The response catches Cloud off-guard enough that without thinking, he follows the instructions out of simple reactivity. A deafening peal of thunder, nearly simultaneous with the bright flash of lightning in his peripheral vision. Chilly water soaking him to the bone, streaming cold down his back from the mess of blond hair plastered to his head. The scents here, and the feel of the thick mud underfoot, so unlike the barren land that stretches out from Midgar as far as the eye can see.

This time, when he looks back up at the man's face, the wild gleam in Cloud's eyes has turned to uncertainty and confusion. 'Zechs Merquise'...he's never heard that name before. He lets go and backs off, one hand pressing fingers into his temple as he stumbles a little in the mud. Right...he hasn't had the sword for a while now, not since he woke up here.

"Hngh...sorry."