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year 5, quarter 3
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I wasn't sure what direction Nero was going to take me, and apparently it's "asshole behavior"
Power.
This wasn’t the first time in his life Nero had gone out on a search for power. He’d done it for Weiss, to bring his brother back from the dead. Though, the power he sought now, needed to be more subtle than capturing and killing hundreds of innocent civilians. Again, he needed power, not for himself, but for another. For someone more deserving, someone more pure.
Unable to obtain the power that had been spoken of in his mind at the top of the World Sight, the Tsviet needed another plan. He refused to return to the mage, his savior, empty handed. He needed something, anything, but preferably something worthwhile. He reached out to travelers when he could stand doing so, and pried them for information about the magic of the world, rumors, anything. Many simply shook their heads, at a loss of any decent information. Others, however, at least had tales to share of the history of this world.
So, Nero’s travels led him south, following a river’s path to a place known as the Crystallus Divider. He arrived at nightfall, thankful for the natural camouflage of the darkness among the sparse brush. His glowing eyes observed the interesting infrastructure of the area; large, stone arches spread about, that seemed almost random in their placement, the remnants of walkways to and from the center of the Divider, and of course, the large, mysteriously glowing gate.
From what the Sable had been told, those sensitive to magic would be able to feel it beneath their very feet. He crouched down, moving his dark cloak out of the way, placing an open, tattooed palm against the earth.
He felt … Nothing.
Nero frowned deeply, standing back up and slowly walking in and out of the strange arches as he avoided the few people in the area that were preparing for a quiet night. The wind was calm, the air only carrying a slight chill, and the Tsviet pulled down his hood from his thick, black hair. Slowly, he made his way toward the strange gate that emitted an odd, but pleasant light -- the Divider itself. As he stared at it, it did … Nothing. It gave him no answers, no feeling. His oblivion had no reaction toward it.
The Sable scowled, unsure what he expected. Perhaps someone that knew more about this power? Or a way to contain some of it? Anything? He glanced around, red eyes searching for anyone who he could interrogate about this world’s strange power. However, his anger was short lived. Even though he spotted the silhouettes of others further down the path, the fire to shove a gun to their temple was quickly fading. This was a fool’s errand. A shot in the dark.
Nero looked back at the gate with a scowl, kicking dirt at it in his frustration. “Sir, this is Holy Ground! You cannot disrespect it like that!”
Turning, the Tsviet identified an older man he must have missed earlier. The man was dressed in an interesting set of robes, a book clutched in his grasp. Nero recognized the outfit -- some others were wearing it as well. Worshipers of an old god, or something like that. The man seemed genuinely upset, his teeth grinding, his eyes narrowed at the Sable.
Nero looked back and forth between the Divider and the older man for a moment, before shrugging, “I just did. Will your gods come to strike me down for it?”
The man visibly trembled with anger, “You must leave this area at once! We will not stand for such blasphemous behavior!” Others began to drift closer to the man, their robes similar to his. The other religious fanatics.
The Tsviet raised an eyebrow, before an uncanny grin spread across his face. He laughed loudly, clearly unhinged, before drawing one of his handguns forth from the darkness. He quickly pointed it at the man and his laughter and smile disappeared as quickly as they’d come on, replaced again by a bored, intimidating stare.
“Not to worry, you won’t be standing long. God’s love a blood sacrifice, don’t they? Maybe you're the missing piece.”
Rise and take flight, darling Let's soar high For the first time in forever you're alive Don't you forget that
Use your own eyes, and see for yourself which side I'm on.
Another day, another mission.
Celes sighed as she leaned against one of the many weathered arches that littered the ruins like trees in an open plain. She’d accepted a job escorting some kind of priest between Torensten and the Crystalus Divider though she never really learned what he followed or what he’d been doing in the city to begin with. It didn’t matter to her so long as he didn’t plan on hurting anyone, but it was still tedious work that could have fallen to anyone so long as a behemoth didn’t wander into the road. And it hadn’t. At worst, she’d killed a few wolves before they could take more than three steps towards them, but she supposed it could have been worse.
At least the priest had more or less kept to himself. And at least she was getting paid for this.
He’d said that he needed to “convene with the others” to gather her payment, and after nearly a quarter of an hour, Celes wondered if she should barge in and make certain she hadn’t been scammed. Still, there was a certain peace to this place that kept her at ease. Perhaps it was the hushed silence or the light wind that swept pleasantly across the grass or maybe it was the faintly magical aura that pulsed from this place in warm currents.
