finalflight | 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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[ 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.

PSL; [NOLI MANERE]

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