Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII, its characters, and settings are all property of Square Enix so I can take no credit nor claim any ownership of that. I do take some credit for the story’s plot.
Banner Artwork Disclaimer: The featured artwork for the banner is entitled White rose I and was created by the very talented Deviant Artist RemusSirion who was gracious enough to grant me permission to use it here. The picture has been slightly altered from the original. All rights belong to the artist, and links are included for both the artist page and the work.
Chapter artwork disclaimer: the featured artwork for this chapter is by HACHIMITSUBANI. THE PICTURE HAS BEEN SLIGHTLY ALTERED IN APPEARANCE AND TO INCLUDE THE CHAPTER NUMBER AND TITLE. ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO THE ARTIST.
*******MAJOR CONTENT WARNING*******
Consistent and sustained graphic descriptions and mentions of rape/ sexual assault, sexual slavery/bondage, slavery, human trafficking, physical abuse, graphic descriptions of violence, mental abuse, emotional abuse, psychological abuse, body shaming, starvation, torture, forced pregnancy, forced childbirth, miscarriage, forced miscarriage, abortion, and other potential disturbing and triggering topics.
- The Night King by Ramin Djawadi
- Heed Our Warning from Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen Movie Score
- Into Dust by Mazzy Star
I listened to all three of these while writing/editing this chapter.
Sephiroth fulfills the promise he made to Aeris the day he found her.
The sky above Midgar was blood tinged in haze with the remnants of sun on its edges. It bathed the dead city in crimson fall, but meant nothing to those far below. For those above it meant nothing either, for they were long gone and fled. Cracked concrete and twisted street lamps paid homage to once reigning estates, and the tower of course, that monolith mighty, still ever raped the sky.
Down, down below in what once was a church, a greasy man counted his gil. A tongue darted out over thin lips, as pitted eyes shone bright with glee. It was more money then he’d ever held, and his “business” was profitable. A chain skittered past his flurry of feet as the slaver paced, thumbing his bills. He glanced up and around where stained glass smeared the light to fall upon his fellows. All were busy with the same occupation…and in planning restock of “supplies.”
The doors did not creak but a shiver of cold caused the man to look up. A vision unseen in half of a year darkened what light reached the slums. His hands didn’t flutter because he held gil, but the slaver quick stove it away. Wringing damp fingers, he flashed slimy smile regretful in supplication.
“Great General, oh! Oh, you’ve returned. I’m sorry I’ve no more wares. We’re all full cleaned out. The last was sold no more’n an hour ago. You wouldn’t believe the wealth of demand. Men of means and great appetite.” He straightened tawdry clothes on ungainly form so shadowed by greatness and pale. The angelic face could’ve been a wall for what expression was held therein. Large fists in their leather tightened unseen, nearly splitting the tough, shiny skin. The fool slaver tittered and puttered about, sweeping chains ‘neath a pew with his foot. “But who cares about that. Let’s talk about you! How are you liking the girl? I know you enjoyed her. She was my best. Her tiny cunt was exquisite.” He could not help but muse as he chuckled, missing wrath that could empty all worlds. “No matter how many men she amused, it always remained tight and wet. But I’m sure you know that by now. What’s it been, over half a year?”
Silence ruled mask shrouded by silver, as the slaver grinned with slightest shrug. The general had always been an impassive man, but the girl had surely pleased him. There had never once been any complaint even from those who preferred her not breeding. No matter the time nor her condition, that cunt was always a dream. “I’m sure by now you’ve well experienced the satisfaction of her screams. I miss her still, Great General…” Beady eyes turned to bright stone. “Perhaps,” he wheedled the figure unmoving save for the grip of his fist. “Perhaps we could make a dea-”
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