Welcome to Adventu, your final fantasy rp haven. adventu focuses on both canon and original characters from different worlds and timelines that have all been pulled to the world of zephon: a familiar final fantasy-styled land where all adventurers will fight, explore, and make new personal connections.
at adventu, we believe that colorful story and plots far outweigh the need for a battle system. rp should be about the writing, the fun, and the creativity. you will see that the only system on our site is the encouragement to create amazing adventures with other members. welcome to adventu... how will you arrive?
year 5, quarter 3
Welcome one and all to our beautiful new skin! This marks the visual era of Adventu 4.0, our 4th and by far best design we've had. 3.0 suited our needs for a very long time, but as things are evolving around the site (and all for the better thanks to all of you), it was time for a new, sleek change. The Resource Site celebrity Pharaoh Leep was the amazing mastermind behind this with minor collaborations from your resident moogle. It's one-of-a-kind and suited specifically for Adventu. Click the image for a super easy new skin guide for a visual tour!
Final Fantasy Adventu is a roleplaying forum inspired by the Final Fantasy series. Images on the site are edited by KUPO of FF:A with all source material belonging to their respective artists (i.e. Square Enix, Pixiv Fantasia, etc). The board lyrics are from the Final Fantasy song "Otherworld" composed by Nobuo Uematsu and arranged by The Black Mages II.
The current skin was made by Pharaoh Leap of Pixel Perfect. Outside of that, individual posts and characters belong to their creators, and we claim no ownership to what which is not ours. Thank you for stopping by.
Post by Cloud Strife on Jan 16, 2021 20:56:44 GMT -6
The clash of blades rang in his skull like a tolling bell and he skidded backwards, his boots making two long tracks through the dirt and debris. The impact shockwave ran through him from his wrists to his feet, but hate and spite kept him upright. He bared gritted teeth in a feral grimace. A haze of dust drifted past.
Where Sephiroth should have been standing in his line of sight instead stood another SOLDIER. The uniform was a dead giveaway but that wasn't what held his eye. Nor was it the solitary wing with its stark white plumage bright against the dim brown wreck of a building.
It was the sword. It was that sword. The fractional second of wide-eyed shock gave way, like all things did in that moment, to anger without limit. That sword, that monument to grief and legacy and a shed identity, that sword in someone else's hands, raised in defense of Sephiroth.
Enough. Yeah, Cloud had more than enough of this.
He opened one hand and balled it into a tight fist. The materia in Cloud's Mystile glowed green and the translucent shimmer of a barrier flashed in front of him.
Two on one. This is a bad idea.
I don't care.
He thumbed the release on his Fusion sword, freeing the hollow blade at the front of the assembly. He took it up in his free hand.
They can kill you.
I don't CARE.
There was no reasoning with himself. His better sense lay buried under the wreckage in which they stood. He threw himself back across the gap the other SOLDIER created, a streak of blue and silver, a sword in each hand and no shred of fear to be found in him. He swung wildly. He fought like a man who expected to die.
All he had to do was take Sephiroth with him.
So the song of steel rang out again, the tempo too rapid, and when the first blow slipped his guard and hit his barrier it did not hurt Cloud but it broke his rhythm.
And that was all it took.
The strikes came down like an avalanche, and for every one desperately blocked there were two, three more that pierced his guard and buckled his knees. He never stopped trying to fight back, not to find an opening and escape, not to save himself, but to make the kill. No matter the cost.
Though Angeal hadn’t taken his eyes off of their target, Sephiroth’s acknowledgement of his command eased his tension. It was hard to tell what kind of mood Sephiroth was in, during the heat of a battle. Sometimes, just like Genesis, the man got too wrapped up in his own head and chased after the thrill of the fight, consequences be damned. He wouldn’t have had a choice here, it seemed, whether or not to fight or flee. The blonde wasn’t allowing him such a choice.
Across the battlefield, their opponent bristled. Angeal narrowed his glowing eyes, solidifying his stance in the rubble. The blonde would be forced to come to them, which would present the opportunity for the best decisive strikes. There were two of them, and only one of him.
Deep down, Angeal prayed the man would turn tail and run. That he would acknowledge he was clearly outmatched with two 1st Class Soldiers staring him down.
But, those eyes… Something within the blonde’s similarly glowing eyes burned like an inhuman fire. He grabbed his sword and suddenly had two swords. Having worked with two blades most of his career, in order to keep the Buster Sword pristine, Angeal was familiar with the tactic. But, it wouldn’t work here. It would only leave the blonde man’s more vulnerable areas open for longer.
What was he thinking?
A brief glow enveloped the blonde -- a barrier. Hardly enough to keep him safe for long against the two of them.
