the beast's right leg and lower torso, the impact delayed for half a heartbeat before the massive wound split open, dark ooze pouring from the gash.
The hound staggered. Its right head drooped. The central head roared in defiance.
Sephiroth stood still again, his blade faintly steaming, arm hanging low.
His breath came faster now.
More strained.
Cerberus charged in a desperate lunge—no fire, no tactics—just fury.
Sephiroth caught the center head's bite with his blade flat. The left head lunged for his side—but he spun, lifted his foot, and drove his heel into its jaw, snapping it sideways.
He brought his blade down in an arc—
Once.
Twice.
A third slash, downward from the heavens.
Each strike landed with a thunderous crack, each one leaving a jagged wound of darkness and light.
And then, with one final whirl of his blade, he leapt into the air—Masamune glowing.
He descended.
A final plunge, full bodyweight behind the thrust, impaling Cerberus straight through its heart.
The beast let out one last pained howl.
And fell.
Stone trembled. Dust rose. The battlefield went still.
Sephiroth stood atop the beast's corpse, chest rising and falling.
He stepped off slowly, pulling the blade free, and wiped the blood against the dirt. His body trembled—not from fear, but from sheer exertion.
He rolled his shoulders once, looking toward the mountain summit in the distance.