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?]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

[ Is that the first time he’s seen Sephiroth smile? (Or close enough to a smile.) It might be, and somehow Luka isn’t entirely surprised to learn that the man only grins in the midst of a fight. Luka was much the same, before he realized just how much he truly had to smile about.

Not as if that stops him from ginning in the middle of a fight either, a wide and sharp sort of smile, fangs bared. ]

Oh, we keeping score now? Alright.

[ Luka steps in to meet the Anala closest to him, the beast already poised to bring its weapon down on the Miqo’te’s head. He brings his katana up to block the blow, and no sooner do the blades clash than a sheet of ice spreads over the steel. It sizzles and hisses as it makes contact with the Anala’s molten sword, but ultimately the weapons they bear are not as hot as what apparently beats behind their ribs, and the frost soon extinguishes the heat of the monster’s weapon. The Anala releases its hold on the sword before the creeping cold can claim its hand, and as it reels back, Luka drives the frozen sword through its middle with an explosion of shattering ice.

One more for him. ]

[It's easy enough to smile in battle; it's coupled with the sensation of pride and entertainment, both of which he finds so naturally ingrained in a fight. Even when facing off with monsters that wish to kill them with their searing hot blades, Sephiroth knows how challenging any given altercation will be within the first few seconds — he would have deemed this one boring, if not for the novelty of facing creatures he’s never seen before, or the companion at his back with whom it is easy to stoke a fire beneath, it would seem.

So there’s some amusement to be had, and he actually makes a noise that sounds it as Luka rushes forward and ends the life of another Anala. The display of ice coating the man’s sword is worthy of observation, watching it disperse the heat of the opposing blade and running itself through the monster within a second of each other.

Interesting.]

Magic? [—he asks as he straightens out of an offensive stance, now left with one other monster. Undeterred by being the last one standing, it rushes forward, aiming to slash at Luka with its blade after felling its kin.

Sephiroth raises his hand, calls for magic in a glow that swirls faintly around him, luminescent green. Suddenly the temperature around them drops and an array long icicles form in the air, sharp and spiked. The SOLDIER’s gloved hand clenches into a fist and they careen into the creature, impaling it one by one by one. Missing the heart, hopefully, but Sephiroth can only make educated guesses. ~~shrug emoji~~

It crumples to the ground moments after, slain.]

Cheating, usually, but it gets the job done.

[ Luka’s feeling pretty proud of himself for that display, his skill at enhancing his swordwork with aether is getting better, but the grin quickly fades from his face when he turns around to see Sephiroth outdoing him by malms. While the display is pretty awe-inspiring, there’s a little spiteful piece of Luka that keeps his expression sour. One might even call it pouting, the way he frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. ]

That’s cheating for sure, boyo. At least I still used my sword.

[The barely-there smile hasn't left, only fading away once he puts away his borrowed blade, guard meeting the sheath with a click.]

Don't call me that.

["Boyo".]

Magic is magic. You used yours, I followed suit.

[He casts a glance around them. The sand gone's messy with proof of their efforts, and their slain targets lay lifeless in it. Slashed, stabbed, impaled with ice. Short as it was, at least there was a very temporary attempt to make it interesting.]

At any rate, that was simple enough. I assume that removing their hearts will be just as straightforward.

[ Molten monsters don't leave much of a mess, only a few errant ashes that Luka flicks from his blade before sheathing it. ]

Not fond of nicknames, eh Sephi?

[ He's absolutely going to use a nickname from now on. Welcome to your new life. ]

I don't have anything that fancy up my sleeve, so you definitely overdid it. Still... [ He clicks his tongue, hands on his hips as he surveys the bodies strewn out in the sand. ] Damn effective. I'll go fetch the bucket.

[ It's not a bucket. But in any case, away he goes, leaving Sephiroth with their fallen quarry as he fetches the pot and the tools the kojin blacksmith had loaned them for the job. Masoto had given them some instruction on how best to gather the creatures' molten cores without damaging them, but being from a family of hunters, Luka is pretty sure it won't be too difficult. Just like skinning an antelope. If that antelope were made of magma.

It doesn't take him long, and he plops the container down in the sand, setting the tools within clanking about. ]

So... you want to do the honors first or shall I?

[Even Sephiroth can’t stop a deepening frown shading his expression at the nickname… Sephi.]

No, I’m not. No one calls me by any sort of nickname. If you can manage two syllables, don’t pretend that it’s too much of an effort to speak three.

[Sephiroth. Not Sephi, or Sephy, or Boyo, or anything else that settles strangely in his ears. He’s fairly certain he doesn’t like it, nor the awkward friendliness it implies, even if it’s teasing.

He leaves it at that when Luka wanders off to fetch the supplies. When the other has returned, Sephiroth’s bent down in the sand, having turned over their quarry belly-up, assuming it’ll be easier to carve out their hearts this way.

