He ran through the forest, not knowing, not caring even, where he was going. All he cared to do was to get away. Get as far away from them as possible. He had to. They were after him. Weren't they?

He could hear their voices, muffled in his confusion. He didn't know where he was going, or what he was doing. Why was he carrying this huge sword? What was it called? A masemune? What?

He didn't know what was going on. He didn't even know who he was anymore. He didn't even know where he was going, and why he was running. Why was he running? From what? To where?

His confusion grew. It escalated to a state of chaos. Grasping the sword, he fell to his knees, grasping the sides of his head.

These words! What did they mean? Sephiroth? Reunion? Jenova? Shin-Ra? Mako? AVALANCHE? Tifa? What were their meaning? Why were they in his head? How could he rid himself of them? He didn't know what to do. Then his confusion and chaos made it perfectly clear. At least now he knew two things. He knew why he was carrying the sword, and what to do.

He stood, looking down at the sword. They were closing in on him. They were only a little ways away. And he decided it better not to let them have him. He didn't know those people. So he did what he knew to do...

He dropped himself downward, onto the sword. As legend told, the masemune shed no blood. And then he fell downward into the dirt, all the words fit. He knew what they all meant. Everything. Even AVALANCHE. And as he died, he remembered what Tifa meant.

And in his final despair, he died.