She’d give them another ten minutes. After that, she made no promises.
Before the ten minutes had passed, shouting jarred her from her idle boredom. The silence had been so pronounced that it nearly startled her as she blinked and looked over just like everyone else in a forty foot radius. It had come from a priest, it looked like, yelling at someone over “disrespecting holy ground.” It was enough to almost make her eyes roll, and it seemed like the perpetrator wouldn’t take it either.
To say this displeased the priest was an understatement. The man turned red with anger, shouting at the top of his lungs about blasphemy. Celes felt her eyes sharpen as she straightened and started towards him. Whatever the man had done, that reaction was absolutely uncalled for. She planned to give the priest a piece of her mind, but she’d hardly made it halfway to them before an odd feeling stilled her.
Was that...magic?
For the first time, Celes really looked at the victim of the priest’s ire. He was a dark man with wild black hair dressed in a way that could only mean he wasn’t native. That alone should have given her pause, but it was his expression that really stunned her. It gave off a feral aura and a malicious one at that, the kind of look that should have sent anyone with better sense than the priest running. The man laughed loudly with a kind of wild abandon that set every one of her instincts on edge.
This man was going to attack. She knew it even before he stated as much. Her shoulders were already tense, her stance grounded, and in an instant she’d leapt forward, grabbing at the priest’s shoulder and shoving him hard behind her. He gave her a cry of protest as she drew her sword, but she didn’t pay the priest any mind. She only had eyes for the man in front of her.
”Enough.” Her general’s voice overtook her with a direct kind of authority that would have frozen her soldiers into place. ”He’s left you alone so stop this.” Still, her instincts hummed with warning. He wouldn’t listen to her or it wasn’t likely at least, not after that crazed laugh. She shoved the priest back further without look at him.
His finger itched to pull the trigger the moment the priest opened his mouth once more. Oh, oh how much more beautiful that glowing gate would look splattered in crimson, the man sacrificed to his own fake gods, ah -- what a useless, useless man, weak and putrid, spill his blood and show them all -- show them --.
Nero was shaken from his mindless, violent thoughts before he could fire his weapon, by the presence of a woman who’d suddenly appeared in front of him. She moved with a driven force, having leapt in front of him, her sword drawn in his direction. The priest was protesting loudly as he’d been shoved behind her, protected. The woman’s eyes bore into his, strong and rebellious.
”Enough,” the woman’s voice commanded, her voice powerful and low. The Tsviet froze, his eyes widening for a moment as his arm snapped down to his side. Her commanding tone, it reminded him of them. The Restrictors -- the all powerful super soldiers, the only ones who could control the Tsviet’s. Nero’s free left hand immediately flew to his neck, feeling for the chip he knew was still buried against his spine as he stared at the woman, eyes wide with an inhuman fear, his hand trembling with warning, ”He’s left you alone so stop this.”
The woman shoved the priest back further, and the Sable began to collect his wild thoughts, and calm himself. No, no this woman was no Restrictor. While her tone stirred the inner Soldier that he was, she was too soft, too young. Her outfit didn’t match what was worn down in Deepground either -- there was no soft glow of mako to power her. His fearful stare quickly sank into an angry sneer, his glowing, red eyes narrowed at her. He wouldn’t dare rush toward her, no, he was not much for physical attacks. He would be easily overpowered.
The priest behind her retreated further as people looked on, concerned. He was mumbling angrily as he did so, his fists clenched by his sides, “The God’s will see to it that you are punished for your transgressions.”
Something snapped.
Darkness enveloped Nero’s hand, and the gun disappeared from his grasp. For a moment he simply stood there, staring past the woman’s shoulder in quiet disbelief, his hands trembling. Then, he turned away from her, and took two steps, before disappearing into a pool of darkness.
-- And reappearing in front of the priest.
Nero yelled, high pitched and angry, almost in anguish as he threw himself at the man, tackling him to the grass beneath them. He balled his fists into the man’s robes, ignoring the man’s struggles and terrified shrieks as he shook him, keeping him pinned to the ground, his eyes wide with fury, “Have your gods not tortured me enough!? Was it them who took me from my home, from my brother!?”
The Tsviet wasn’t one for physical altercations at all -- compared to his fellows in Deepground he was scrawny -- yet he still managed a strong punch against the man’s jaw as his soul crushing anguish quickly changed to a maddened righteousness. His cries turned quickly to hollow laughter as he wrapped his hands around the priest’s throat.
