A/N: Heya, a new fic from me. I've been wanting to write something Celtic inspired for ages but could never think of a story, and then I listened to 'Mordred's Lullaby' and this started to take shape.

Though I've looked into Celtic life and culture I have taken artistic licence in quite a few places, especially when one considers that the term 'celtic' is a rather lose one. Also, as a quick warning, though generally speaking I've kept romantic relationships to their canon ones, other ones have changed :D That is part of the fun of doing a cross over AU after all.


Rivulets of blood ran down Masume, dripping off the blade to fall in the growing pool below it. A soft pit-pat may have been heard if it wasn't for the muffled screams and cries that filtered through the walls from the outside. The scent of smoke, sweat and blood filled his nose as watched the blood weep from his sword. Around him the flames flickered in a slight breeze causing the shadows to dance against the walls.

Sephiroth had been told that Zanarkand was an ancient city, left by an even older tribe. It had stood for longer than any could remember; a massive stone monument to a people long dead. It had turned into a centre of worship for all the Gods and Goddess of the Celts, protected by strong warriors and a fearsome leader, and now it burned. It burned while its people were slaughtered and its leader lay dead at his feet.

Behind him the door creaked and the sound of familiar heavy footsteps made their way towards him. He didn't lift his head, watching the light patterns created on his sword and waiting for the younger man to speak first.

"Older Brother."

He pushed away the familiar stab of annoyance caused by his younger brother's presence, instead asking the more important question. "Loz; have you found him?"

"He is not here. It looks like he does not want to play with us."

The note of distress in his voice grated against Sephiroth's nerves but before he could tell the man to pull himself together the door creaked open again. As he listened to the lighter footsteps he reached to his belt and with a rough jerk pulled free a piece of cloth. Running it along his blade he cleaned Masume before the blood dried.

"Lord Jecht?" The newcomer spoke, referring to the corpse by Sephiroth's feet. The voice was young, almost too young to see this battle, and yet there was a sense of maturity that was lacked by his bulky, blubbery older brother by his side.

"Yes," Sephiroth didn't spare the dead leader a glance as he discarded the dirtied cloth on the corpse.

"What now, Brother? The child isn't here and we do not know which way he went; Mother will not be happy."

Sephiroth silently slipped his faithful sword back into its sheath. "No, she will be content."

Turning his back on his latest victim he faced his brothers. Yazoo; his long silver hair tied back for the battle and his quiver was empty. Sephiroth had no doubt that despite his age he had done well for himself tonight.

"This will be enough to satisfy the Goddess, she will be content."

"So we leave him?"

"No," Sephiroth's voice was firm. He stepped past his brothers, striding away without a backwards glance to check to see if they followed. "He ran from us and we cannot let our sacrifice go so easily."

"Sounds like fun," Loz's deep yet childish voice came from behind him, chuckling.

"But, we have been called backā€¦for the moment. Yazoo," Sephiroth's voice demanded attention and Loz's chuckle was quickly cut off. "We're finished here; call back the soldiers."

"What about me?" The second eldest enquired.

"Help Yazoo."

The large doors of the building entrance loomed before them, silently challenging them to halt their march. The eldest brother rested his palms against the wood, "We're going back to mother," and he shoved the doors open to a world that was burning and screaming, drowning in the blood of its people.

End of Prologue

I'm not sure when I'll update this next; it'll depend on what kind of reception it gets and how much time I have. Anyway, I hope that was an exciting start.