Johnny's steps were heavy, each swing of his legs seemingly dragging the weight of the world behind them. Beside him, Zack shouldered the Dragon Slayer, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The 1st Class SOLDIER's back was hunched under the absurd burden of the blade—he had carried Angeal's Buster Sword before, but this was different. This was like hauling a slab of pure iron four times its weight.
They reached the outer catwalk of the reactor, where the Midgar night wind blew cold, carrying the sharp scents of rusted metal and industrial smog.
With a heavy, metallic thud, Zack lowered the Dragon Slayer and handed it back. Johnny took it without a word, sliding it onto his back as if the sword were a natural extension of his own spine.
Zack turned to Johnny. The usually cheerful youth's face was now a turbulent mix of confusion and simmering anger.
"Are you insane, Johnny?" Zack's voice trembled. "Have you lost your mind? That's Sephiroth! The Hero of Shinra! You... you just attacked him without a second thought!"
Zack gripped his hair in frustration. "I'm lost here. I'm now even more confused. Are you two really Deepground, or just some lunatics? Because if you're civilians, attacking Sephiroth is... it's suicide!"
Aerith clung tightly to Johnny's arm, her small frame acting as a brace to keep the massive man from collapsing. "Don't talk like that, Zack," she whispered softly.
Johnny's eyes were vacant, fixed on the rusted iron plating of the floor. Inside Aerith's pocket, Puck and Ivalera trembled, too terrified to make a sound. Sephiroth's aura had utterly shattered the courage of such small creatures.
Zack let out a long, weary sigh, his shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry... this isn't like me. It's just... too much happened today. Angeal is gone, Genesis is a traitor, a gold Bahamut, and now you trying to kill Sephiroth."
"Johnny..." Zack called softly. There was no answer.
Zack looked at Aerith with a gaze of quiet understanding. "I won't tell anyone about what just happened. I promise. As for today's mission... I'll tell Tseng you succeeded."
A faint smile touched Aerith's lips, gratitude shining through her exhausted eyes. "Thank you, Zack. You're a good man."
"Alright," Zack patted Johnny's shoulder gently. "I'll hail you a cab. Johnny's head isn't in the game right now. Don't head back to Sector 5 yet—it's too far. Stay at the hotel near the Shinra Airport. There's plenty of food and entertainment there. You can Relax."
Zack offered his trademark, encouraging grin. "See you around, guys."
He waved as a battered yellow taxi pulled up to the curb. Aerith and Johnny slid inside, the old car's suspension groaning under the combined weight of Johnny and his slab of iron.
The driver glanced nervously through the rearview mirror. His passengers were caked in dried blood and the dust of battle. But seeing the SOLDIER-esque attire Johnny wore, the driver chose silence. In Midgar, the less you knew, the longer you lived.
"See you later, Zack," Aerith murmured, taking Johnny's limp hand and waving it slowly. "Bye, Zack..."
The taxi sped off into the night.
"Take us to the nearest good hotel," Aerith requested.
"Yes, ma'am."
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The Highliner Hotel was a sleek building towering near the airport district. Vertical blue neon lights adorned its facade, giving it a futuristic but cold aesthetic. At its peak sat a small helipad for executive supply drops.
The Hotel was a frequent haunt for military contractors and flight crews. Johnny's rugged appearance and massive weapon wouldn't stand out here as they would in the luxury hotels of Sector 0. Here, exhaustion and weaponry were common sights.
At the front desk, Aerith requested a room. "Executive Suite."
She reached into Johnny's belt pouch and pulled out a handful of Gil. Their funds were still plentiful from Johnny's mercenary and odds work.
The hotel manager, an older man with thick glasses, looked at the pair. He saw the wounds, the Mako dust, and the hollow exhaustion in their eyes. News of the incident at Reactor 1 was already spreading, alongside rumors of the SOLDIERs who had handled it.
"For the heroes who fought today..." the manager said softly, pushing Aerith's money back. "It's on the house, ma'am. Please, take our best room."
Aerith shook her head but left half the price on the counter. "Just a discount, then. We need to rest. Today was... very long day."
The bellboy who escorted them didn't dare meet Johnny's eyes. He and the staff whispered in the hallways, theorizing that this giant had single-handedly taken down the entire cell of terrorists.
The suite was spacious and luxurious, furnished with dark wood and dim, warm lighting. It featured a large soaking tub and a private balcony overlooking the city lights.
"Johnny, look," Aerith tried to sound cheerful. "A big bathtub."
Johnny still stood in the center of the room like a statue. The sword was still on his back. His mind was still trapped in that silver shadow.
Aerith stepped in front of him, cupping his rugged face with her soft hands. "Johnny... please, listen to me. If you stay like this, I'll be sad too. After you bathe, we'll talk. Okay?"
Johnny's eyes flickered, as if waking from a nightmare. "Alright, Aerith."
He lowered the Dragon Slayer slowly, leaning it into the corner with a heavy, metallic thrum. He unbuckled his belt pouch. Aerith moved quickly, setting aside his gear and pulling out clean clothes—the shorts and singlet he always carried.