“Let your god’s come for you, and I will destroy them myself for what they’ve done to us.”
Rise and take flight, darling Let's soar high For the first time in forever you're alive Don't you forget that
Use your own eyes, and see for yourself which side I'm on.
The man’s eye widened in fear. Celes couldn’t help a cautious curiosity even as she kept her stance strong, her gaze unwavering. She’d expected some surprise or maybe even a hint of intimidation, but something about his reaction felt wrong. No, in that instant he wasn’t afraid, he was terrified.
Was it her sword? The confrontation in general? Celes didn’t know, but the man looked strangely childish as he touched reflexively at the back of his neck, fingers trembling, red eyes wide. Celes couldn’t help but soften her look, to pull back instinctively and wonder if she could help.
That was her first mistake.
As soon as she showed a sign of weakness, his face twisted. No longer vulnerable but sneering like a cornered animal. Celes blinked her surprise, steadying her sword again, but before she could say anything another voice echoed from behind her. A distinctly prideful muttering. Celes felt her mouth open, felt time slow as she wondered why, why, why would the priest continue? as the man’s expression morphed once again. No longer seething, but murderous.
Then came the darkness.
Celes shuddered at the unfamiliar magic. It seeped between them like caustic gas, and she couldn’t help but flinch even before it took form. He gathered it to his hand where it swirled so thick that his gun disappeared behind it. For that briefest of moments he looked again like a child at the edge of a cliff before he turned and let an entire doorway of darkness overtake him. Celes couldn’t help a cry of warning, a raise of her hand even as she hesitated to touch it. ”Don’t-!” she started, but then he was gone into that nebulous magic that boded only of a slow, corrosive death.
With him gone, the magic dissipated and Celes was left blinking at the space he’d once occupied. Her blood chilled with the implication and a foreboding that she couldn’t entirely understand. And in fact she didn’t understand until she heard the wild screams behind her.
The man hadn’t disappeared but rather teleported past her entirely. She saw the priest stumble away, heard the dual cries of both fear and anguish before the man had full-body tackled the old man straight off his feet. Celes could only watch in horror as the priest’s head cracked against the pavement and the man struck him once then twice then grabbed his neck, screaming about gods in a way that could only be called deranged.
For a moment, Celes could only gape at the shock of it all. Then her thoughts caught up to her and she held up her sword uncertainly. Should she stab him? It felt too extreme even to stop a hot-blooded murder, and she’d already learned the hard way that stabbing a dangerous madman didn’t exactly end well. What about magic then? But none of her spells could strike with enough pinpoint precision to target only him. She’d do more damage to the priest than his attacker ever could, but she was running out of time. The priest garbled for help, veins bulging, eyes ready to pop out of his skull, and everyone else had scattered at the first sight of that dark, incomprehensible power and the man who wielded it.
Celes cursed. She'd have to improvise.
She moved on instinct, thrusting her sword in its sheathe as she dashed towards them, her blood hot with magic. Power sparked at her palm, and by the time she reached them, it crackled with electricity from a spell she hadn’t yet completed. She grabbed his shoulder then shoved her hand hard into his chest, using her momentum and the electric shock to loosen his grip and send them both flying backwards until the man slammed into the ground and she landed on top of him, quickly straddling him at the waist and pinning him with a sharp grip on his shoulder and her sparking magic at his neck. Behind her, she heard the priest cry out in ragged convulsions, but so long as she’d merely stunned him she couldn’t bring herself to care. Her vision narrowed, and at that moment, there was only her and the wraith-like man beneath her.
”Enough,” she said again, harder this time. She gathered every last ounce of authority within her, jaw set, eyes boring into him. Practiced instinct welled inside her, unwavering and deadly. ”You’re going to calm down.” Her voice came low and cold. ”We’re going to leave and you’re not going to touch anyone again. Do you understand?”
A crowd had formed around them, distant and horrified. She wanted to snap at them that he was still dangerous, that lingering would only make her job harder, but she refused to relent from him for even a second. Somehow, she knew that even a second of weakness would end in disaster.
And so she waited, silent and unyielding, for his response. When lives were on the line, she would not be the one that backed down.
