Zack Death Scene

[S and G]

Hey folks, a lot of you will already know that after all these years, I'm still plodding on with my novelisation of FFVII and the overall Compilation.

A few weeks ago, I ran a competition on my novels' Facebook page to give fans the opportunity to have their say on what their favourite scene from the Compilation was, one which I would then convert into a short written passage. The resulting vote: Zack's death.

It was initially to be exclusive to the page, but I figure that doesn't make sense. Anyway, I hope you enjoy....I'd love to know what you think.

P.S., if you are interested in my projects, you'll find the free download links on the Facebook page or in my signature. They are available in both PDF and ePub formats.



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Everything was like a shadow, as if all joy and happiness had been drained from the world. Around him, the deafening roar of the helicopters had subsided, as had the stampede of boots on the barren rock, and the thunderous gunfire of a thousand automatic rifles. However, those haunting sounds continued to echo in his ears, or his mind, he could not tell which. His body was still, unable to move as a result of the agonising wounds it had endured, now nothing more than a numbed shell. He was trapped in a prison of flesh and bone; alive, but alone.

Zack opened his eyes slowly, for even that simple act sent ripples of pain cascading over his forehead. It was then that he felt the gentle rain on his skin for the first time, spraying without care on his face, trickling down his cheeks like anxious tears. The sky above the Wastelands had grown overcast, the darkening storm clouds gliding solemnly across the lofty heavens; observing him; taunting him. Far below the cliffside, lakes of glassy silver were forming in the craters of the ordinarily-arid plains, and the landscape was shrouded in a murky haze, somewhat veiling the looming silhouette of Midgar.

He sipped at the air, inhaling tenderly, each breath excruciating as it fought to enter the collapsed lung on his left side. As his surroundings took shape, the gash on his temple began to sting, the oozing blood blurring his vision as it collected at the corner of his iris. His garments were heavy and sodden, clinging to his legs and torso, but he could not bear to look down, hanging on to a distant hope that they were soaked in water and not stained in red. For what seemed like an eternity, though it may have been only a fleeting moment, he watched the tranquil droplets tumble to the Planet, listening as they struck the ground around him, or pattered in the developing puddles.

Everything hurts…but, that means there’s still sensation…

With a great effort, Zack curled his fingertips, immediately touching the leather handle of the Buster Sword through his gloves. Knowing that the magnificent blade was still close by comforted him, but he no longer bore the strength to wield it. He gripped it lightly nonetheless, as it was a connection to the real world, one from which he was beginning to understand that he would soon pass.

The prospect of death did not frighten him, but he was saddened by the idea of leaving behind his friends and family. He thought of his parents in Gongaga, and how they might forever wonder what became of him; he thought of Aerith, tending her flowers at the church in Sector5, feeling an ache in his heart worse than any of the bullets in his chest; and, finally, without even a remote suggestion of bitterness or regret, he thought of Cloud, the companion for whom he had sacrificed everything.

Cloud…where is he…?

The Shinra commander had presumed the blonde fugitive dead which, deliberate or otherwise, meant his subordinates had displayed a level of mercy and humanity that the Army had not reserved for Zack. The Company had ultimately deemed the pair’s existence too much of a threat, and had unleashed a significant number of SOLDIERs and infantry battalions to eliminate two former servants. Grimacing as he turned his head slightly, careful in his minute movements, Zack glanced back towards the rock formation that he had concealed his friend within, his pulse quickening as he saw no sign of life.

The aftermath of battle was prominent across the plateau, with many of the weeds that sprouted from the hilltop now floundering in pools of blood and sludge. Hardedge swords stood erect in the soil or cleaved in half, assault rifles lay strewn amid hundreds of discharged slugs, and even a selection of defaced helmets had been abandoned. The Shinra military had at least shown some decency by retrieving the bodies of those that had been slain by Zack’s hand. It was not in his nature to kill unless absolutely necessary, and it disgusted him to think that his last meaningful act in life had been to send so many soldiers to their graves. However, that was cast from his mind in an instant as something stirred from behind the nearest boulder.

A shuffling sound floated on the wind, then a distinct scrape of plated metal against stone. To the right of the bulbous rock, a clumsy hand appeared, followed by a drooping head of spiked blonde hair. Despite his overwhelming gladness, Zack could do little more than wheeze with relief, smiling weakly, the sight dulling the searing pain that tore through every inch of him.

He…he’s okay…he’s moving on his own…

Cloud clawed at the earth in an awkward bid to drag himself gradually forward, his frail arms shuddering under his weight with every strained advancement, his struggling shoulders bearing the added burden of the armoured pauldrons from the old SOLDIER uniform. He grunted as he pulled his knees determinedly through the thickening mud, crawling on all fours like a new-born beast, his legs reluctant to cooperate. Their flight from Nibelheim had brought the duo halfway around the world and, for the first time since escaping the laboratories of Shinra Manor, the effects of Cloud’s severe Mako poisoning were evidently subsiding.

