[Hefting Luka up only ends with his friend losing the contents of his stomach on the lab floor, as if Sephiroth really needed proof of his ailing state. The sight itself doesn’t bother him — he’s certainly seen messier on the battlefield, the soft insides of those falling to his blade — and there’s no embarrassment to be had. Only the discontent and anger at the company, which continues to wind through him, hitching across his nerves like a line made of barbed wire.]

I’ll carry you. It won’t be graceful, because I’ll still need to use my sword arm, but I want you to trust me to get you through this.

[He will leave this place with Luka, one way or another, and never look back. Anyone who tries to stop them will not succeed, and how critically they fail will be up to them.]

There will be resistance, but don’t be afraid. Do you understand?