The old man’s attempted words bubbled pathetically on his paling lips, his rasping attempts at breathing straining underneath Nero’s very fingers. The man’s face had been red only moments ago, but it was rapidly losing color as oxygen was kept from him. The veins of his eyes bulged, eyelids blinking rapidly, and Nero found himself grinning as he felt the rapidly increasing pulse underneath one of his strong fingers. The man was dying slowly, and painfully, for his constant backhanded comments. What had the Tsviet done, other than kick a little dirt at a useless gate? Nothing.
The old priest was deranged and easily provoked into violence. Nero was doing the world a favor.
The Sable, utterly distracted by his fixation on the man’s death, was none the wiser when footsteps came running in his direction. He thought nothing of it, perhaps it was one of the man’s subordinates that would simply cry for help. However, as Nero sank his fingernails into the delicate skin of the man’s throat, he suddenly lost control of himself. His muscles seized and his eyes widened as his body fell back, tumbling and crashing against the stone.
He writhed in pain as every working piece of his body contracted, an anguished cry leaving his pale lips. In moments, he regained the control of his limbs, but he was winded. Nero gasped for air, struggling against a weight that had dropped on top of him, until he heard the threatening crackle of magic nearly in his ear.
Finally, his red eyes focused, staring at the stern blonde woman who’d attempted to diffuse the situation early. She had him pinned by his slim waist, one hand slammed into his shoulder. The Sable stared at her in momentary disbelief, confusion in his gaze, as she verbally put him in his place once more. Commands. Things were to go her way, or else.
Nero let her words and demeanor sink into his skin for a moment, while he accounted for all the new pains in his body. He had a headache -- perhaps his skull had hit the ground harder than he’d thought. The strain on his muscles caused by the electric attack was fading quickly, thanks to his Soldier enhanced healing. His tongue darted out to his bottom lip, tasting the familiar iron as he flexed his fingers and minutely writhed under his captor. Ah, that was magic against his throat … the scent of sizzling ozone was quite familiar.
The Sable blinked slowly at the woman on top of him as he weighed his options. He could consume them both within oblivion and hope that he survived whatever attacks she threw at him before succumbing to death’s call. She’d notice his attempt to teleport away and likely electrocute him. Even if he managed to slip out of her grasp, she’d likely skewer him before he could get far.
Decisions.
“Of course, General,” Nero finally spoke, a toothy, bloodstained grin splitting across his face as he guessed her occupation -- like a Restrictor with constraint, “I’ve enough sense to know when to stop.”
Which was, of course, a lie. The first moment he’d get, he’d consume that idiot priest into oblivion to rot for his terrible personality. Perhaps, he’d find his real god there, buried in the darkness, driven mad by the screams of those passed before him. Nero relaxed his fingers, lolling his head to the side, glowing, cat-like gaze glued to the woman who’d been brave enough to take him down.
Take me, then, Nero thought as various intents flitted through his mind, And let us see how quickly you slip up.
Rise and take flight, darling Let's soar high For the first time in forever you're alive Don't you forget that
Use your own eyes, and see for yourself which side I'm on.
The man was slow on the uptake, not surprising with all the volts he’d taken to the head. He blinked slowly, blankly, as the wheels turned behind his fiery eyes. The moment was quiet, but that was nothing more than an illusion. Celes could tell he hadn’t wilted. The will had not left his eyes. Instead, a spiteful mask spread thin across his eyes and he grinned up at her like wild thing she’d find in the shadows.
”Of course, General,” he spat, and Celes recoiled.
”How did you-?” she started before quickly cutting herself off and forcing her gaze hard again. No, she wouldn’t lose focus. No matter what he’d heard or knew or intuited, that didn’t matter now. She would keep her focus. She couldn’t afford to lose it.
He said that he knew when to stop, but his sneer told her otherwise. No, he was only waiting. Only biding his time. Part of her knew that lives would be saved if she only ended him now, but that would be nothing more than murder. She’d pinned the man helplessly beneath her, and so she had no choice but to spare him. At least until he inevitably turned.
She sparked the magic in her hand and glanced back towards his hand. His gun had fallen out of his grasp but still waited almost within reach. She used one boot to kick it several feet away -- not enough he couldn’t lunge, but enough that she’d have time if he tried. She kept her eyes on the man even as she felt the gaze of others on them both. ”Everyone, move! He’s still dangerous!” She watched him as she heard feet scuffling, heard hushed muttering, heard words that weren’t as kind to her as she’d have hoped. All the while, her heart pounded harder in her chest.
Why weren’t they moving faster? Every second she held them at this stalemate was a second he had to think. Even as she pinned the man beneath her, she was vulnerable.