He turns his head and looks up at Luka with a raising brow.]

I don’t have any experience with this. [He kills things. He doesn’t hunt them. Caring for their corpses, or carving them up, is beyond his expertise.] It’d make sense for you to go first and I follow suit.

Seph it is then.

[ Perhaps two syllables are too much after all. Luka barely knows the guy, but he’s been on his own for a while now, driven by his mission into a solitude that has never suited his personality. He didn’t really realize how much he’d missed the company of others until someone quite literally washed up on the beach.

He grins widely, fishing around in their bucket of tools for a dagger, finely forged and quite sharp indeed, since a katana is ill-suited for this sort of work. The Miqo’te gives the blade a little twirl between his fingers. ]

If that’s the case, I’ll show you how we do things back in the Shroud.

[ Even if carving open a few rogue Anala was a far cry from the creatures they hunted back in his woodland home, Luka can’t help but be reminded of his mother – she’d taught him everything he ever needed to know about the hunt. An old ache twinges in his heart with the memories, no less painful than the new ache that sits behind his ribs now, but he’s learned how to deal with it better.

The feeling could perhaps be called bittersweet, but it’s far better than sorrow.

So, it is with a deft and practiced hand that Luka sets to work, splitting the cooling flesh of the first monster to get at the heart behind its ribs. The wave of heat that billows out of the thing’s chest once he’s got it open makes his eyes water. The kojin hadn’t been kidding, apparently. ]

I betcha if I crack an egg in there, it won’t cook so much as turn straight to ash. Might need another pair of hands for this part.

[He narrows his eyes against the wave of heat which is quick to push back his bangs, but Sephiroth doesn't so much as move otherwise. The inside of this creature was as hot as to be expected if they needed tools to remove its heart.]

Call me "Seph" again and you won't be getting any more help from me.

[He says it so mildly and so dismissively that it's less a threat than a vague annoyance, if even that. Sephiroth had been watching Luka defly work, but now he looks over to the remaining tools in the sand.]

You need me to pluck the heart out or hold the chest cavity open?

You’re no fun.

[ Grumbled more for show than anything, since his focus is squarely on maneuvering the tools in his hands to keep the damn thing’s chest open. If someone were to stumble upon them in this moment, they’d probably think it a macabre sight, but for Luka, the most uncomfortable thing is the unrelenting heat. He wrinkles his nose against it. ]

I’m already here so you may as well do the plucking. Then it’s onto the rest.

[ Once they have a system, they can keep it, and get themselves back to the blacksmith. ]

[He’s not wrong. Sephiroth isn't known for his “fun” demeanor back home.

But he is professional, efficient, and not prone to dallying. This much is put on display as he aids Luka in removing the monsters’ hearts from their chest, hands deft and purposeful, even if they’re unpracticed at this particular art. Falling into a system between them, it may take a bit of effort to see it through to the end, but it surprisingly doesn’t take much time.

Not long after, they’re walking through the sand with their hearts in tow, leaving the corpses of the gutted creatures behind. Bucket of used tools in one hand, Sephiroth idly adjusts the sword at his hip with his other.]

How long have you been training with that sword?

[—he asks, not quite out of the blue, finding the topic relevant even if it isn’t usually how one delves into small talk.]

[ It’s not the quickest errand Luka’s ever been on, but once they figure out how to best maneuver their tools and themselves around each other, they fall into an easy routine. One set of Anala hearts later, they’re on their way back to the kojin smith with their prize. He’s not too fussed about leaving the bodies behind. If the kojin have more use for Anala bits, then they’re there for the taking, or else they’ll be swept away with the next high tide.

Luka has the somewhat dubious honor of toting their quarry along, since Sephiroth has claimed the bucket of tools. He can already feel the heat seeping through the container Masoto gave them and crawling up his pantleg. Thankfully, he’s spared from having to focus on how unpleasant it is when Sephiroth decides to strike up conversation. ]

Ah, few summers I suppose. Why?

Because you're not terrible for a "few summers" worth of training.

["Not terrible" is its own form of compliment coming from Sephiroth, so take that as you will, Luka.]

...And I was simply wondering if everyone here considers themselves proficient with a blade.

[Along the path they go, tools clacking in the bucket he carries, long hair trailing behind him.]

[ Luka, perhaps rather ironically for a man with feline characteristics, barks out a laugh, the sound sudden and bright. His tail twitches with amusement as they trail their way back to the entrance to the kojin’s cave. ]

“Not terrible”, he says. I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me since I found you half-drowned on the beach.

[ It probably is, actually. He gives an amused snort at the thought. ]

I dunno. Probably no more so than anywhere else. Not everyone’s a fighter – you’ll find more farmers and merchants out in Yanxia than you will soldiers.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject