#puppet cloud strife

Breaching the crystal initially felt like pushing past a membrane, and inside a pleasantly warm liquid welcomed him in as a gentle thanks for his delivery. He stared, transfixed, as the Black Materia left his palm to float upwards to rest in front of where Sephiroth’s heart would be. It was beautiful, just like Sephiroth -- and just as deadly, too, as it activated.

Distantly he heard shouting, but none of the words registered in his mind, too filled with blissful static for anything else to fit; a euphoria he knew came from Sephiroth’s pleasure at him fulfilling his purpose. He had unfortunately stumbled along the way, but in the end he had succeeded, granting his master the final key to achieving his goal. Around them the cavern shook, and the roots holding Sephiroth’s cocoon in place gave way, collapsing down around them. He himself nearly fell backwards, knocked into by falling debris, though suddenly he felt himself be tugged forward instead.

And then... silence.

The surrounding chaos had been muted, blocked out by…

Despite the quick flash of shock, his expression was heavy-lidded and slack. Soon everything faded away (even the faint pins and needles from the direct contact with mako) until all he could feel was the pulsing heat that trickled down his spine, and a heavy weight on his mind that pressed all of the unnecessary thoughts out as though they were nothing more than juice squeezed from an overripe fruit. He had done a good job. Hojo hadn’t wanted him, hadn’t thought him useful, but Sephiroth felt differently. No other opinion mattered but his master’s, and he was being rewarded for completing his task. He knew that finally, finally he could rest -- rest here, where he belonged, settled against Sephiroth's body with the Black Materia between them, where the two of them would sleep until the world was ready to birth its new god.