Only once the footsteps had faded did she move again. ”You're going to stand,” she said. ”But my spell is charged, and you don’t want to be on the wrong end of it. Leave with me and no one gets hurt.” She grabbed the front of his strange clothes and heaved him towards her, spell hand still at the ready. Only then did she lift herself off him. She moved carefully, not rolling off sideways, but rising to her feet and dragging him with her. Standing, he had a good four inches on her, but she kept her eyes glowering, her stance powerful.
He may have had height, but she had power.
She spun him around forcibly, one hand clutching his back and the other ready between his shoulder blades. ”Walk.”
Nero is too confident he won't die. What a bastard.
Seeing her eyes widen for just a moment gave Nero all the satisfaction that he needed. He was right, she was military of some sort, and likely a general. Funny, how they all acted the same, even across the barriers of space and time. She wasn’t cold enough to be a Restrictor, no, but she could be made to be like they were. This woman had the strength, the quick reflexes, the desire to put the strange back in line to assure normalcy for the masses. Though the priest was more foul mouthed than he had been, she had still managed to zero in on the Tsviet as the greater threat.
If only he’d played the victim, and not drawn his gun. Would she have come to his rescue, once the old priest had the others gang up on him for his sacrilege? Would the tables be turned? Only fickle fate knew the answer.
With the woman’s controlling weight still on his body, her magic sparking in her hand, Nero had little else to do but wait for her move. He watched her carefully, counting the seconds as the gears turned in her head -- he could almost see the options she was considering. His fingers flexed minutely, his hand gun too far to safely reach for. He’d have to absorb it back into oblivion when she moved her gaze.
The Sable huffed as she warned others to move away. Yes, he was so very dangerous, pinned beneath a young blonde general who seemed to wield magic in her fingertips rather than with materia. In reality he was as dangerous as she was making him out to be, however, Nero had no desire to fight with this woman. There would be nothing to gain from it, and he was tired from all the traveling he’d been doing recently. He’d play her game, for the time being, and see where it led.
After all, that ridiculous gate gave him nothing.
The woman dragged him to his feet, and Nero cheekily took a moment to pat his clothes of the dirt they’d collected. Her orders were quite stern, her eyes serious. The Tsivet rose his hands in defeat as she turned him, her hand grasping the back of his shirt, forcing him to walk. The sound of her magic crackling buzzed like white noise in his ears, and people were finally giving them the wide berth she’d commanded.
Seeping in the darkness of the grass was a sliver of Nero’s power. It snaked towards his weapon as they moved away from it, absorbing it back into the darkness, where it belonged.
“So,” Nero mused, his soft voice only a sliver louder than the hum of people chattering behind them as they walked from the gate, “What is it you plan to do with me, away from the crowds, I wonder?” His boots parted the tender grass as they passed by the ruins, the mysterious arches nearly blending in with the night sky, “You had your near-justified chance to end me. Or, is it that you don’t want to make a scene?”
By all accounts, now that he was removed from the situation, Nero was much more calm. Though his fingers itched to draw his weapon and return to the scene and murder a few bastards, the adrenaline spike he’d experienced had soothed. The Tsviet walked normally, his shoulders drooped, his hands at the level of his eyes. His advanced healing had taken care of the stunned muscles and nerves from her first attack, but he still didn’t wish for a repeat. He dared a glance over his shoulder, one glowing eye taking her in for a moment, before turning back toward the darkened path ahead.
Still, he waited. Waited for the split second of a moment that she would lower her hand too far, or release him. Then he would ... he would ...
What would he do?
Rise and take flight, darling Let's soar high For the first time in forever you're alive Don't you forget that
Use your own eyes, and see for yourself which side I'm on.
To her eternal relief, he raised his hands for her and didn’t put up a fight. She did exactly as she said, in fact, though that didn’t make her feel any better. There was something about that look in his eye, the odd satisfaction he still carried with him. It reminded her of the rebels she’d dealt with during her time with the empire -- the ones too far-gone to ever concede. The man’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous fanaticism. His voice was even worse.
”So. What is it you plan to do with me, away from the crowds, I wonder?” The words slithered like something in the dark. She was suddenly relieved that his view of her was obscured. She didn’t want him to see her shoulders tensing. ”You had your near-justified chance to end me. Or, is it that you don’t want to make a scene?”
Her lips pursed. He was right in a way. If she’d wanted violence, she would have taken her chance while she had the reason. Now that he was at her mercy, exerting her power much further would be nothing short of cold-blooded. While Celes was no stranger to the insult, she knew fully well she wasn’t capable of murder.
While this man almost certainly was. She wasn’t ignorant of her significant disadvantage.
”It’s as I said. You need to leave.” It wasn’t as strong of an answer as she’d have liked, but she couldn’t think of any more forceful when they both knew she wouldn’t act unprovoked. ”I’m keeping the peace. And I’m not budging until whatever came over you passes. I’m not about to let someone die in front of me if I can help it.”
She knew her stance had softened, knew her words no longer carried the same weight they had before, but there wasn’t anything she could do. She didn’t have some grand plan in mind. She didn’t actually hold any authority. All that she had was magic and a sword -- a far cry from her days as a general.
Still, her resolution didn’t waver and neither did her grip. She led him forward until the path merged into country road. The air was quieter here beneath a half-lit moon. It calmed her just a little to be away from the bustle and the muttering. With any luck, he’d feel the same.
She released him, touching at her sword immediately afterwards in case he decided to attack her. She kept her eyes careful, her stance ready. Still, away from anyone he might hurt, she couldn’t help but to try to reason with him.
”We don’t need any more trouble,” she said before she stopped, biting her tongue. ”I’m Celes. And I guess I like giving people more credit than they deserve.” She smirked faintly. ”I haven’t always been the most peaceful person myself, so I have to believe in second chances. Even if it's a terrible idea.” She shifted just enough to tilt her head at him.
”It’s as I said. You need to leave. I’m keeping the peace. And I’m not budging until whatever came over you passes. I’m not about to let someone die in front of me if I can help it.”
Nero smirked to himself as he continued to walk forward, the woman’s tight grip still threatening on his back despite her weak response. She was beginning to act as less of a peacekeeper and more of a glorified babysitter for a dangerous man with little self control. She clearly had the strength, power, and authority -- why not use it? The woman could have easily run him through with her blade, or electrocuted him until his heart stopped beating. Easy ways to put down a rabid animal.
Did she fear how other people would look at her, afterwards? Would she see the fear he had seen, growing up murdering others, in the eyes of new recruits as they watched? Was it human nature to slaughter one another, or was it not? He’d never really figured out a real answer.
The Tsviet remained silent as they walked along in the darkness, where the path finally diverged out into the very country roads he’d followed to get to the Divider. The woman finally released her grip on him, foolish, foolish, even if you grab your weapon I could have a bullet in your head in moments -- don’t TRUST me--, yet Nero didn’t immediately turn around to face her. Instead, he let himself breathe for a moment, feeling the tension in his shoulders lessen as he was away from the unruly crowd at the Divider. A mixture of emotions raged in the pit of his stomach; anger, sadness, confusion, amusement.
It was difficult to pick what he wanted to latch onto and feed on. He wanted nothing more than to teleport back to the supposed gate of the gods and attempt to knock it down, or die trying. He wanted to watch the look in the eyes of those foolish men as their gods refused to show up and save them from the man riddling them with bullets. He wanted to hear their cries and screams, and feel the satisfaction of wiping away a useless piece of society. Yet, at the same time, he simply wanted to find somewhere to curl up and pretend that none of that had happened, that he wasn’t in some strange world alone, and try to remember the way his brother’s calming embrace felt.
The woman’s words tugged Nero from his thoughts, ”We don’t need any more trouble.” Finally, the Sable turned to face her, his glowing red gaze quickly identifying her hand on her weapon, and the sharpness of her gaze. ”I’m Celes. And I guess I like giving people more credit than they deserve.”
That’s clearly not a good idea, Nero kept the thought to himself as he simply raised a curious eyebrow as she continued, ”I haven’t always been the most peaceful person myself, so I have to believe in second chances. Even if it's a terrible idea.”
At least she admitted it.
Nero crossed his arms, in an attempt to keep himself from acting on his desires to run or pull out his weapons. His hands grasped his biceps, scratching at the tight material of his shirt with his thumbs. He glanced down at Celes, then glanced away, down the dark road, going over his options in his head. If he simply started down the path, away from the Divider, surely she wouldn’t continue to follow him. Or, would she think he was simply trying to throw her off, and continue after him?
A part of what Celes had said was beginning to itch at him. I like giving people more credit than they deserve. Wasn’t that all he and Weiss had wanted, while they suffered in Deepground? Someone to simply look at them like they were human, and worth more than just being weapons. All they had ever wanted was a world they could live in freely and in peace, where others wouldn’t look at them as the monsters they had clearly been created to be. That thought itched up his spine, and Nero finally gave into his calmer instincts -- the urge of fight or flight temporarily crushed.
He doubted this woman would understand him. But, if she wished to know about him, then so be it.
“My name is Nero,” the Tsviet started, spotting a pile of stone nearby as he resisted the urge to look at her as he spoke. Instead, he walked the few steps to the pile of rubble and found a level enough spot to sit down; momentarily tired from his earlier murderous rage.
He chewed over his next response for a moment in awkward silence, picking at a loose piece of stone as he quietly started again, “I doubt you have the time or patience for my whole story. I’m an ex-military experimental soldier, stuck here rather than ”home”. That is the jist of it.”
There was no point in going into details. People who hadn’t experienced a life like his wouldn’t understand. Their natural emotions typically sided with, there’s no way humans would do that to each other. Yet, there he was, proof of the extreme ugliness of humanity. He was born a monster, simply because a group of scientists refused to believe that their experiments wouldn’t eventually work and produce another super soldier candidate. His entire existence was because of men and women in coats that simply wanted to play god.
Nero began to chew on his thumbnail, his hand just barely trembling. Celes could have no way of understanding why he behaved the way that he did. His unstable mentality the cause of abuse from birth to present, his disregard for human life a forced way of living in Deepground.
No, she was a well adjusted person with a moral compass. Even Weiss wouldn’t have let that man live, believing him to be a waste of space -- and Weiss was the most sane of all Deepground’s experiments. To Nero, his brother was perfect. But, realistically, Nero knew his brother had just as many screws loose as the rest of them did. He was simply stronger than all of them had been.
The Tsviet’s gaze finally flitted back to Celes, his voice burdened by the heavy emotions swirling in his mind, “You can remove your hand from your sword. I have no desire to attack you.”
Rise and take flight, darling Let's soar high For the first time in forever you're alive Don't you forget that
Use your own eyes, and see for yourself which side I'm on.
Celes more than half expected Nero to attack her right then and there -- or at least to flee. Instead, he simply told her his name and went to sit on a collection of flattened stone. Celes hesitated before following him. She watched him warily from a few feet away. What was he planning?
Silence thickened between him. Celes repressed the urge to shift and drop her eyes, but she knew she couldn’t afford that level of weakness. When he did speak, it came quietly -- hardly more than a whisper. ”I doubt you have the time or patience for my whole story. I’m an ex-military experimental soldier, stuck here rather than 'home'. That is the jist of it.”
”Oh.” It was all she could say at first. It made…sense. Yes, it made sense that the man skulking before her was a product of science and murder, raised in those dark places where humanity was more a nicety than a right. His wild swings in mood made sense too though the realization made her feel no better. She knew too well what magic could do to the mind.
This man was dark. Lanky. Quiet. And yet looking at him, her thoughts flashed with color and a brash voice that shrieked into silence. This man looked nothing like Kefka, but the comparison prickled down her neck like static. Their murderous impulses, their sadism, their drive for revenge against imagined slights -- those were shared. And that was far more important than aesthetics.
Nero suggested that she drop her combative stance, and for some reason, Celes hesitated. The comparison should have heightened her defenses, and yet, there was a certain vulnerability to his voice that stilled her hand. He sounded pained. Nervous. In that way, they were different. Kefka would never have been capable of something so human as fear.
And so her hand fell. Against all her better judgment, she relaxed her stance if only a little. If she had any intention of following through on her promise of second chances then she had little choice.
”You’re wrong,” she said, and took a long breath. ”I don’t have much else to do, and I want to hear the rest. It's not like I have much room to judge.” She smiled wryly, running a hand through her hair. Was she really about to share her life story with a maniac? So much for her strength. Just a hint of pain out of a would-be murderer and she softened like some silly girl in a love story.
”I’m a product of science myself, actually. My empire discovered magic and just couldn’t resist injecting it directly into my blood. They did it before I could remember, and here I am. Their tool for war though they likely regretted it. The process turned the other candidate into a madman, and I joined the resistance before long. They’d have done better if they hadn’t bothered.”
She caught his eye in a challenging gaze. ”So whatever you have to say, I’d love to hear it. One ’ex-military experimental soldier’ to another?”