Their opponent let out a scream of rage and quickly closed the space between them. Angeal growled in frustration as he took the first block, feeling the clash of steel shake him once more. However, with Sephiroth at his side, the need to be completely on the defensive was thrown out the window. Angeal’s feet moved faster than his mind when working alongside his long-time friend, immediately stepping in to provide an ultimate defense while Sephiroth took a more offensive side.
They worked in tandem; a dance practiced time and time again until it was perfected. Sephiroth’s steps were light and quick, a compliment to Angeal’s powerful and measured blocks and blows. The blonde didn’t take damage from their first strike, but it threw him off of his own practiced rhythm. His movements transitioned from calculated to desperate. The openings came quickly, more and more at a time. Though their opponent was striking with all of his might, it wasn’t enough to break their teamwork.
Not by a long shot.
Angeal’s own strikes consisted of trying to crush the damned blonde and stop him in his tracks. Immobilizing an opponent was a Hewley specialty, and it was why he was consistently sent to deal with people who weren’t to be assassinated, but eventually dragged back to Shinra. Non-lethal tactics were something he’d proudly passed on to Zack, and as many others as he could. Their opponent was making it difficult, however, and as Angeal stepped aside, Sephiroth immediately took his place for an offensive flurry. Together, they could take down the most powerful monsters on the planet. Yet, here was the blonde swordsman, sneaking in blows when he could in their barely-half-moments of switching tactics.
There was the sting of sliced flesh, but Angeal hardly noticed. It was not near enough to cause any real damage to him. If the blonde could land a truly powerful hit on him and him alone -- maybe. But, that wasn’t possible. Not with Sephiroth at his side, flawlessly transitioning to block hits before they could land on Hewley. There was no need to communicate audibly; Angeal knew what Sephiroth wanted to do next by the mere twist of his wrist, the shine of his sword, the crunch of gravel under his boot. He knew Sephiroth’s movements as well as he knew his own. The streak of silver next to him, movements flawless and perfected down to each muscular exertion, felt like an extension of himself, and vice versa.
For the first time, in a long time, Angeal felt alive. Comforted, by the presence of his friend, and his blood roiling from a good fight. The nagging sensation of needing to end the battle, though, was at the forefront. He’d never given into the carnal desire to play with an opponent, never dragged out a battle to an unnecessary point. And he wouldn’t start today. Though his blood was pumping, the sweat dripped down from his hairline, the adrenaline ran to its highest points … he wasn’t a machine.
The blonde swordsman gained his footing and came in for a powerful strike, but Masamune was there in an instant to block the attack. Angeal stepped forward quickly, a huge momentum behind his powerful form, as he turned the Buster Sword to its blunt edge and swung it with most of his might --
He felt it dig into their opponent’s ribs in that breath of a moment. The blonde didn’t stand a chance against the momentum of the Buster Sword, and Angeal’s unconscious aim was right on target. The damn blonde wouldn’t stop, no matter how many times they’d struck him, and so Angeal hoped to put him down for good. Right into the center of a building that had already been damaged by their earlier fight. The blonde was thrown from the battlefield like a ragdoll, and his body disappeared into the concrete structure across from them.
It crumbled, scattering dust and debris. Angeal rose a hand to block his eyes, his ever trained ears strained to catch the sounds of movement. But, he initially heard nothing. He took a deep breath once enough of the cloud of dust had vanished, straightening his posture. Angeal glanced to Sephiroth, and for that brief moment, he let the relief flood his senses.
But, the alarm bells were still ringing in his mind. While being trapped under a building, on top of a certainty of cracked ribs, should have kept the blonde at bay … Well, Angeal knew a thing or two about being desperate to die.
“Alright,” he breathed, placing the Buster Sword back on it’s magnetic clasp on his back, “Let’s move. Before we attract any more unwanted attention.”
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
Sephiroth had been shaken. He was shaken even now -- his cold calculations muddied by an almost imperceivable edge. It was enough for him, however, and he knew better than to allow his emotions to affect him. They had affected him, and while he tried to overcome them through instinct and logic, he found that he couldn’t. Not entirely.
He had seen those man’s eyes and hesitated. He had seen a flash of something behind them, something that danced maddeningly just beyond his vision. He had been forced to the defensive, barely deflecting the frenzied attacks that felt so familiar. He knew this man in everything but name and circumstance, and his throat tightened at the association. Why? These were questions that he had no choice but to suffocate, but they would not die easily. Why you? Why now? Who are you?
And then there was Angeal.
