I will never be a memory...
The tingling pain of his gashes is secondary to Sefirosu's annoyance, inspired by Kuraudo's euphoric elation. As he hovered above the decimated Shinra construct, awash in the spilling aurora of heaven, he glares at the charlatan with wide-eyed displeasure. It appears as though the puppet had deluded himself into believing his victory is somehow meaningful.
Nauseating defeat stings for mere moments before the flap of Sefirosu's wing robes him and pulls him back into the abyss; the all-swallowing blackness reserved for unsettled spirits. It's there he will fester 'til inevitable rebirth. Thrice has he suffered shame at the hand of a worm, and the fourth shall be retribution penned by his own cruel hand; his will shall see to it.
A few years pass before all the marionettes are calm in their beds; even the resourceful misfits who war against him futilely. They had forgotten to revere his name and fear his return. But the time had come, his mind roused by the royal timbre of his dear mother when she told him to wake. Deep within the northern wound of ancient days, he hears her call and stirs from slumber; the earth trembles in anxiety; the heavens darken and weep in travail; lightning cracks and writes electric melody with thunder the drums of a godly welcome.
From the mouth of the crater bubbles a taint; black, matted cancer flowing over its lips like a gurgling geyser. It gushes a watery exclamation, a tower of listless obsidian whose mist speckles the scar and reveals the harbinger of future afflictions. The spire recedes, but the hovering figure left behind takes humanly shape and color. First is the wet flesh and second the soaked crown of long, silver hair. Twin bangs fang over the finely cut curves of his face before it's incised with a pair of cat-like, tourmaline green eyes. Leather sews itself over his body, left open at his chest and capped with stainless steel pauldrons that vein with running water.
Amidst a deep breath of refreshingly stale air, Sefirosu parts his arms and turns the palms upward in celebration; he leans his head back with closing eyes while his mouth parts in the greatest of grins. Then his deep, rumbling tone voices the prologue of his ultimate revenge, spliced by a thunderclap and opening eyes. Are you ready... Cloud?