finalflight | PSL; [NOLI MANERE]

PSL; [NOLI MANERE]

burn me out, leave me on the otherside.

[In another timeline, diverged down an invisible path, the battle was long over.

The dragon’s corpse, still shining emerald green in the haze of the sun, would be pressed unmoving into the ground, its maw still gaping open, tongue lazily hanging over jagged teeth. Two clean cuts, deep into its chest, would ooze hot and coppery ribbons of blood, a color matching the hue plastered across the edge of Masamune. Zack would still have his knees ground into the dirt, hand grasping at a side as he tried to pull himself up; lucky that he’d come away with nothing more than cracked ribs, something healing magic would have to tend to soon. And in the vehicle behind them, still idling, the blond-haired infantryman — Cloud, quiet and sullen and nervous — would be watching, harried, but wise enough to keep his distance. And they would soon carry onwards to their mission to Nibelheim, undeterred.

But in this instance, this strange set of circumstances, the fight does not go so smoothly.

He doesn’t understand why, or how. This creature should be nothing, his blade should cut straight through its hide instead of only managing glancing blows that barely scrape closely-packed scales. A monster should not be this strong, no matter how permeating the Mako leak was in the surrounding area. It’s beyond unnatural, something that has him gritting his teeth beneath a twisted frown as Sephiroth rushes forward, blade flashing.

Zack’s already unconscious, a deep wound bleeding from the shoulder courtesy of the dragon’s claws, body strewn several feet away, now useless in this fight. The creature rises up on its haunches, spreading giant wings as it snarls down at the only moving target, and catches Masamune in its teeth. Sephiroth pushes; it pushes back. He hears footsteps rushing forward from behind him, staggering, panicked breaths drawing closer, and he turns his head just in time to see the infantryman closing the space between them, readying the rifle that had been slung over his shoulder. Sephiroth knows he may as well be heading straight for death.]

Stay back— [Comes the command, in a voice so used to giving them that it hides the jarring reality of the situation — that this is not good, this is unheard of, and judging what may happen from here anyone’s guess. But it’s too late, because there’s pressure clamping down on his blade, and then with a feral twist of the neck, the dragon has snapped his weapon in half with a reverberating ring.

It’s only slight, but his eyes widen. The other half of the blade topples to the ground, his gloved-grip around the hilt falters for just a second, but it’s all the time the dragon needs to lurch up with fire filling its maw.

It’s the last thing he sees, flame and writhing heat all around him, and then the world goes black.

— — — — — —

He has his face pressed into soggy sand. Hair a tangled mess, clothes damp and sticking, as the waves thinly slide over his form. And then he’s jolting awake with a start, fingers pressed into the shore, hefting himself up and immediately tensing, expecting to see fire and teeth as he cranes his neck—

And is met only with a clear blue sky, a bright shining sun, and the scent of the sea. Masamune’s two halves lay half-buried in a mound of sand, one laying flat, the other sticking straight up a short distance away. The hiss of an exhale, trying to bring himself to his feet, disoriented and maybe a little wobbly, head bowed down. (Also unheard of.)

Both confusion and frustration dance in his insides. What’s happening?]

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[Sephiroth doesn't have more to say to that. In the end, he isn't much different — though at a complete disadvantage with nothing to his name, no reputation to bolster his influence, the plan to ingratiate oneself to the kojin seems to be a shared one. There really isn’t much room for recourse, and while his pride may take a hit, his practicality overrides it, and he makes the rest of the trek without comment.

Until they come upon the end of the winding trail, endlessly down into a cave, the sight becoming more surreal as if pulled from a dream. While Luka lets out a low whistle, Sephiroth’s eyes widen ever so slightly, unsure what manner of technology — or magic? — he’s looking at.]

This is…

[He mutters it at first, almost saying something along the lines of “impossible”, when he remembers what a certain Professor would tell him — that no such thing is impossible, it’s all a matter of ingenuity and how many sacrifices men are willing to make to grasp at unimaginable achievements.

Idly, he wonders what the scientists at Shinra would have to say about this. If they could easily explain it away, or if they’d be in awe of the application of… what, exactly?]

