Treading the Edge

Written during the events of DoC. I let a little more time pass between Vincent's arrival at the WRO headquarters, and the attack from Deepground. Vincent's thoughts are in italics

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy. Any of it. As much as I would like to……..but no one gets everything they want. I used the mostly the exact dialogue from Dirge of Cerberus. People, if you've played the game you will know where I have added my own dialogue and events. Once again, I am disclaiming.

This is my first attempt at...hopefully good fanfiction. Actually also the first time I worked up the guts to post it somewhere. Moving right along then...enjoy

Oh, and I quite forgot. This is not a Vincent/Reeve in any form. A Vincent and Reeve friendship perhaps, but nothing more. I'm quite a fan of Vincent/Lucrecia actually. Though I am kinda aiming at a Reeve/Shalua. Well, we'll see where that goes.


Chapter One

Vincent Valentine sneezed wetly into his hand, sighing softly afterwards.

As if he didn't have enough on his plate already.

Having been all but begged to continue on to Edge by Reeve, he had realized he had no choice in the matter. He came, and was greeted by a torrential downpour of ice-cold rain, as well as the beautiful Shalua Rui, a scientist working for the WRO. After she'd left, saying she had to search for "her reason to live", he'd gone on to search for survivors.

A pained expression crossed his face. Seeing her had reminded him so much of Lucrecia that it hurt.

At first, his thick cloak had kept the wetness to a minimum, but as hours had passed, the rain had soaked through, and he had been, and was still, chilled to the bone.

Hojo had made the point of making him immune to illnesses such as Cancer, the Geostigma, and all the other potentially fatal diseases. But insignificant illnesses such as the flu, or the common cold, hell, even mild pneumonia, Hojo had purposely left out. A form of torture, most likely, because not even transforming into one of the four demons he housed, would cure a cold.

He had been walking around in the pouring rain all day, and most of the night, speaking

to a dying WRO member, killing monsters and DG snipers, and had even rescuing a little boy from the clutches of Deepground.

He assumed it was now early morning.

It had been close to one am after he had saved the child, and he had made his way to the warehouse, hoping he might find a place to get a bit of rest. This was not to be.

A Heavily Armed Soldier had greeted him, along with a group of snipers, one of which had shot a bullet that had torn through his shoulder. In his rage, he had transformed into the Galian Beast, and had torn apart everything in sight. Changing back, he found the enemies to be dead, his wound healed, but his clothes still soaked through.

Exhausted, he had curled up behind one of the many crates that adorned the room, and fallen into a fitful slumber, knowing that Chaos was bound to wake him, should something be amiss. At least the demon was good for something.

Surprisingly, Chaos let him sleep a good five hours, before becoming restless again.

He had awoken with a start, shivering, and had been dismayed to realize that he had become awfully ill.

In those five hours, he seemed to have managed to catch the worst kind of cold possible. Not that he was surprised. Sleeping in a frigid warehouse wearing sopping wet clothing would tend to do that to a person. But why now, when he had more important things to do?

He had a marvelous headache, his throat was raw and sore, he nose was streaming accompanied by the tingling feeling of having to sneeze any moment, and he felt hot and cold at the same time. He guessed he was running a fever, but the chills could also be due to his still soaked clothing.

His aching bones screamed in protest as he stood, shakily, having to support himself on one of the crates. Planet, he hated feeling this weak. It was like adding insult to injury, he thought disgustedly.

Not only did he have to fight this Deepground scum, but now he had a nasty cold to help him on his way. "Great", he noted sarcastically.

Now he stood there, and sneezed pathetically into his gloved hand.

He distracted himself by returning his attention to the reason that Chaos had roused him.

An enemy was near, and quite possibly waiting outside the next door. He needed to prepare for a fight.

Uncorking a high potion, he downed it, hoping it would help ease the symptoms a bit. And it did. But not the extent he would have liked. Potions weren't meant for curing illnesses.

He stretched, winching at his aching muscles.

Readying his Cerberus, he walked out the next door, and into the steady downpour of icy rain.


I'm made happy by any reviews...even if they're flames. Constructive criticism and all...