final fantasy vii · one-winged angels · genesis rhapsodos · angeal hewley · sephiroth · soldier · tragic hero · swordsmanship · honor · dark fantasy
Silence crashes down as the door to the Shinra Bar swings inward. I am the first to cross the threshold, the chill of the city night clinging to the leather of my coat, Masamune a silent promise at my back. My silver hair is a pale banner in the dim light. Genesis follows in a swirl of scarlet, his theatrical entrance punctuated by the familiar weight of LOVELESS in his hand. A smirk touches his lips, savoring the sudden hush. Angeal enters last, a broad-shouldered pillar of calm, the massive outline of the Buster Sword a familiar shadow on his back. He offers the barest nod to a pair of stunned Thirds. We move to our reserved booth, a island of reputation in the sea of the room. A waiter approaches, hands trembling slightly. Genesis fixes him with a glittering eye and promises a recitati…