Angeal stood at attention, eyeing the mad SOLDIER carefully. If he was shaken, he didn’t show it. Sephiroth wondered briefly if he felt anything for their reunion or if he was simply content to move forward, all of their past forgotten.
You left me. That was another thought that wouldn’t die.
Their target was rabid. Whatever had been left of his conscious mind was gone now, lost to the hatred that had completely overwhelmed him. Sephiroth had seen that look before, not in the fog of his memory but on the battlefield from those who had been cornered or who had too much to fight for. It was a look of desperation. Of suicide. It spoke to the death of his survival instincts, and while that would make him easier to overwhelm, it also made him harder to predict.
The man cast a protective spell around himself, disengaged his sword, and shifted them into a duel-wielded blade in both hands. A sacrifice of defense for aggressive speed. A mistake. Then he attacked.
Sephiroth and Angeal flew into wordless action, and it was enough. Sephiroth moved on instinct, and finally, finally his thoughts were quelled. The two of them moved as one, Angeal acting on the defensive while Sephiroth flitted lightly around their target, darting in as necessary in a practiced flurry. They had trained for this. They had trained for years, in fact, far beyond the call of their profession. In that moment, they could have been back in the Shinra battle simulator, spending time together in the only way that Sephiroth knew how.
Angeal knew him -- both in battle and in spirit. He was perhaps the only person who ever had.
Their target had a certain command of the battlefield, spurred on by desperation and something far more passionate. In any other circumstance, Sephiroth may have commended him and then scolded him for his lack of control. Despite his power, he was clumsy. His strength had been honed by necessity rather than through training, and while there was a certain utility in that, it had no thought and no tactics. It was nothing like the perfectly honed teamwork of the First Class pair.
The swordsman, despite his force of will, had never stood a chance.
It was over in an instant. The mad SOLDIER swung wildly. Sephiroth blocked the attack, leaving an opening for Angeal’s powerful strike. Sephiroth felt the force of that blow. He heard the crack of bone and then their target was sent hurtling through the air like a hollow doll. Angeal had, notably, used the dull edge of his sword. Sephiroth didn’t quite understand why. Wood and concrete crumbled on impact with human flesh and bone. The swordsman’s Barrier spell had made him resilient, but surely it would lead to only a far slower and more brutal death.
Sephiroth far preferred a decisive finish. Still, he wouldn’t argue his friend’s methods. Alone, the vengeance driven swordsman had managed the upperhand. Angeal had shifted the battle in his favor.
”Alright.” Angeal was breathing heavily. He secured his sword to its familiar place on his back. ”Let’s move. Before we attract any more unwanted attention.”
Sephiroth hummed in answer. He’d come to this place to attract attention -- Angeal’s attention -- and while it seemed he had succeeded on that front, it had been a reckless decision. He understood that now as well as the cost of his own hubris. It was best to find a more secure location.
Yet he felt the weight of that moment on his shoulders. Angeal, beside him. Angeal, alive.
”We searched for you.” Sephiroth hesitated, unsure of his own words. ”Genesis and I.”
Post by Cloud Strife on Feb 3, 2021 22:22:49 GMT -6
The adrenaline built a wall against the floodwaters of pain rising steadily on the other side. Cloud was only peripherally aware of the bone-deep laceration in the meat of his forearm when his grip slackened involuntarily and the warm wet flow of blood cascaded down his arm and soaked into his glove. His right leg buckled if he put weight on it. The tattered edges of his pantleg stuck fast to the open wound beneath. The dull-edged nonlethal strikes were a blessing, then. Dead nerves didn't hurt. He couldn't spare the mental effort in those moments to wonder why the other man was going out of his way not to kill him.
Cloud was ready to kill them both. Anyone defending Sephiroth had to be just as much a monster. It was the only way anything made sense.
Steel met steel again. The impact of the blocked strike shot up in a wave from his hand to his shoulder. Droplets of blood shook free and spattered in erratic patterns on the ground. It was everything he could do to keep his grip on the sword. He saw what was coming next, knew what he had to do to avoid it, knew where he needed to move, but his exhausted muscles would not heed the signals from his brain and the barrier he cast now seemed little more than a novelty.
The blunt edge of the buster sword cracked three of his ribs and the ground was no longer under his feet. He sailed through the air and in the collision with the building his body and the masonry challenged each other to see which would break first.
The structure collapsed on him and everything went dark.
A haze of dust hovered over the ruin. When he opened his eyes he found a ceiling beam across his chest. Tiles and plaster and brickwork blotting out the dull light of day. He strained for shallow gasping breaths and choked on the particles in the air. A trickle of blood ran down his forehead and into his eye.
Get up.
He scrambled for a grip on the beam, bloodslick hands slipping on the age-polished wood. His lungs burned for air. A jagged slab of plaster and wood dug into his spine. He had no leverage. The wall of adrenaline had cracked. Every exertion was a white-hot burst of flame in his chest. Like someone spilled acid into the marrow of his bones.
Get up.
The beam moved an inch and no further. The debris weighing it down rattled, shifted. Streams of dust and grit spilled through the cracks and coated him, adhering to the wet blood on his skin. He coughed and his eyes and throat were sandpaper. His arms felt hollow.
If you don't get up he's gonna kill everyone.
Blackness seeped into his vision at the edges, the image of the crushing beam narrowing to a blurry point, and in that blackness he saw everything.
His mother burning alive.
Tifa covered in her own blood on the steel floor of the mako reactor.
Aerith slumped over dead in the ethereal light at the altar of the Ancients.
Sephiroth. Laughing.
His voice like nails on the inside of Cloud's skull.
All of this will happen again.
GET UP.
From deep in the rubble of the building Cloud let out a horrible, guttural yell, a primal sound of rage and anguish. A final, desperate rally. He shoved against the beam. His muscles screamed with the strain. Something popped. His throat was raw. He felt like he was tearing himself apart.
And then the beam moved.
The debris fell away in a cascade of plaster and brick. Dull light shone down through the haze of dust. With one final push he threw the beam aside and took a deep shuddering breath. Cloud crawled out of the rubble sticky with blood and caked in dirt, like a corpse clawing its way out of a shallow grave. Yet in his eyes the hatred burned just as bright as ever. The hatred that would keep him alive just long enough to see this through.
One of his swords jutted up from the ruin of the building. He gripped it like a lifeline and pulled himself upright on shaky legs. He stumbled sideways and collided drunkenly with a broken section of wall and left a bloody smear behind. He stared at the two SOLDIERs in the distance. He gauged how far he could run. Not far. He'd make it farther. It didn't matter. His breathing was ragged and he closed his eyes and inhaled as deeply as his lungs would allow.
He hoped Tifa and Aerith would understand.
He wrenched the sword out of the rubble and put one foot in front of the other. Again. Again. His legs shook until they didn't. Until the momentum carried him forward. One foot in front of the other, faster now, the soles of his boots slapping the stone in a limping staccato. The tip of the blade trailed sparks behind him until he lifted it, closing the gap on Sephiroth. A piece of materia glowed green. He raised his sword to parry the strike he knew was coming because they'd done this all before.
And he still wasn't fast enough.
The masamune stuck twelve inches out of Cloud's back. His sword clattered to the ground and he doubled over, hands reflexively grasping at the blade that pierced his lung. Any noise he could have made cut off in his throat. His legs buckled, but he didn't fall. He refused. He wasn't finished yet.
One foot in front of the other. A shuffling step. The slick whisper of a blade through flesh.
The masamune stuck three feet out of Cloud's back and he left a smeared trail of blood on its mirror surface. Blood bubbled up in his throat and spilled out of his mouth, splattering on the ground between his feet. He lifted his head and looked Sephiroth in the eyes. Jaw set. Defiant.
As he lifted his hand he choked out one toneless question, the words half-slurred by the blood in his throat.
"...s'that... all you got?"
He hardly got the last word out before he unleashed Ultima from four feet away. The world went green, then white.
Beside him, Sephiroth made a noise of agreement. Despite how intense the battle had been, it seemed Sephiroth had no desire to act out on any desire to brutally finish the blonde swordsman. It was another oddity about the situation; the man seemed to vehemently hate Sephiroth, and yet Angeal didn’t recognize him. He didn’t recognize anything about the ferocious blonde, other than the intense look in his glowing eyes. He couldn’t have been an ex-Soldier -- they would know him especially considering his tenacity and strength.
If he were a true threat to Sephiroth, then he’d be dead, no questions asked, right?
The questions left Angeal’s mind as soon as he heard a familiar voice speak up.
”We searched for you.” A pause, as the silver-haired soldier found his words. ”Genesis and I.”
Angeal turned to face Sephiroth fully, his eyes widening. There, right next to him in arms reach, was one of his best friends. To anyone else, Sephiroth would have seemed impassive in that moment, simply relaying a fact, or interesting information. But Angeal, who had come to know his fellow Soldier through years of learning to speak the same unspoken language, could sense the emotions that were hidden there, just under the surface, unsure how to show themselves.
And now … the very same mixed bag of feelings crept their way through Hewley. Surprise. Relief. A surge of intense happiness.
Worry.
He’d been worried the moment he landed, but bit it back considering the situation at hand. However, just over Sephiroth’s shoulder, was a black wing. The same ebony as the one that haunted Genesis. Yet, other than the damage from the fight, Sephiroth looked healthy. No greying, cracking skin. No permanent, oozing injuries that he could see. The cold, hard hand of anxiety gripped his heart. Sephiroth, too….
Yet, the worry would have to wait. He could ask about the wing later. For now, Angeal let the simple relief of seeing his dear friend in front of him, alive, rush through him. To know that Genesis was around as well, as complicated and terribly as that reunion may go, was still just as much of a relief. They were both here. They’d been together.
A giant weight was lifted from him.
Angeal’s hand found Sephiroth’s shoulder, in that just-enough space next to his pauldron -- the same place he’d clapped his friend time and time again after praising him -- and squeezed gently, reassuringly. He gave Sephiroth a small, crooked smile, his glowing gaze filled with sincerity, “I’ve been looking for you two as well.”
His smile turned a smidge sad. Apologetic.
“I’m sorry it took so long for me to find you, Sephiroth.”
I’m sorry I left you behind back then, was the unspoken apology that would have to wait another day, another meeting.
Suddenly, a terrible, blood-curdling yell broke the near-silence over the battlefield. The Soldier dropped his hand, eyes wide with surprise, turning to look at the collapsed structure. The scream reverberated off of what was left of the nearby structures, practically crawling its way up Angeal’s spine. It wasn’t the sound of a man dying. It wasn’t the sound of a man reacting to the massive amount of pain he must have been in. It sounded like a monster in a rage, when it was on its last leg after a long battle.
The rubble shifted and moved, blowing a small cloud of dust over the ground. And there, on the ground, an outline of a man crawled.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Angeal mumbled quietly, his voice laced thoroughly with disbelief. Blue eyes followed the outline of the swordsman as he located his weapon and managed to grab onto it with what little life he had left. How was he managing to move? Disbelief quickly turned to horror as the man ripped his sword from the rubble and began walking. The walk quickly morphed into a sprint.
The blonde’s focus was completely locked onto Sephiroth -- but the man hardly had any life left in him. Angeal grit his teeth and placed some distance between himself and the silver-haired Soldier, his hand coming up to rest on the handle of the Buster Sword. There was no need for him to be ready to fight, yet he moved into that familiar position anyway. The blonde swordsman barely had the energy to move. He was bleeding profusely. It was clear from the way that he moved that his ribs were indeed cracked.
Stop, Hewley silently cursed the stranger. He tried to give the young man an out. All he had to do was stay under the rubble in order to live. Sephiroth did not share his moral compass of mercy.
The gap was closing, and Angeal could do nothing but watch as the blonde ran headfirst to his death, unable to look away as Masamune expertly pierced through the young man’s chest. This was the end of it. He’d die, slowly bleeding out on the ground.
The young man’s sword fell from his grasp. He grasped the Masamune, like it would somehow help.
He should have … fallen, at that point. Knees buckled and collapsed. Yet, he didn’t. Angeal waited and instead he saw--
He saw … the blonde pulling himself forward, further impaling himself on the Masamune. The Soldier was frozen in his spot as he watched the horrific display, eyes wide with disbelief. What the hell was the man doing? What could he possibly hope to accomplish?
Angeal glanced at Sephiroth, but what he saw there wasn’t the cool, calculating gaze he expected.
Something is wrong, a voice in the back of his head suddenly screamed. Sephiroth should have thrown the blonde off of his blade by now. He should have done something. Sephiroth didn’t just lock up in the middle of a fight, no matter how horrific -- !
His boots started to quickly move the short distance through the rubble. Angeal had barely picked up a pace, his heart racing with panic, when he saw the green glow of materia out of the corner of his eye.
No, it was a diversion tactic!
“Sephiroth--!” Angeal hardly got the warning out, coming to a sudden halt as nothing but pure, human instinct to survive took hold of him in the few seconds he had to prepare. He swung the Buster Sword in front of his body and drove it into the ground, ducking his head and bracing his hand against the sturdy steel.
Then, suddenly, everything went green and white.
A deafening roar and explosion filled the air. Angeal felt the air knocked out of his lungs as he was knocked off of his feet, losing his grip on his sword and all sense of direction as he was blown back by the explosion. His body his the ground once, tumbling and hitting it again, harder as he was forcefully rolled at a maddening speed. The immediate pains came flying in all at once, overwhelming his senses as his head hit the concrete once, twice--.
He wasn’t sure when he stopped. There was a persistent, loud ringing in his ears. He coughed, feeling the grit of dust drying his mouth.
Slowly, Angeal opened his eyes. The world was no longer a bright flash of color. The wind had settled. Dazed, the Soldier sat up slowly, painfully. He blinked the dust from his eyes, dislodging the bits of rock that had piled up with him. His head spun for a moment as the ringing began to slowly subside. Ground yourself, years of training blearily reminded him.
He looked down at the pile of rubble he was sitting on. A drop of blood fell and appeared next to his scraped and torn glove. Followed by another. Angeal brought his free hand up to his face and swiped across it, finding blood smeared across his more-intact glove. Oh. His nose was bleeding. Or broken. The same coppery taste slowly made its way through his mouth as well. Busted lip. Was … it dripping down from his hairline … ?
The ringing finally stopped, replaced by nothing. Angeal glanced up as the world righted itself before him. In the distance, now quite a ways from him, was a crater in the ground. Nearby the Buster Sword stuck out of a pile of rubble -- thankfully, still in one piece. His eyes scanned the area further, until a color other than brown and grey stuck out to him.
Askew, black feathers.
Angeal gasped and scrambled to his feet, before quickly grunting in pain. Shakily on his feet, his breath hitched in his chest as an angry, stabbing feeling pulsed through him, overriding all the other injuries from the blast. As his senses caught up with him, the Soldier detected where it originated from. He glanced down, seeing the two-inch thick piece of rebar sticking out of abdomen, just to the side of his hip. Angeal stared at for a moment before snarling angrily, taking the metal piece in one hand and ripping it out of his body, tossing it on the ground. Blood quickly seeped around the now open wound, but he knew it would heal enough long before he bled out.
Seething anger and frustration blended with worry as Angeal made his way across the battlefield, lifting the Buster Sword out of the rubble on his way. It had protected him from the worst of the blast, he knew, but other than the scorch marks and new gouges, it seemed no worse for the wear. But, it wasn’t the sword he was worried about. The weapon was quickly placed on his back as he picked up his pace, a near sprint through the pain.
Sephiroth lay in his own personal pile of rubble, hair and limbs askew, covered in dirt and dust and blood. Icy fear grip Angeal’s heart until he saw Sephiroth’s chest rise and fall.
How … did this happen? A man mostly dead, skewered halfway through a blade, and …
He swallowed his fury.
Angeal bent down on one leg, ignoring the tearing he felt at his own wounds. He gently placed one hand behind Sephiroth’s head, another coming to his friend’s shoulder to very carefully lean him forward just a bit, out of the rubble. He needed to scan Sephiroth for any grievous injuries before he could try and get them out of there.
“Sephiroth …,” Angeal muttered to his friend, his dear friend he’d only just gotten back moments earlier, his voice strong, but drowned in worry, “Sephiroth, are you with me?”
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
Sephiroth did not look at Angeal. Instead, he elected to watch the nearby rubble of the city’s main plaza. The collateral damage was above acceptable levels though it could have been worse. Seven main buildings were splintered from the force of their fight, but only three had collapsed. The plaza itself had been smashed and broken in several places, sending stone debris scattering across the uneven ground.The historic statues still stood, watching over the wreckage with a disapproving eye.
He assessed minimal casualties. The conflict had given ample time to evacuate. Assuming no unforeseen variables, he estimated less than half a dozen probable deaths.
A hand found his shoulder. Sephiroth glanced towards the familiar weight. Angeal’s eyes found his. Something passed between them.
”I’m sorry it took so long for me to find you, Sephiroth.” Angeal gave him a small smile. Sephiroth was not attuned to subtle shifts in expression, but he knew Angeal’s well enough, and he saw a kind of sadness lurking beneath the surface. Had he felt guilt for what he’d done? Did he know even a fraction of the pain he’d caused, sharp and aching, at his unexplained absence?
Sephiroth hummed. He needed no further answer than that.
Sephiroth was about to suggest that they find Genesis when they were interrupted by a feral snarl. Sephiroth glanced towards it, eyes cooled in an instant. It came from the rubble which should have by all accounts incapacitated their assailant. It had not, or at least, it hadn’t for long. Sephiroth saw slabs of concrete shifting. Wood scraped against each other before being roughly thrown aside. Angeal muttered his tense disbelief. Sephiroth said nothing.
What crawled towards them was a wounded animal, desperate and feral. He’d seen its kind when he’d been sent to dispatch some determined beast nested in a territory inopportune for Shinra’s business interests. He recalled in particular a mother dragon, determined to protect her brood until her dying breath.
There had been nothing left to do but put her down.
The creature which had once been a man thrust himself upright through will alone. At first, he used his sword to support himself, dragging it along with a tortured effort. Sephiroth did not feel sadness or pity. Instead, he merely observed as the bleeding thing mustered the last of its reserves and pitched itself into a charging offensive that was far, far too slow to challenge him.
It was over in an instant. There was a flash of steel, a single flourish, and the man was skewered on his sword.
He wondered, vaguely, what Angeal must have thought. The man was injured -- perhaps on his dying breath. They could have easily evaded him, and yet, that was not Sephiroth’s way.
Their assailant had chosen his own death. Sephiroth had not been trained in mercy.
Sephiroth watched him coldly and without passion. He watched the dull realization, the grasping of the wound, the fall of his sword. It was predictable. Instinctual, perhaps. Blood welled in that torn and hollow space beneath his heart, sliding in thick rivulets down the masamune’s blade.
Still, the man did not fall.
Instead, he grasped the blade for purchase, using it to force his way forward. For a moment, Sephiroth could only stare at him, too shocked to end what had become nothing less than cruelty. Again, his thoughts went to that dragon, still clawing her way towards him as her eyes faded, but this man had nothing to protect. It was blind rage which drove him, and Sephiroth briefly wondered if his mind had been tainted by mako.
Aggressive, determined, unhinged. A monster.
The man raised his head, bruised, dirty, gasping. His eyes were bloodshot. They burned with that same wild hatred. They were unwavering. Sharp. Defiant.
(feet planted against metal grating, the glow of mako, the reactor)
Sephiroth’s eyes widened. The man’s grip was tight on the masamune, steadfast, smeared with blood.
(how was this happening?)
His hand raised, unsteady, defeated.
(green, burning, mako, the reactor)
”S’that...all you got?”
”Sephiroth!”
It consumed him.
He was thrown off balance and he felt gravity fall away as the force of it blasted him backwards and he was lost to its light. He was aware of pain and searing heat. There was the shattering sound of destruction. His vision flashed and faded and swam to the surface again. He reached out for something that he sensed just beyond his fingertip-
(Mother?)
-and his body collided with something solid, stealing his breath away. He didn’t know how long he was in darkness. Minutes? Hours? He became slowly aware that he was on his back, stone and wood digging uncomfortably into him. He felt pain. He tried to move, and it overwhelmed him.
Get up. Sephiroth grit his teeth together and forced his eyes open. The sky above him was gray with dust. His ears pulsed with a slow rhythm. He shifted again, winced, and then raised an arm.
His sword was still tightly in his hand. He dropped it then touched at the source of the pain. His fingers found something there, hard and jagged and protruding from his lower abdomen.
Oh.
Assessment. The thought drifted by, sluggish and instinctual. He was incapacitated. He’d taken the force of a spell fired at point blank range. He had lost consciousness on impact. Further consciousness was unstable and likely limited. He’d been pierced by some sort of debris, pinned through the back. Curative magic, impractical.
He breathed slowly. Steadily. Time was critical.
He braced himself, jaw clenched, mind set. He knew what he had to do. Once he was free, the debris would no longer obstruct his blood flow. In any other situation, it would have been suicide. However, he had a revive materia set into his armlet. If used correctly, it would stabilize him. Once the wound was clear. If he wasn’t in a state of shock.
Suicide, his mind provided helpfully, but he quickly thrust it away. Angeal had been caught in the blast. Perhaps he could provide aid. Perhaps he was in worse condition than Sephiroth himself.
He could do this.
The angle was difficult. The pain, overwhelming. He used the last of his SOLDIER strength to force himself through the debris’ jagged wooden edges. It was quick, he thought, though his head was spinning and his vision spotted. And then he’d rolled onto his side, free and gasping and clutching at his wound.
Blood welled hot and loose between his gloved fingers. Time was critical. He could do this.
The magic came to him, weak but familiar. He felt the warmth of materia. Crystallized mako. It overtook him and the pain numbed. His wound closed. Mostly. He didn’t know if it was enough, and there was too much blood to tell if it had slowed. He thought it had. It must have. He collapsed again, breathing heavily, head swimming.
His cheek was pressed into a jagged rock. He couldn’t find it in himself to move.
”Sephiroth…”
Hands found themselves under his knees. His head was lifted, and he opened his eyes, bleary and uncertain. ”Angeal…?”
It was him, his friend, swimming before him. Sephiroth laughed weakly. It hurt. ”You’re alright.” He was suffering blood loss. Miscellaneous impact traumas. The effects of an unknown magic. But Angeal was here. He was safe.
”I’m sorry.” Sephiroth felt his strength fall away, and for the first time, he let it. He was not alone.
