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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[ Years of Sensei thoroughly trouncing him has made Luka’s singular, meager shield spell second nature. If not for that impulse to protect himself, he’d be a lot worse off than he is now. Even so, he’s still bruised and aching, a slow trickle of blood painting its way down the side of his face from a cut on his forehead.

Alright, he thinks to himself, as he slowly works to get his hands and feet under him. Not his brightest idea.

The bright bolt of lightning slamming itself into the ground near him draws his attention, and the attention of the demonic fox creature. The beast swings its head around to look at Sephiroth, something calculating in those glowing eyes, something scheming. It’s awfully hard to tell with that gaping, sharp-toothed maw, but it might be smiling. ]

Sephiroth?

[ Luka’s croaked-out word has the monster glancing back. Head dipped low, and the instant Luka meets its disturbingly intelligent gaze, the flames of its eyes flash brighter.

He doesn’t recognize the pull of magic until it’s too late.

The world blurs around the edges. Caught unawares, Luka cannot fight the voice – female, low, and whisper-soft – that creeps into his head and calls him friend, begs him to be rid of the enemy in their midst. The compulsion to protect rings strong, and Luka is on his feet almost instantly, plucking his fallen blade from the rubble at the base of the wall. Heedless of his own injuries, he springs forward with all the speed he possesses, his path laser guided towards Sephiroth, eyes completely devoid of recognition. ]

[He thinks it’s grinning, he thinks it’s looking at him with cruelty in its eyes, and Sephiroth hardens his own on instinct. He doesn’t like knowing what won’t happen — Shinra had trained him in how the myriad of monsters acted on Gaia in and around Midgar, but this was something he had no frame of reference for — and his gloved grip tightens on Masamune. He expects another attack, some kind of magic flown his way. Or those gnashing teeth to try to clamp around him again, after it lunges forward with its tails lashing behind it.

He receives neither. Instead, those same eyes flash bright, and Sephiroth steels himself against an attack… in the wrong direction.

In his periphery, movement. Luka’s on his feet with his blade glinting in the SOLDIER’s direction, and it is only honed instinct and innate speed that makes Sephiroth twist his body around, bringing up Masamune to meet his friend’s steel.

It’s thrown him off. He has to throw a foot back to keep his balance, his stance awkward, but his strength still relied upon to push back.]

What are you doing?!

[What’s happening, why is Luka attacking him—]

Luka! [Green eyes burrow into the other’s, finding no recognition there, just an eerily blank slate. Sephiroth grimaces as he lifts a leg to attempt to knee Luka away.]

[ Sephiroth can search Luka’s gaze all he wants, but there’s nothing there. His conscious thoughts are tucked away, wrapped up in a thick, cottony layer of magic that makes it impossible for him to think straight. Help me, says the voice in his head, a sweet siren’s song. Destroy the enemy.

He does what he’s told, a puppet on a string with no agency of his own. Luka doesn’t hold back – why should he, when his opponent is an enemy? – and he’s quick on his feet, dancing away from the knee aimed for his gut. The bit of distance he gains doesn’t last, however, because he tenses and springs again, kicking up dust in his wake as he comes in low, blade poised for an upward slash as soon as he’s close enough.

The demon, for its part, is taking this time to settle back, to recoup its strength as it pits friend against friend. ]

[Not enough distance. Not enough time. Luka is already springing forward again like a predator whose focus cannot be shaken, and Sephiroth accounts for his speed a second time, ratcheting his own up to match.

Steel clashes. Masamune rings like crystal struck. And Sephiroth pushes forward, then leaps back to create space between them. Mid-motion, he arcs his sword to cover that same space so his friend cannot follow — the tip of his sword aims to crash hard against Luka’s to disarm him.

He’s still keenly aware of that demon, though, trained to keep track of all threats even when they exit his periphery. With his free hand, Sephiroth extends it in the monster’s direction. A pillar of flame coils and burns beneath its feet, the threatening to erupt and envelop it mere moments later.]

[ The demon watches the exchange of blows, a huff of air escaping that ghastly maw that sounds almost like a laugh. Oh, yes, there is uncanny intelligence behind that fiery gaze, and it is enjoying this.

Were he able to think straight, Luka would be aware of Sephiroth's strength, would no better than to face him head on, but the shackles around his will have him drive forward with no thought of strategy. So, Sephiroth's sword collides with his own, the impact driving the blade from his hands. Undeterred, Luka squares up as if he means to dive right back in, unarmed with fists flying, but he hesitates. Recognition flashes in his gaze, though he remains frozen in place as if he cannot quite will his own body to move.

In that same moment, the demon yelps at the sudden heat beneath its paws, leaping away as the fire erupts, singing its fur. All at once it becomes apparent: it cannot fight and keep its hold on Luka at the same time. ]

[He watches as the blade goes flying. Watches as Luka doesn’t so much as hesitate to take a stance to rush in. But then he's frozen in place, and something finally moves across his features. Hesitation. There.

Sephiroth’s eyes flick to the fox monster, watching it leap away from the flames he set beneath its paws. It doesn’t take much to string the connections together; this is what he needed to know. This will make it simpler, much easier, and he can avoid dragging this fight out longer than necessary. Dispatch the monster, and Luka returns to normal, uninjured.]