"Go wash up, Johnny," she said gently. "Or... do you want me to help?"
The question brought a faint flush to Johnny's cheeks, finally cracking his dark aura. "Alright... I'll do it. I'll be quick."
Once he was in the bathroom, Aerith pulled Puck and Ivalera from her jacket pocket. The two fairies were still shivering.
"Puck, Ivalera... you're safe now," she whispered.
"Princess..." Puck's voice shook. "That energy... that Sephiroth... he isn't human."
"She's right," Ivalera added, hugging her knees. "He is Griffith. Master Johnny wasn't wrong. That face, that aura... it's Griffith."
Aerith placed them on a plush sofa, tucking them in with a clean face towel. "Rest now."
Inwardly, Aerith wondered. How can these spirits from another world feel the same terror? Are the souls of Sephiroth and Griffith truly connected across dimensions?
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By the time they finished bathing, the fresh scent of hotel soap had masked the smell of blood and ozone. Aerith ordered room service—two bowls of warm soup and bread. They hadn't eaten all day.
Johnny sat on the edge of the bed, a towel draped around his neck. Aerith sat beside him, feeding him spoonfuls of soup. He opened his mouth obediently, eating hungrily even though his gaze remained distant. The warmth of the food slowly began to thaw the icy numbness in his chest.
Once the bowls were empty, Aerith set them on the nightstand. She took Johnny's large, calloused hand in both of her own.
"It's safe now, Johnny," she said softly. "You can tell me anything. Though... I think I already know."
Johnny's hand tensed.
"He looked just like him, Aerith," Johnny's voice broke, sounding hoarse. "Too much. That face... that look in his eyes... it was Griffith."
He bowed his head, his shoulders trembling. "The world before, the world now... why does God always give me the same enemy? I'm afraid, Aerith. I'm terrified of my past."
He looked up at her, his eyes wet with a fear rarely seen in the Black Swordsman. "And now I'm afraid for the present. What if he takes what I love again? What if he takes you? Your mother, Elmyra? My parents? Our neighbors?"
His hands shook violently. A grim, cynical smile twisted his lips, contrasting with the tears. It was the desperate expression of a man trapped in a cycle of fate. "Hahaha... it's funny, isn't it? I fled to another world only to meet the same demon."
Aerith didn't let go. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her White Materia. The crystal sphere pulsed with a gentle light in the dim room.
"Johnny, can I tell you something?"
Johnny went silent, staring at the materia.
"You might be afraid of your past," Aerith began, her voice calm but heavy with the weight of her words. "I haven't told you everything... but I am afraid of my future."
She let out a long breath. "Johnny, my love... I always dream of this world's destruction. I dream of my future companions. It's blurry, like looking through frosted glass... but Zack... he is there."
Johnny's hand squeezed hers reflexively. Jealousy.
"I see the future, Johnny," she continued, looking straight into his eyes. "This might make you jealous... but when Zack fell into the church, I saw a flash... in my dreams, he was my boyfriend. My first love. But he was foolish, and he left me."
Johnny grunted, his jaw tightening.
Aerith offered a faint smile. "And there's another... a man with spiky blonde hair. He's oblivious, too. He saves the world, but he can't save everyone. He's a mess."
"Is he handsome?" Johnny asked curtly.
"Very handsome," Aerith replied honestly. "His eyes are blue—blue like the sky."
Johnny, already stressed by Sephiroth, now felt the added weight of blind jealousy. His expression soured.
Aerith laughed softly and took his face in both hands, forcing him to look at her. "But... none of them are as handsome as you, Johnny."
Her eyes softened with pure affection. "Do you know why? Because you are my prayer."
She held the White Materia between them. "With you, Johnny... there are no dreams, no premonitions. With you, I see only a blank page. A white sheet we can write ourselves."
She began to sob quietly. "I've prayed so many times, Johnny... ever since my mother, Ifalna, died at that train station. I prayed to God, to the Planet, to the Lifestream... I asked to be watched over. I asked for someone who would truly love me, someone who would protect me more than anyone else."
"I prayed alone in that church, crying, asking the Planet for a shield... a protector who would be there whenever and wherever I am."
Aerith leaned her forehead against his. "And the Planet answered me, Johnny. When you came to that church. For two years, this Lifestream bond has proven that I am guarded by you. Not by Zack, not by that blonde-haired boy. Not by any of them."
"If Sephiroth is our enemy... after that surge of the Lifestream earlier, I am certain he is the greatest threat. But... I am even more certain that you can protect me from him."
She looked deep into his eyes. "To be honest, Johnny... if you're jealous of Zack or anyone else, I'm far more jealous of Casca. I don't know what you went through with her. If I were Casca... maybe I..."
Aerith stopped for a moment, then continued with the main topic "But I believe in you, Johnny. In this life, I'm certain you have the strength to overcome him."