This is magic? You said “mages” existed in this world?

[ Luka turns to regard his reluctant companion in his venture, noting that he, too, seems to be awed – or awed enough, considering that Sephiroth’s default state of being seems to be “glare”. A curious eyebrow arches at the question regarding magic and the people who practice it, but it seems that for now, Luka has opted to take the other man at his word.

It’s weird to think of a world where magic might not be common, but Luka is used to the stuff, and the kojin’s home still amazes him. ]

I assume so. I’m no good at the stuff, myself, but I’ve known a fair few mages in my day.

Never seen anything like this, though.

[He shakes his head, unsure what to make of... everything, his eyes still tracking across the new location.]

Unlike any magic I've ever seen, either. We don't have materia that can keep a whole town functioning underwater like this.

[Gaia employs magic in a different way; anyone could use materia with a fair bit of training and practice, and no one ever utilizes the title of "mage". Sephiroth looks sidelong at Luka, considering.]

So where do we start? [He holds up a broken piece of Masamune, his priorities rather clear.] Depending on what work is expected of us, this will need to be fixed.

Edited 2019-07-18 20:42 (UTC)

Materia? Don’t think that has anything to do with this.

[ Next to gil, that’s the only word to cross Sephiroth’s lips that actually means something to Luka, but even he can tell by the context that it’s not quite the same as what he’s thinking of. They probably won’t be in one another’s company long enough to really compare notes, but Luka really is wondering just what kind of place this guy comes from.

But all that aside, he eyes the two halves of Sephiroth’s blade – he can understand the importance of one’s sword, outside of the practical necessity of needing it to kill monsters or whatever else they’ll be asked to do – but… ]

Sorry, that’s seriously all one sword?

[It does seem like there's some misalignment of two worlds where materia is concerned. He could launch into an explanation, but Sephiroth is rarely the sort to launch into anything unless it's a battle, so instead he tends to the question at hand with a skeptical underpinning in return.]

Yes. This is Masamune, the sword I’ve used for years.

[It looks like a katana. Especially the hilt that Sephiroth is still grasping onto with his other hand. It’s just a very, very long one.]

It’s never given me issue, not until it met the teeth of that dragon. [Or whatever infallible creature it was. He frowns at the memory.] I don’t want to use anything else, so the faster someone can mend it, the better.

[ There’s another glance, another once-over that Luka makes no effort to be subtle about, as he takes in the man – still sea-drenched – and the two halves of his blade. ]

You know, most people would ask if you were compensating for something. But I’m not most people so I won’t ask.

[ He’ll just make his own assumptions. :)

The pair of kojin that guided them inside have stopped a short distance away, conferring with their fellows. Apparently, Luka and his new friend are not the first hapless adventurers to have wandered through their door looking for succor, since their presence does little to upset the bustle of the place. Luka turns to the two beastmen and offers, ]

Oi. You blokes got a smith around here willing to do a little work in exchange for a favor?

[ The kojin once again turn to each other, one of them ultimately motioning them to the other side of the settlement, where there are small structures carved out of blueish ocean rock peppered around. Masoto is the one you want. ]

Thank you kindly. [ And to Sephiroth, ] Shall we?

[Like he hasn’t, at some point in his life, heard that before. Make all the assumptions you like, Luka, but Sephiroth will quip back in his usual unaffected manner—]

Good, because then I’d have to tell you what I say to everyone else — don’t be envious simply because you lack the skill the wield it.

[But you know, since he’s not like most people, he won’t have to really apply it to him. :)

But he makes no more commentary as he’s led about, and finally just nods as Luka’s question while they stride over to the area indicated.

Speaking of names, however, as they make their way there—]

What am I supposed to call you? You never said.

I can wield a katana just fine, and I’ll do it with a blade that isn’t five malms long, thanks.

[ Luka, that’s not even close. There are far more jokes to be made regarding their current subject manor, but Luka feels like he should probably count that one quip he’s gotten back as a victory and leave it at that. Nice to know there’s a small sense of humor somewhere under all that sea salt and glaring. ]

Who me? [ Who else? It does take him a moment to realize that his own name never made it into the mess of names that were being slung around on the beach. ] Name’s Lukhet’a, but most people call me Luka.