Sorry, Luka.

[—says Sephiroth, raising up Masamune and attempting to strike him across the jaw with its hilt.

(Mostly uninjured.)

He needs to buy time, and whether or not he’s successful, he takes advantage of the moment to spring away and break into a run. His target is strictly on the monster now; take it out, and take it out fast.]

You stay still.

[He leaps into the air, words lost in the flapping of his coat, and dives down towards the creature, sword-first.]

[ Having wriggled away from the grasp of the demon’s spell a little, Luka isn’t moving quite so quickly. The voice in his head has grown faint, and it gives him room to think, to realize that Sephiroth is anything but his enemy. But he hasn’t broken totally free, and the monster’s will bears down on him even as he tries to fight it.

So that blow lands, sending him reeling, and there’s just enough of Luka that’s risen to the surface to think “HEY!” He goes sprawling in the dirt, and wills himself to stay there while Sephiroth leaps away. The fog has cleared enough that he can watch, at least. Watch and tell the sickly-sweet voice in his head to shove it.

The demon itself has no intention of staying still. It leaps away again, further smashing the ruins beneath massive feet as it lands. Sephiroth’s blade managed to deal it a glancing blow, blood now flowing freely from a gash in the side of its face as well as the rest of it wounds. It seems to have underestimated this particular adversary, but no more games.

The air begins to crackle with power, the skies overhead darkening as the beast makes ready to call forth a massive lightning bolt. The demon’s fur stands on end, power snaking over its form, jumping between its many tails. It will raze this place a second time if it means being rid of this sword-wielding pest. ]

[Luka is out of the way. Incapacitated, he can’t be sure, not with how strong the creature's hold is over him. But that doesn’t matter; he doesn’t need more time than what he’s been granted. He seeks to end it in the next handful of seconds.

The sky goes an ominous gray above them, the atmosphere crackles with an electric buzz. He can feel it, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up; he's cast enough thunder spells in his own time to know what is to come. Just as Sephiroth has trained, time and time again, to know what he can and cannot handle. Even when he rises from his landing, there’s no hesitation in his eyes. They are sharp, cold, and utterly hard with determination.

He leaps forward and the lightning crashes down, a huge bolt of power that blinds all who would look at it — and it collides right into Sephiroth. The impact is like a hammer slamming onto a diamond object, the pressure expands outwards, the energy its own kind of explosion, overwhelming and crackling. There is no sight of the silver-haired SOLDIER for how much the lightning engulfs him, ensnares him completely. There is no doubt it was a direct hit.

Sephiroth experiences it fully. The energy coursing through him, which would cause a man to double over if not for his impossible constitution. His body is already recovering in the time that he takes to brace against the angry electricity, and the pain exists like it was a faraway thing only to be observed in his mind’s eye. It’s easy enough to push through.

So he does, the momentum carrying him through the giant bolt itself, and Masamune is all the more sparking because of it. Sephiroth angles his blade forward, a single, powerful thrust aimed right towards the creature’s throat. Right through the maw itself if he has to.

Behind him, the lightning hasn’t even fizzled out.]

Edited 2020-01-31 21:51 (UTC)

[ The more the demon has to concentrate on finishing Sephiroth, the less her hold on Luka becomes. The voice in his head grows distant, and Luka finds his control return to him by small degrees. He struggles to get up to one knee, eyes flicking to his fallen sword in the dirt. He thinks better of it, in the end. Even only half under the creature’s control, he’s a liability.

So there really is nothing more he can do but watch. His hair is practically standing on end with all the electricity swirling around, the weight of gathered aether sitting atop the feeling of static and the smell of ozone.

He expects Sephiroth to dodge the blow, but even as Luka has to bring an arm up to shield his eyes from the bright flash of a lightning bolt that even the Lord of Levin would be jealous of, he sees his friend take the hit, head on.

It all happens so fast, the first syllable of Sephiroth’s name leave his lips in a startled cry, but then the figure of the SOLDIER is leaping away from the point of impact looking like he’s hardly bothered. Luka plops to the ground with little ceremony, like a puppet with his strings cut and left to sit and gawp. He had the sense that Sephiroth had been holding something back, but this?

The demon seems similarly surprised, its hold on Luka completely forgotten. Its mouth snaps open, either to try and catch Sephiroth in its jaws or in its own gasp of surprise. It matters little, however, because Masamune dives into that gaping maw and the steel punches out of the back of the creature’s head. It gives a wet-sounding gurgle, the last echoes of a growl, and topples over. The body hits the ground, taking with it another section of wall and kicking up a cloud of dust. Overhead, the sky clears.

So does Luka’s head, the influence of the demon gone out with the light of its life, but he still can’t quite bring himself to get up from where he’s fallen on his rear in the middle of the road. Dimly, he realizes his jaw and his ribs are aching, but he’s still trying to catch up to what just happened. ]

[Masamune makes contact. He can tell just by gripping its hilt, the feeling of the blade sliding straight through flesh. Through bone. He knows it well.

