PSL; [NOLI MANERE]

[supersoldier]

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?]

Comments

[katanyaa]

[ Luka is becoming quite familiar with the Isle of Bekko. It’s a good place to keep an eye on the bloody Confederacy and their comings and goings – the Miqo’te does not have enough coin on him to pay the pirates’ self-proclaimed “tithe” just to get across the swiving sea, so he’s resorted to camping out on the beastmen’s island while he thinks up a plan.

The kojin haven’t noticed him, or else they’re content to live and let live as long as Luka doesn’t bother them. Whatever it is, he’s grateful.

Two days into his little stakeout, the tide brings with it the form of a person, their dark garb spotted in the sand of the island’s main cove from Luka’s usual spot on a ridge. That’s closer to the kojin’s home than he likes to go, but he can’t well leave the poor bastard out there, can he? It takes him a bit to get down to the beach, but by the time he’s made the descent, the figure on the sand hasn’t moved. Cat-quiet (ha), he creeps closer, close enough to get a better look. Hyur, he’d guess, and the glint of steel in the sand certainly doesn’t escape his notice, which only serves to pique his curiosity.

He’s almost upon the stranger when he sits bolt-upright with a jerk, startling Luka so badly that he skitters backwards a few stumbling steps that see him falling arse-first onto the sand. No fault of the stranger’s – he seems disoriented, and Luka imagines he would be as well. ]

Oi, you alright?

[supersoldier]

[He’s earned himself a traveling companion in this last month, something he never thought he’d have to entertain in his lifetime. Sephiroth is used to missions, to partnering up with fellow SOLDIERs, to do what is required of him only to detach himself from their company the moment he’s met with success. But this is different — his time with Luka is an unknown that has no definable end, not until they can find out just how to send him back to Gaia, traveling these foreign lands in search of a mage who might can put them on the right path.

It’s odd, being around someone this long, this constantly. Sephiroth is a solitary animal — he was born and raised that way, placed on a pedestal by the company, and expected to stand there alone and adulated. Not since his training in his younger years has he spent so much casual time around another, and even in those days he would retire to his solitary chambers back at headquarters, to fall asleep to the faint hum of fluorescent lights and encased by impersonal, steel walls.

It’s tiring — Luka is tiring, if not to his body, then to his mind, the latter more suited to introversion than brash behavior, or loud declarations, or the fount of energy that rolls off of him in waves. Yet he finds that it is endurable, and then later he finds it is manageable, and now— Well, perhaps now he finds that it is preferable. (Genesis, Angeal, Zack; company he preferred, would have called friends, the few who pierced the veil past arms-length isolation, and drew closer than most. It isn’t dissimilar.)

Today’s day of traveling has come to its end. Setting up camp was easy enough, the fire blazing before them, casting an orange-glow across the planes of his features. The green of his eyes, also faintly alight in the shadow, fade as he trails his gaze downwards, reaching back to gather up his hair and slide it over his shoulders and in front of him.]

How far is the next town?

[Pinching the fingertips of his gloves and pulling them off, the reason why he asks is soon apparent. With bare hands, he runs them through silver strands so long that they pool at his hip where he sits. Catching against tangles, he frowns at the tugging sensation against his scalp.

How far is the next town? he’s asked, so he can know when he can get his appearance sorted without being assailed by constant outdoor travel.]

[katanyaa]

[ The city of Doma proper is abandoned and crumbling into ruin, having been trampled by the invading Garleans when they came for the royal family some twenty five years ago. Decades later, the castle itself was destroyed and sunk into the river, a ploy by the Doman prince to oust the invaders from his home – and it worked, too. Now the effort to rebuild is underway and going slowly, so for the time being, the ruins of Doma have been left on the river’s edge to rot. No one calls the crumbling structures home aside from strange beasts, and a few enterprising namazu.

There’s something about the silhouetted structures, sitting still and silent in the early-morning mist drifting off the river, that creeps Luka out. But he’s never been one to believe in ghost stories, and through the remnants of the city is the quickest way to get where they’re going.

Nature is slowly beginning to reclaim the hard-packed dirt roads of the city, and Luka hops over the root of a tree, stretching itself partway across the thoroughfare. ]

Sensei tells me this place was something special back in the day. I wish I coulda seen it.

tfln continued!

[katanyaa]

[ from here. ]

[ Luka can't help but stare at those messages for a very long while. Perhaps he had a little too much to drink tonight, and feelings he keeps carefully buried are rising to the surface. He doesn't generally broadcast his insecurities, but here's Sephiroth, giving him an earnest reply when he really should be telling Luka to sleep it off.

He appreciates that probably more than he can say right now. ]

youre right. of course youre right.

when my ma died, i took it real hard. i hated everyone and everything like the whole world was responsible for taking her away. i got into fights everywhere i went, pushed my own family away. if you could see me the way i was back then, its like i was a different person.

when i met sensei that was the first time in a long time i felt like i had a sense of direction. he gave me purpose. now hes gone too and sometimes its easy to fall back on old habits and act like all i am is a screw up.

welcome to midgar.

[supersoldier]

[The glass enclosure is cold, sterile, with a single bed for Luka to lay on and spartan furnishings beyond that. It is not made of comfort, but only the bare minimum required to live. Harsh fluorescent lights buzz above, and the view of the laboratory is visible past the glass, where instruments beep and lit charts flicker in rhythm to unknown statistics.

He is left alone for a long while, stripped of any possessions, somehow dressed in plain white, threadbare clothing. When he awakens, there is no one there to meet him. The alien environment is silent but for the lab’s metronomic noises, and if Luka tries very hard to scrutinize his surroundings, he may spot a far window that reveals the view of a dark-steeled city from high above.

This is the 68th floor of the Shinra building, and the view under any other circumstances would be darkly impressive.

Thirty minutes pass before muffled footsteps and the hiss of a door sliding open heralds the presence of a black-haired man in a white lab coat. He has sharp grin and a cruel look in his eyes, hidden barely by darkened spectacles.]

Finally awake? [-he says, pushing up the bridge of his glasses.] Good, you’ve made me wait long enough.