Descent (Open)

The sun hung low in the evening sky, its amber rays danced slowly across the dark clouds of smog that covered the city. The beautiful orb of warmth and light drifted slowly downward below the jaded horizon as darkness crept across the city, much like a wave washing across the beach at the changing of the tides. Genesis leaned forward hanging over the edge of the building as his left hand griped the needle point of the tower. His bright blue eyes shown as the last glimmers of light left the world and gave rise to the pale stair of the moon. A slight breeze danced across him as his jacked flapped in the wind sending of sprinkles of water out into the abyss. Genesis shivered a little as a scowl worked its way across his placid face. Stepping back he ran his crimson gloved fingers through wet hair pushing the matted crimson waves back out of his face. He felt so very heavy and slow. Everything he did was lethargic and pained. His body ached and resisted every command he gave it. A hushed sneer escaped his lips.

“Oh a hundred seasons have passed and my plight has gone unnoticed by goddess. For years I have been stolen by the darkness, hidden from her warmth and embrace. While the world has grown to nothing but a hollow husk, I have slumbered awaiting her eternal song to awaken me. Now the opening note has been sung to her rapture and her hero has awakened to serve her.”

Abruptly he bent low and launched himself from the building. For a moment the world and time itself sat still as he flew through the air his coat and hair trailing behind him as glimmering drops of water followed his path as one dark wing sprouted from his back with a burst of dark feathers. Genesis smiled for the first time as the wing gave a powerful beat making the SOLDIER become nothing more than a crimson line across the dark night sky. Looking down at the city below him his eyes darted across the skyline looking for someone or something that looked familiar from before he had been placed in suspended animation. It was just then that his eyes caught sight of the Seventh Heaven bar and in. Instantly he shot downward. The wind whipped passed him as he dove toward the ceiling. Just moments before he struck it he wing gave another powerful beat downward to counteract the force as he landed. It was at that moment that the quite block erupted with sound as a shock-wave of wind erupted from his landing point on the roof. The building around the bar rattled and the screaming of metal rubbing against itself could be hard as dust and scraps of the roof shot outward.

The loud din was only for a moment though as once again the area became silent. The wind came yet again and the dust began to slowly dissipate leaving Genesis’ silhouette standing in a rather large dint in the tin roof of the bar. Leaping effortlessly to the ground below Genesis landed silently his back turned to entrance. It was then that two patrons of the bar stumbled drunkenly out there faces contorted in confusion at the loud ruckus they had heard just moments ago. Squinting feverishly they peered into the night as the haze of the darkness began to lift with their adjusting eyes. Slowly Genesis came into focus as the light of the moon reflected off his sword. Turning slowly his eyes narrowed as the blue glowed brightly underneath the curtain of crimson hair that covered his face. The two older men looked at each other, it had not been so long that they had forgotten what a SOLDIER looked like nor the death and destruction that tended to follow them. Turning quickly they stumbled over one another as they ran back into the bar like frightened dogs leaving their masters sight. Genesis smirked as he stepped slowly forward towards the bar. Oh what specter of his past might he encounter in this droll place. Perhaps, one kind enough to remind his arm of its old strength by allowing him to grip his sword once more.

John watched the man with one lone black wing fall from the sky, literally. It was a surreal spectacle that only few caught sight of, the scattered lost souls of Midgar who sought refuge from a world that gave them no solace for living in it were the only spectators. He watched as the being slammed into the tin roof of Tifa’s Seventh Heaven bar then felt the shockwave of energy and air as it pulsed out across the divide of the street then the city. The Shaman saw the man wore a crimson cloak and pushed back crimson red hair from his eyes, but it was the lone black wing that caught his eyes more.

He had heard stories about the beings with one wing, a set of poor souls who were the direct result of experiments by men of science. One was called Sephiroth with a white wing and the other Genesis, bearer of the black. John started across the street toward Tifa’s moving quietly and slowly still watching the one long black wing as the man gathered himself. He examined the wing and wondered if this man had been blessed or cursed with the appendage. It reminded him of Crow, the totem spirit he had met on several occasions in his life. The Crow is a sacred old spirit, a keeper of the Law for the other Worlds. He is also the bearer of change, the one who weaves the omens of the winds that come to move one along in life. Was he like Crow, a keeper of his word and harbinger of a future transformation? John would have to talk with him to see what would come of that thought.

Yet maybe this man wasn’t a part of old Crow. The Shaman had heard of angels in his life, had seen them during his Journeys to the other worlds. Some were shaped like men, walked and talked like men, and bore evil or good like men. Some though were different, marked like Genesis with one distinct feature that bore them out. Was Genesis an angel, marked and thus a higher being for others to look at with endearment? From what John had heard this is what the scientist wanted to create, a higher being. They wanted to mix with the Jenova and thus create a better man maybe? It seems all they bore for their troubles was pain and the realization better does not always mean ‘higher’. The need to find this ‘higher’ being, an obsession for some, had brought about nothing but sorrow from what John had learned on his travels.

As he reached the other side the Shaman wondered what it would be like meeting with Genesis. Would he like to talk or just be left alone? John had led a solitary life due to his path in this world and the need for secrecy so he would understand if Genesis would rather be alone. What the Shaman really hoped for was Genesis would take his approach for peace and nothing more.

John hoped he was not coming off like a star struck fool.

Genesis was quite impressive; a fact only made stronger by the fact John was standing this close. The stories the Shaman heard did no justice to the being. As he stood listening to Genesis speak John took note of the man’s aura, the swirls of Turquoise and Orange intermingled just inches from the body of the one-winged man, but there was also gray all though out. Splotches appeared here and there which told John Genesis had moments of melancholy thoughts, maybe inner reflections that were deep and brooding.

“I’m sorry to intrude. My name is John Greywolf, I’m a shaman, and I mean no disrespect.”

John waited a moment before carrying on. “I have only heard tales of you and the one they call Sephiroth and I can tell you those stories leave much out. If I may, can I ask you about your life?”

The question was forward, but John hoped Genesis would understand. The Shaman had come across many unique beings in his life, but none like him. The closest would be the teacher of his teacher in the path of Shamanism. John had met him in the Upper World in a cave in a secluded forest on one Journey and then on several returns to talk. Each visit led to new discoveries, some good and some not so well, but it was not the revelations that drew John back to the spirit of Running Bear. No, it was the shaman’s true form. In the Middle World Running Bear was a human like John, two legs and two arms, but after his ascension to the Upper World his appearance was truer to his inner spirit. It would take two men the size of John to reach Running Bear’s height and while he wore the tanned hides of his ancestors in a tunic and leggings his hands and feet were covered with a thick fur. The appendages resembled that of a large Grizzly Bear and when John looked into the shaman’s face he saw the features of man and a bear there, a long nose and mouth almost forming a maw. The eyes of Running Bear had no iris and no cornea, just black pools with the twinkling stars of Father Sky staring back to you. His long black hair was wild, flowing as if propelled by an invisible wind that only Running Bear could feel.

His teacher, the old woman, had old John bout her teacher in a fond way with a glint in her eye. Running Bear was just like his name sake, a tall strong man with deep brown eyes that burrowed to your soul and a hard will that refused to break. He was well into his later years when she came upon him young and seeking a guide. At first she had refused to take her in and when John found him Running Bear refused to speak with him as well. The old woman though never faltered in her want to be his student and John returned to the cave again and again until the Shaman finally spoke with him.

John hoped he wouldn’t have to keep coming back to talk with Genesis.