And in the next moment, the monster is no more. Life cut short, its weight drops to the ground, threatening to bring Sephiroth down along with it. The SOLDIER merely retracts his blade in a single motion, cutting through the flesh a second time in its exit. He lands next to the creature’s head as dust from the ground billows up beneath the massive thud of its collapse.

He lingers only long enough to confirm his kill. Blood pools at his boots, and it’s no longer breathing. His skin still tingles from the excess lightning. No longer a concern, he turns to look where Luka is still halfway-fallen down the road, and moves to meet him.

Sephiroth is never the sort to hurry, to move out of pure panic. But his steps are faster than usual, the length of his blade cast in crimson, almost dragging along the length of the ground.]

Luka—

[He calls out when near enough, a frown marring his pale complexion.]

Are you all right? Are you back with me?

[Released from the hold of that thing, green eyes search the other’s, seeking clarity, presentness, and recognition.]

[ As is the way with creatures from the Void, the corpse doesn’t linger long enough to even begin to cool. The demon’s body simply starts to drift away, flesh dissolving into a thin coil of black smoke that drifts out over the river.

Perhaps it will be back one day, but Luka and Sephiroth won’t be around to see it.

Luka’s gaze flicks to Sephiroth, his eyes wide and ears drawn back, though he doesn’t seem to be scared so much as confused. A lot just happened in the span of a very short moment, and with him still trying to shake free of the cobwebs left behind by the demon’s influence, part of him wonders if what he just saw was even real.

It kind of comes back together piece by piece, starting with, ]

… You punched me!

[ Yeah, he’s fine. ]

[Yes, with a reaction like that? He's likely fine.]

I did. It was necessary.

[He crouches down, setting Masamune briefly on the ground next to him. The blood of a slain monster stains the ground beneath the steel.]

I needed you briefly incapacitated so you wouldn't get in the way. It worked, didn't it?

[No way of apologies from Sephiroth, which isn't all that surprising. But he holds out a gloved hand, gestured in Luka's direction, and a faint glowing green magic circles in diaphanous glow around him.

The onset use of his Cure materia, magic far less destructive than what he had flung towards his enemy just moments ago, should aid with any lingering aches or pains.]

[ For a moment, it looks as if Luka is going to pout about it. He knows, of course, that while under the monster's control, Sephiroth had to get him out of the way, and it didn't escape his notice that his friend did so without hurting him. (Too badly.)

Then, defying all logic based on what he's seen from Sephiroth up until now, the SOLDIER heals him, and any indignation - feigned or not - is instantly forgotten. His ears swivel forward in curiosity, eyes flicking from Sephiroth's outstretched hand to his face. ]

Twelve, is there anything you can't do?

[It was a little known fact, but Sephiroth had always seen to protecting those under his command. Though Luka is not under his purview at all, the requirement to protect him is just as second nature after their lengthy travels, his friend representing his only true anchor point to this world. Of course he’ll offer a healing spell when necessary, and without hesitation; it’s simple enough, and one of the first magics he ever mastered, despite his training to be a weapon made to kill rather than to mend.]

Make you more considerate during a fight instead of just rushing in.

[He jokes, knowing that being under the thrall is a monster was hardly Luka’s fault, and that neither really could have predicted it. The magic fades, having run its course through his body.]

But it only makes sense for a SOLDIER to know how to heal, too, in case he’s injured.

[ Every time a joke comes out of Sephiroth’s mouth, it feels like a small miracle. Luka laughs, careful not to move around too much while Sephiroth works, though he does grin, fangs flashing. ]

Hells, Seph. Ain’t nobody in the world that can do that, not even me.

[ The light of the magic fades away, leaving Luka feeling far better than he had been. There are still some aches and scrapes here and there, but he no longer feels like he was run over by a train. A good night’s rest will get him back to fighting fit.

Something in his expression softens. ]

Whatever the reason… thanks. You saved my arse big time. I owe you one.

You don’t owe me anything.

[A smile crosses his face, small but sincere. Luka looks nearly as good as new, and so he stands, offering a hand up.]

I’ll protect you if necessary, and I suspect you’d do the same for me.

Edited (Iconnnnn) 2020-03-18 13:01 (UTC)

[ Much like when Sephiroth cracks a joke, it feels like a miracle when he cracks a smile. It's a little thing, barely there but very real all the same. It's a good look for him, Luka thinks.

(Perhaps this isn't the first time he's thought such a thing.) ]

Dunno what someone like me could do to protect someone like you, but... well, I'd sure try.

[ They're friends, aren't they? That's what friends do.

Luka takes that offered hand, getting to his feet despite the protests of aching muscle. ]

If I didn't know any better, I'd never be able to guess that you just took a lighting bolt straight to the face.

[Up he goes, hefting Luka back to his feet like he had suffered no injury at all.]

That was nothing.

[Sephiroth, who had grown up with training simulation after training simulation having magic flung his way, thinks very little of it. He has been struck by lightning before, and though this instance had been particularly jarring compared to most, it was not nearly enough to dislodge his focus or cold determination.]

You should see how 1st Class SOLDIERs usually train. Being attacked by lightning, fire, ice, and more... It's nothing new.

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