More than a minute had passed by the time the boy had managed to haul himself over the short distance to where Zack lay, the rain falling harder upon the bluff. With considerable effort, he propped himself up alongside his comrade, his glistening blue eyes steadily processing the scene before him. As his confused gaze scrambled from the holes on Zack’s top and braces where countless bullets had ripped through, turning the material a chilling shade of crimson, to his grime-smeared face and matted fringe, Cloud’s expression was swiftly overcome with fear.

“Z…Zack…?” he whispered softly, his hoarse voice being used for the first time in almost five years.

To hear those words filled Zack with elation. He wanted to embrace his friend, to shout aloud how proud he was of him, but only a stifled groan emerged from his lips. He gaped at Cloud, his eyes wide with frustration, desperate not to waste what scarce time remained for him. He gulped to clear his dry throat, wincing, gathering as much energy as possible to speak.

“For the…both of us…” he stammered, ignoring the torture that came with each forced syllable.

“Both…of us…?” Cloud repeated distractedly, his mind barely coherent.

“That’s right.” Zack affirmed, fighting to breathe. “You’re gonna…”

“Gonna…?”

An alarming surge of discomfort pierced his muscles as he slowly reached out with his left arm, and placed his hand firmly at the back of Cloud’s neck. As he did so, a great swell of emotion erupted inside him; all the heartache; all the worry; all the complexities; everything that had happened with Genesis; being pursued to the ends of the Planet; every last drop of sweat; it was all worth it just to see Cloud released from his state of perpetual vulnerability. Overcome with compassion, Zack drew the young man’s head to his own chest, knowing that part of him could continue on.

“You’re gonna…live…” he vowed, gritting his teeth with resolve. “You’ll be…my living legacy. The proof…that I…existed…”

He trailed off, helpless to prevent his hand sliding away from Cloud as his grip slackened, his arm slumping to the ground. Cloud remained there a moment longer, savouring the intimacy, before rising once again. The jagged locks that framed his face now dripped with blood, the pattern of Zack’s injuries imprinted upon his cheek, trickling slightly as the rain washed it away. Their crestfallen gazes met, lingering, both finding a silent understanding amid a howling wind.

Cloud was scared, that much was obvious, but the same power and drive that had conquered Sephiroth all those years ago still resided within him. Zack felt obliged to protect him, like the unconditional love of an older brother, but he knew that he had to let go; Cloud would be able look after himself now. Zack’s journey was almost over, but Cloud’s was only just beginning. Glancing to the Buster Sword, he clasped his fingers once more around its leather grip as tightly as he could.

“My honour…my dreams…” Zack gasped, summoning every last ember of strength left in his broken body as he lifted the weapon’s handle towards Cloud, offering it to him, “they’re yours now…”

Hesitantly taking the greatsword from his guardian, Cloud stared mesmerised at the gilded decoration carved at its base, its value immeasurable. The Buster Sword was an heirloom to be treasured; a privilege to brandish. It was a heritage to uphold; just as Angeal’s dying wish had been for him to take on its might, so it was for Zack. As the boy accepted it with both hands, he gave one final push, relieving himself of its tenure forever. Only the fading sound of the storm endured as he closed his eyes, smiling, and with that, Zack Fair went to sleep for the last time.


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[Lord Kesharq]

like this ^^ very good work mate

 

[S and G]

Didn't know if anyone would be interested in this, but here is my take on the opening to Episode: Denzel....

Off the Edge of Despair​

Edge’s Main Avenue began at the border of what had been Midgar’s Sectors 3 and 4, stretching from the outskirts of the desolate metropolis. From there, the new town expanded north in the direction of the coastline, and south towards the looming mountain range that arced around the once-great city to the west. At a distance, it seemed a magnificent urban sprawl but, in reality, this was not a true representation. Most of its buildings had been erected using scrap materials and debris from Midgar, and its streets smelled of iron and rust.

In the wake of Meteorfall, Edge had grown rapidly with the help and co-ordination of the purpose-formed World Regenesis Organisation. After the great storm that had ripped Midgar apart, many sections of the upper-city, known as the Plate, remained elevated but unstable. The constant threat of its collapse or a toxic leak from the similarly-crumbling Mako Reactor facilities saw Midgar deemed uninhabitable, and the citizens of the Slums relocated to create a new community.

They had originally elected to build the first of their homes near the construction sites of Sector4, the last segment of the Plate to be completed by the monopolistic Shinra Electric Power Company. It was here that the best tools and supplies were initially to be found but, as Edge developed into a bustling haven for the refugees of Midgar, resources became scarce, and other methods of obtaining the necessary equipment and materials were employed.

Despite the hardship, Edge itself boasted many things for the poorer classes that Midgar had not, including fresh air and sunlight. With the irreparable damage incurred by the Reactors, some forms of natural life had started to emerge on the plains that encompassed the city. In addition, following the events several months before regarding the mysterious Deepground, the Mako had been redistributed across the globe, reviving many barren lands. The Planet’s energy was no longer being drained by the hulking power plants of the Shinra Corporation, and the so-called Wastelands were gradually showing signs of returning to their former fertile state.

