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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[ 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.

[Green cat-eyes slide over to him at the laugh. Sephiroth just continues walking steadily and without much affectation.]

...In Midgar, I was surrounded by those able to fight. [He says, as if it's an explanation for why he had asked. "Normal" life and all its mundanities are faraway concept to him.] I wasn't certain what to expect here after seeing you battle those creatures.

You'd be skilled enough to join Shinra's army, that much I can say. Any more than that, though, would be up for debate. [This is how he assesses some people the best he knows how: via their fighting capabilities.]

Eh, I’ll take that as a compliment. Sensei always did say I was a quick study.

[ Luka’s been a brawler all his life, and Sensei gave him something to funnel all that into. There’s no denying he’s probably helped along some by the soul crystal he keeps on him as well – something all samurai pass down to their students to help them hone their craft. ]

That was you are? A soldier in this Shinra’s army?

[Sephiroth simply nods.]

Yes. Whereas you've trained with that sword for a few years, being a part of Shinra's army is what I've known ever since I was a child.

[It isn't so much bragging as it is a comparison between their experiences. He is proud of his skills in a certain way, but he knows there's more to it than the length of time one might have wielding a blade. It is also skill and stubborn commitment; Luka does at least seem to have a stubborn streak, he can give him that much.]

I'm part of a branch literally called SOLDIER. More elite than the average infantryman.

Soldier for life, eh? I suppose that explains a few things.

[ Probably not a whole lot of room for levity in the ranks of the elite. That almost makes Luka feel bad for the guy. At times, Luka feels like he was robbed of some aspects of his childhood with the passing of his mother, but for Sephiroth, it was probably so, so much worse. ]

So, tell me true, were you holding back with the Anala back there?

[SOLDIER for life, with no parents to speak of. (Or none, at least, that he's aware of.) Shinra had been the means of his upbringing, and perhaps not the healthiest to raise a child with the sole purpose being utilized as a weapon, or the strongest man in their army made to drum up propaganda for the company itself, but...

For what it's worth, Sephiroth is aware of this. Knows of his role, and how he's utilized with a self-awareness that might make some people question why he still remains with the megacorporation. But it also means that he is oddly functional, without the hang-ups that most would assume come from an abnormal childhood. He's done well for himself, all things considered.

That, or it's just the perception he curates for those around him.]

Yes. [An easy answer, no point in hiding it.] That fight was thoughtless, automatic. I mostly wanted to see what you were capable of.

[ Sephiroth seems unbothered by his circumstances, though without knowing him too well, Luka could not begin to guess if that means he’s well-adjusted or simply a case of ignorance being bliss. Whatever it is, a world away from his home and his organization, Sephiroth may have to learn how to live like a normal person – at least until some egghead back in the city hopefully solves his problem.

(Because Luka still has his own business to attend to, still needs to find his way across the Ruby sea before the trail goes cold. Otherwise, he might consider tagging along with the other man, if only to give him a somewhat familiar face to guide him through Kugane’s streets.) ]

And I passed the test, I suppose. [ He flicks an ear in Sephiroth’s direction, grinning broadly. ] I have to say, I’m curious to see what you’re like when you go all-out, but there’s nothing around here much tougher than those Anala, unless you fancy taking a dive into the volcano.

You passed it well enough. But there are some parts of your technique that would benefit from further refinement.

[Oh, did he think that Sephiroth was going to let more than a single compliment slip past? Surely not.

He says nothing about him going all-out on anything, though, instead his interest pinged by mention of a volcano.]

And what lives inside the volcano?

Oh, one scrap and you're an expert, are you? Got any pointers to go with that criticism or are you gonna leave it at that?

[ Luka may roll his eyes at the remark, but he knows very well that he has a lot left to learn. If he'd been better, if he'd been quicker, if he hadn't hesitated... well, perhaps things would be different than they are now.

But even with all that aside, he knows that to a man who has been training his whole life, Luka's skill must seem rough around the edges at best. ]

Dunno for sure. But there's rumors, everything from sleeping spirits to imprisoned voidsent.

Several, but I’m not being paid to be your mentor, am I.

[Saracsm, Sephiroth has it, too. Brusque but not terribly sharp, at any rate.]

But the interior of a volcano is something probably better left to rumors. [Who would willingly go into a volcano???] What is a “voidsent”?

I'm not being paid to be your guide, either, but we all gotta make sacrifices.

[ He hasn't been much of a guide thus far, truth be told, but getting Sephiroth off that beach and into the hands of those who might help him has to count for something, right?

Luka's brows furrow at the question, ears flicking curiously. He can't quite wrap his head around having to explain something that even babes are warned of ere they're old enough to toddle around outdoors on their own. ] They're... just voidsent. Uh, they're monsters I guess. Things not from this world that get pulled through by mages and stuff.

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