[ As they get closer to the little outcropping of structures, the flames of a forge seem to be alight in one of them, and with the tell-tale sound of a hammer on steel, it’s a pretty safe bet that they’ve found this Masoto fellow. It’s Sephiroth that needs the work done, so Luka motions him towards the door. ]

Lukhet’a, then.

[“Luka” sounds a bit like a nickname, and they’re not familiar enough for that, he decides.

At any rate, the humor piqued, it now slides back under the surface, leaving Sephiroth with his usual stolid demeanor. Drawn to the firelight and clanking of hammer on steel, the SOLDIER moves towards the door and closes the distance between himself and the one who must be Masoto.

Silent for a moment, he’s simply a representation of a tall silver-haired man in drenched leather... and then he speaks up.]

...Are you able to fix a broken sword?

[Yes, hi, straight to the point. This is a bit strange, all things considered.]

[ Oof, when was the last time someone willfully called him by his full name? Probably his old man, some two years ago or more, now that he stops to think about it. Everyone else always called him Luka.

Luka lingers in the doorway to watch the exchange between Sephiroth and the kojin. For all that the beastmen look alike, this particular kojin wears the scars of age and battle rather prominently, carved into flesh and shell alike. Though he now caries a blacksmith’s tools in his belt, it wouldn’t be surprising to imagine a blade in their place instead.

Even when addressed, Masoto gives a final few swings with his hammer, reshaping the heated bar of steel laid across his anvil, and deposits it back into the forge with a pair of tongs before he deigns to reply. ]

Ah, there was word of a pair of adventurers had come a-calling. [ Clawed hands come to rest at his hips as he surveys Sephiroth, eyes ultimately landing on the broken blade in his hands. He extends a hand. ] Let me see.

[An "adventurer" is the last thing he would qualify himself as, but Sephiroth doesn't correct the strange-looking creature. Funny how the tells of someone battle-hardened are the same, no matter the world; a universal language, each scar etched into skin and shell, a history carved into body. Easily discernible for a man who grew up militarized, and it lends silent credence to the Masoto's skill, even if he knows nothing of the kojin himself.

Sephiroth only nods and offers both gloved palms face-up, with a half of Masamune balanced in each.]

It was snapped in half by a monster. A dragon.

[ Gingerly, the kojin lifts the two halves of the blade from Sephiroth’s upturned palms, inspecting the break and how the two pieces fit together. He hefts the one end of the sword by the hilt, still turning it over in his hand. ]

This is quite the weapon. [ Thoughtful, considering. The gears of a craftsman already turning behind that measuring gaze. At last, the kojin decides, ] I can do what you need, but I will need something from you, first. Borrow a blade from my personal stock to see this job done if you must.

[ It is at this point that Luka senses a ~~sidequest~~ request incoming, and he steps into the room to listen. ]

There is a group of Anala that have taken up residence on the far side of the island. They are nasty creatures that normally keep to the volcano, so to see some so far out is strange. I would have you bring me their hearts, that I might fuel my forge. I can lend you some tools to properly handle them – the heat they give off is rival to Hells’ Lid itself!

I would go myself, but these old arms are better suited to swinging a hammer than a sword these days. What say you?

[When was the last time he was delegated to ~~sidequests~~ running errands? He can't remember, the SOLDIER program only assigning him missions worthy of his skill, not several notches below it. His pride would threaten to flare up with its subtle yet many teeth, were it not for the fact that Luka already made it clear that they'd be set to "work" in order to get anything done. Favors in exchange for favors, since they both lack the gil.

So of course he won't decline. The task, at least, sounds both straightforward and vaguely interesting. Sephiroth doesn't know what an Anala is, other than it's apparently quite the fiery creature, but he has confidence it might be easily enough felled -- even if he has to carry a foreign blade.

(Unless the strength of the monsters in this world were on par with the dragon he fought, but he'll not even consider that for now.)]

I accept. You want their hearts; we'll bring them to you.

[He turns to look over his shoulder, aware of Luka's presence.]

No objections from you, I assume?

Nary a one.

[ Said with a sharp sort of smirk. Being on this island has made him restless, and he’s happy to get the chance to participate in a good, old fashioned hunt.

Masoto nods. It’s hard to tell if he’s smiling or not, kojin faces being what they are, but he seems pleased. He motions Sephiroth to a collection of blades on racks on one wall of his smithy. There is a wide variety, though nothing quite like Sephiroth’s own weapon. Once he’s selected his weapon for this venture, the kojin further provides them with a set of tools from the forge and a magicked cast-iron pot of sorts in which they can gather the hearts and bring them back.

They’re ushered out of the shop soon enough, and sent back up the way they came to patrol the island’s perimeter for Anala. ]

You gonna be okay with that dinky little weapon?

[ HE’S JOKING. ]

[Very funny, because the answer is-]

I don't have much of a choice, do I?

[As they walk, the weapon that Sephiroth has chosen is clear: it's a katana much like what he's used to, but of normal length, fit snug within its black sheath. It even hangs at his hip, something that was an impossibility with Masamune.]

I'll adapt. [His free hand rests on its hilt, the other busied with carrying a cast-iron pot and the tools within, swaying by its handle.] Have you slain an Anala before?

[ Ah, Luka is beginning to see that moment of humor had been, in fact, a solitary moment. What a drag. ]

Nah. Like the old man said, they don’t usually venture too far from the volcano, so I’ve never been close to one. It’ll be a new experience for the both of us.

[ A wide grin flashed in Sephiroth’s direction. ] Should be fun, though.

[He's stranded in a foreign world, partnered up with a cat-man, stuck with a tiny little sword and the supplies needed for stealing a monster's heart (why is he the one carrying the load? ridiculous.), so Luka will just have to keep digging to find nuggets of that humor buried beneath the surface. Right now, he's hoping to keep his focus on the task ahead.

"Fun", though.]

Depends on how challenging they'll prove to be. [He takes a moment to look at Luka's sword, certainly not the first time he's noticed the other katana.]

You said you were skilled with that. Just how skilled? Confidence is well and good, but overconfidence isn't something we have the time for right now.

[ It’s not Luka’s fault that Sephiroth picked the thing up and just started hauling it off! He would have helped, he figures that’s got to be pretty heavy, but Sephiroth doesn’t seem to mind it so he hasn’t said anything. Besides, this is Sephiroth’s errand they’re going on. ]

Don’t get your leather pants in a twist. I know what I’m doing.

[ The Miqo’te’s ears swivel around, caught by a distant noise, and he pulls to a stop. The sand ahead of them seems to be disturbed beyond the coming and going of the ocean waves, deep grooves carved through the beach as if from the passing of a half dozen massive snakes. The tracks curve around an outcropping of stone on the cliffside that makes up the back of the island. ]

I think we’ve found our quarry.

[The long trails in the sand make it obvious where they need to go, though Sephiroth pauses alongside Luka to assess the situation. What had the kojin called them? "Nasty creatures", which he assumes means they won't go scuttling off the moment they see the men approach.

Fine by Sephiroth. He'd rather get this done quickly and not spend the effort chasing after monsters that would prefer to flee than fight.

Still, no point in giving away their location before they even draw near enough for it to matter. Sephiroth sets down the supplies. They can always come back and retrieve them later; it's better this way, than clanking about with every step he takes.]

If they're clustered in a group, we can flank them to catch them off-guard. Unless you prefer a more direct approach.

Edited (i left a word out) 2019-07-19 20:52 (UTC)

Anala aren’t the type of beasts to turn tail and run. [ As if he knows what Sephiroth is thinking. He then adds, ] One of us could play bait while the other circles around, but I’ve never been one for the stealthy approach.

[ It’s like he said. These aren’t deer, they’re Anala, and at the first sign of a threat, they’re sure to engage rather than run. However, Luka is aware enough to recognize that he’s not the only hunter here, and so he defers to the other man. ]

That said, I’m not opposed to it. Whatever you wanna do.

[In that case, it’s all he needs to know.]

Then we cater to your strengths and meet them head-on.

[Spoken like the executive decision has been made, one used to giving commands based on what they have to work with. Sephiroth is curious, too, about how good Luka might be with his blade — easier to see it in action in a straightforward fight, not one that uses clandestine tactics.

And so he unsheathes his katana, glinting in the sun, and moves forward to the outcropping of stone and shale to meet their quarry. He leaves behind a couple of dry words in his wake, less command and more encouragement(???).]

Don’t disappoint.

[ “Don’t disappoint.” Who does this guy think he is? (Thinks Luka, who but a bell or two earlier had told Sephiroth not to hold him back if he was going to insist on being dead weight.) The miqo’te scoffs, as if to say I won’t, and creeps up to peer around their cover.

As indicated by the marks in the sand, there are about five or so Anala milling about. All told, they tower over Luka by a good couple of fulms, and they don’t seem to have noticed him or Sephiroth yet. Luka takes a moment to consider their odds – five on two is certainly not the worst position he’s been in. Given the lazy sort of way that the Anala slither about the beach, he’d bet they weren’t creatures built for speed, either.

Well, nothing for it, then, but to dive right in. Luka eases his blade free from its sheath, the red-tinted metal catching a flash of sunlight as he readies himself.

And then Luka is off like a shot, springing forward in a spray of sand and propelled at the closest Anala as if on rails. He’s on the creature in a blink, swinging his katana in an upward arc across the Anala’s back. The blade cuts deep, but not deep enough to incapacitate it. With a guttural and pained hiss, it turns, blindly swinging its molten sword, but Luka is already dancing around the thing. ]

[When Sephiroth's eyes finally settle upon the creatures, the observations he makes are similar — they are large, but slow. Facing against group of five is not the worst situation that the SOLDIER has been in by a long shot, especially when partnered with a man who is also skilled with the blade.

However, the jury is still out for the latter. Sephiroth’s curiosity is indeed piqued, and it says something for his own confidence that his interest falls more upon Luka and his katana when his companion is the first to dart out, and the first to draw blood. He tracks his movements, his motions; fast, he thinks, and fairly deft with a blade. He wasn’t lying when he said he was proficient. But observation isn’t enough to override the movement in his periphery has he lunges forward into the center of the group, kicking up sand black boots in a spray, as an Anala whips around and tries to catch him with its weapon.

A half-turn with the scintilla of his sword glinting in the sun is enough to deflect that, and Sephiroth pulls back his blade and lunges forward again in a flash. His sword goes straight through the monster’s middle, clean and swift. An Anala next to him tries to rake claws against his side, but Sephiroth dodges easily, using the angle and momentum to knock the skewered monster on his sword into the second.]

Edited 2019-07-29 16:09 (UTC)

[ Luka engages in a dance of sorts with his Anala, they can’t afford to damage the creatures’ hearts so he’s having to get creative with how he chooses to dispatch them, but he’s not so preoccupied not to notice Sephiroth jump into the fray. He wishes he could have a moment to truly watch the other man in action, but his foe is nothing if not determined so Luka is left to deal with the beast first.

The Miqo’te ducks easily under a wide swing of the Anala’s blade – already injured, the creature is starting to slow – whipping his own sword around to drive it through the beast’s middle. The Anala slumps against Luka’s blade some, but he kicks it off with a boot to the gut. As it stumbles back, Luka puts an end to it with a final, swift blow from his sword. The motion is difficult to track but the singing of steel as it rends flesh and bone is unmistakable.

One down, he turns to engage the other beasts as they close in on him and Sephiroth. ]

[Two down, and one knocked into the ground and lashing in the sand, which Sephiroth makes quick work of with three precise swipes of his (too short) sword, lunging in quick and low.

Which means that they've two left, closing in quick in what Sephiroth can only perceive as anger from the creatures. He settles into an offensive stance, regaining balance and focus with his feet planted firmly in the sand, next to Luka.

An upwards quirk of a grin.]

One for each.

[For Sephiroth, this is easy. He doesn't feel any threat of loss or danger, unlike facing that formidable dragon bearing down on him in his memory.]

Or two for me, if you're not quick enough.

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