Johnny pulled her close and kissed her. It was deep and desperate—a kiss that channeled gratitude, terror, and a love that refused to surrender.
"Thank you, Aerith..." he whispered against her lips. "Thank you for finding me in this world. Forgive me if I made you jealous. You... you are everything to me now."
He laid her back gently on the plush bed, kissing her neck and shoulders, breathing in her scent—a calming fragrance like wild lilies. The air between them grew hot; the need to feel each other's presence, to know they were real, took over. Johnny's hand began to slip beneath her sleepwear.
But as he moved further, Aerith's small hand pressed gently against his chest.
"Johnny..." she whispered, her face flushed, her breath hitching. "We... we aren't of age yet. We aren't married."
Johnny stopped. He looked at her, seeing her shy, blushing face. Reality slowly flooded back. He smiled—the first genuine smile of the night—and kissed her forehead for a long moment.
"I'm sorry, Aerith. I'm so sorry."
He rolled onto his side, pulling the thick duvet over them both. He held her from behind, wrapping his large, scarred arms around her waist, turning himself into an impenetrable cocoon.
That night, amidst the cold neon lights of Midgar, two broken souls healed each other in a dreamless sleep. On the sofa across the room, Puck and Ivalera were already snoring softly.
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Darkness.
Not the neon-lit darkness of Midgar, but something ancient, primordial, and visceral.
Johnny stood there. His feet were submerged in a pool of warm blood reaching his ankles. The stench of rusted iron and rotting flesh choked him.
Chink... Chink...
The sound of clashing chains. The chains shackling his soul.
In the distance, atop a mountain of corpses belonging to his fallen comrades, something moved. A shadow darker than the night. A pair of glowing red eyes snapped open. Sharp. Hungry.
It was him. The Beast of Darkness. The manifestation of the hatred and trauma belonging to both Guts and Johnny. An abyssal hound with a jagged, disproportionate maw.
"You saw him, didn't you?"
The voice didn't come from his ears; it vibrated directly inside Johnny's skull. It was a raspy, low growl. Johnny tried to move, but his body was paralyzed. He watched as the monster slowly descended from the pile of dead, crawling toward him.
"The White Hawk... He is here," the Beast whispered, its long tongue licking the blood from its snout. "You felt it. You trembled before him. You knelt like a submissive stray."
"SHUT UP!" Johnny screamed in his dream.
The Beast laughed. The sound was like bones snapping. "You're becoming weak, Guts..."
The black hound circled him, its smoky body radiating a piercing cold. "You've gone soft for that flower girl. Playing 'house.' You think you can be happy? You think you can protect her with those frail human hands?"
Aerith's face rippled in the surface of the blood at Johnny's feet. Then, the face cracked, shattered, and was pierced through.
"She will end just like Casca," the Beast whispered into his ear. "Griffith... Sephiroth... Gods do not care for ants. He will take your girl, break her, destroy her soul, and discard her before your very eyes. And you... you will only be able to watch. Again."
"NO!" Johnny reached for his sword, but his hands were empty.
The Beast grinned wide, revealing rows of obsidian fangs. It pressed its face against Johnny's.
"Unless..."
"Unless you break the chains. Give yourself to me. Give me your body. Do not hold back the rage. Cast aside your humanity."
"To kill a God... you must become a Demon."
"Use me... Guts. Let us feast on blood once more."
The Beast's maw opened wide, ready to swallow Johnny whole—
"Hah! Hah! Hah!"
Johnny's eyes snapped open. He bolted upright in bed, his breath coming in heavy heaves as if he had just run a marathon. Cold sweat soaked his body, making his singlet cling to his skin.
His heart raced wildly. BUMP. BUMP. BUMP.
His right hand reflexively clutched at his neck, searching for the Brand of Sacrifice that should have been there. There was no blood. No corpses. No black hound. Just a silent, cold hotel room.
He regulated his breathing, struggling to separate reality from the nightmare. He turned to his side.
Aerith was sound asleep. The streetlights from outside the window illuminated her peaceful face. She slept on her side, one hand extended as if searching for something to hold in her dreams.
Johnny stared at that small hand. The Beast's words echoed in his mind. 'You're weak. You'll lose her.'
He searched his teeth. The fear was real. But seeing Aerith here, living and breathing, brought him back. He didn't need to be a demon to protect her. He needed to be a man, so he could hold her.
With hands that still shook slightly, he lay back down, careful not to wake her. He slid closer, wrapping his large arm around her waist and pulling her back until her spine was pressed firmly against his chest.
Aerith stirred slightly in her sleep, her hand instinctively finding his where it rested on her stomach.
"Hmm..." she murmured softly, smiling in her sleep.
The warmth of her body seeped into Johnny's skin, chasing away the chill of the nightmare. The steady rhythm of her heart against his back became a soothing cadence. Johnny buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of lilies.
To hell with the Hound, he thought. To hell with Griffith. I'll protect her my way.
Slowly, his eyelids grew heavy again. This time, there were no dreams. Only the silence of sleep in the arms of the only light he had left.