Johnny ran a café which sat along the outer limits of Main Avenue, somewhat beyond the scaling towers of the recognised downtown. It was a humble establishment set upon a patch of open ground at the perimeter of the eastern-most residential area, adjacent to the highway bound northeast for the archaic settlement of Kalm. The bar was far enough removed from the activity of everyday life to offer an escape to those who needed it, but only a short walk from the business quarter. Not a prime location by any means, but neither was it the worst, particularly given what had already been claimed by competitors.

Johnny had been born and raised in a village of the Sector7 Slums, and had rarely set foot outside Midgar during his youth. Around the time he turned eighteen, a new bar opened in the district by the name of Seventh Heaven. The tavern was co-owned by a terrifying man with a gatling-gun attached to his right arm, and one of the most beautiful girls he had ever laid eyes upon. Her name was Tifa, and she worked hard every day as barmaid and manager, charming her customers and tempting them with some of the best cooking around. He could still remember the first time he saw her; silken black hair sweeping down her spine, with a fringe hiding one of her large, brown eyes; she was an Angel of the Slums. She and Johnny became friends when he began to frequent Seventh Heaven and, before long, he had fallen in love with her.

He had always admired Tifa’s unfaltering spirit, and when his lifestyle teetered on the brink of association with the seedy underworld of Sector6’s Wall Market, it was she who inspired him to leave Midgar and travel the Planet. For that Johnny was truly grateful as, had it not been for her companionship and motivation, he may not still be alive. Three days after he disembarked upon his journey of self-discovery, his home was destroyed and his parents killed in an unprecedented atrocity. It had been reported that the terrorist group, AVALANCHE, were responsible, but he knew better.

The subsequent grief had smothered him, leaving him feeling helpless and alone, like a young boy lost in an unfamiliar and unkind world. It would be more than two years before he returned to Midgar, to put to rest the ghosts of his past, and finally say farewell to the family and friends who perished that day.

At the time, Johnny was among the masses who could not figure out how to go on and, when he learned that Tifa had established another bar in Edge, he was moved by her strength and decisiveness. The original Seventh Heaven had also been buried in the Sector7 incident, so when Tifa reopened, it was like a little piece of home for him. With those thoughts in mind, she became more than just an object of his unrequited love, but a respected figure in his heart.

I’m going to follow Tifa’s example, Johnny had deliberated, but how? I know…I’ll run a business. I’ll give hope to those who have lost their way, just as Tifa did for me.

This was how Johnny’s Heaven came to be. From behind the polished steel counter of the stall, he could observe customers come and go against a backdrop of Edge’s high-rises and cranes, and the colossal dark skeleton of Midgar’s Plate beyond. The area that belonged to the open-air café was marked out by a frail picket fence, and contained an array of tables that he had accumulated over the last few years. Creaking wooden stools and worn green armchairs were among the mishmash of seating, but he did not mind, and his patrons never complained.

He was able to provide some simple cooking and a small selection of coffee, tea, and his personal favourite, sake. People who came to Johnny’s Heaven were often subjected to the tale of his life in the Slums, the encouragement he had gained from Tifa to change his ways, and how he had been reborn. As a result of that, many of those he spoke to wanted to meet Tifa themselves. They would investigate the restored Seventh Heaven, and ultimately wound up becoming her regulars. Unaware of this, Johnny continued to open his bar six days per week to attract more clientele or, more accurately, an audience who would listen to him. However, no matter how hard he tried, he was powerless to stop the decline.

Instead, he had spent the previous months adding to his lot. While much of the curving roof shelter above the stall came from metal he had recovered from an airship in the aftermath of the Battle of Midgar, his pride and joy was the water tower he had constructed almost single-handedly. The tall frame and tank not only allowed him to store water gathered from Lake Hope, it stood like a welcoming beacon against the horizon to anyone gazing out from Edge towards the Wastelands. He had also invested in a donut-shaped sign cut from iron to hang at the corner of the yard, but the lousy painter had misspelled his name, and the café was now advertised as ‘Johonny’s Heaven’.

Nevertheless, someone did come soon after. It was a brown-haired boy by the name of Denzel. Children rarely wandered the peripheries of Edge on their own, afraid that they might be attacked by the monsters that still prowled the plains. This kid, though, was special to Johnny as he was part of Tifa’s family. Each time Denzel visited the café, Johnny made sure that he put all his effort into giving him the best service.

“Good day, Denzel.” he called from the counter, lowering his head of spiked red hair as he bowed deeply in his usual enthusiastic manner. “Make yourself at home.”

Denzel glanced up at him for no more than an instant, acknowledging him with a quick nod, before trudging across the empty lot to the farthest table from the stall. He watched as the boy sank slowly into an old pinewood chair, his expression thoughtful. Giving the work surface a final wipe, Johnny tossed the dirty cloth into the sink by his side.

“Why don’t you come closer and sit over here?” the host proposed, his hands held at his hips in mock displeasure. “You don’t like my company?”

“I’m meeting someone.” Denzel answered quietly.