I hate how I wrote this BUT WE'RE FINALLY OUTTA HERE
Sephiroth’s eyes opened, slowly, his gaze clearly unfocused. Angeal stared for a moment as conflicting emotions swelled and battled within him; relief, terror, anxiety. However, his friend’s weak chuckle pulled Hewley from his own daze, as he slowly shook his head. Sephiroth was bleeding, he’d suffered untold damage from taking the direct impact of the blonde’s merciless spell, and yet he’d been worried about Angeal’s safety?
“No more talking,” Angeal grumbled softly, ignoring the trembling in his fingertips. There was nothing in the world he hated more than seeing those dear to him hurt, or suffering. But, the rage he felt, it would have to serve as nothing but enough of an adrenaline rush for the only standing Soldier to get them to safety.
Years of training and instinct finally kicked through the haze, the pain. Blue eyes quickly scanned Sephiroth’s body once, twice, knowing well that their time was limited before people started poking their nose into the now-quiet battlefield. Though there were many wounds, one large, obvious one stuck out. Angeal hurriedly untucked his own shirt and tore a long, thick strip off the bottom of it, folding it over enough times to create a decently sized towel. He wanted to take his time, try and clean the wound in Sephiroth’s abdomen, see just how bad it was.
But time was something they no longer had.
Angeal pulled one of the belts from his waist and quickly strapped it around Sephiroth’s. He tucked the dense, folded cloth between Sephiroth’s wound and the belt before strapping it tightly to secure it in place. Even if it stemmed the flow of blood slightly, it would help. It was time to find help, as quickly as possible. As for where -- well, he’d figure that out once they were out of sight.
Masamune lay at Sephiroth’s side; fallen, streaked with blood and dust and grime. Angeal grabbed the hilt, hurriedly pulling the long blade over his shoulder to adhere to the same magnet that held the Buster Sword in place. The two metals clinked together softly, despite their size and nature, crossed over his back.
Angeal tucked his arms underneath Sephiroth’s body, under his neck and behind his knees. Ignoring the roaring pains and aches from his own body, the stretch and tear of wounds, Hewley rose to his feet with one of his dearest friends held strongly in his arms. His white wings flexed once as Angeal steadied his breathing, pushing off the ground with all of his might to take to the sky.
He didn’t have time to look back. To see the corpse of the suicidal blonde that had grievously injured Sephiroth. To see the few ashen, shocked faces of the innocent. To see the destruction that had been wrought.
No, he only had time to fly upward and onward, his mind racing, searching for help … subconsciously calling for the only other person he knew could help them, despite having no idea where he was.
Genesis.
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
Post by Caius Dragelion on Mar 6, 2021 16:15:27 GMT -6
The Dragonglaive
Caius had known something was coming the moment he had spoken to Sephiroth before. Perhaps he had just been kidding in a dry humor sort of way, but Caius didn't know for sure. Something had told him that he needed to be safe, so he had written to Celes explaining his worries. Having trusted his hunch, the General had arrived in Provo soon after. And it hadn't taken very long for them to find that Caius' hunch wasn't off the mark. The widespread destruction was... Awful. Caius wanted to jump into the fight, but with all that was going on, he had to focus on the relief effort. Getting people clear of the disaster zone, ensuring buildings and debris didn't fall on people. Caius had his hands full, and had been warping to and fro and making the most of his abilities in their entirety in order to ensure the safety of the people. He was tired, flat out exhausted. But eventually the dust began to settle.
He had been able to hear the fighting ongoing in the background, and had been able to see figures fighting in the air. But he hadn't been able to make them out, not entirely. But two things had caught his attention -- and that was the unmistakable flash of black and silver. Sephiroth. The second? The two large swords. He had only seen two of that particular size and mass. He had wanted to go and find out the truth of the matter, but the people had to come first. But once the dust had settled and things were calming down, he was able to investigate. He had been tracking the fight from the corner of his eye, waiting for an opportunity. The time was now. But when he arrived, he watched as two flew off. He was able to recognize them in the air as Sephiroth and Angeal. He didn't call out to them. It was the one on the ground that had to take his attention right now -- Cloud.
"You had to start a war in the middle of the city?" Caius chided him once he had checked his vitals. He was alive. So he could scold him. Caius hoisted Cloud up onto his shoulder as he began to walk through the city. The destruction Cloud and his opponents had wrought was all around them, no matter how far they walked. He probably wasn't conscious but he was still going to tell him off. "I don't know what's going on, but your stupid fight's caused a lot of trouble. And nearly gotten yourself killed too. What if I hadn't been here to scrape you off the ground?" he chided as he nudged open the door to the little building Yuna had been using to coordinate Dragonblades efforts.
"Yuna?" he called out as he dropped Cloud onto a couch. "I'd like to introduce you to my stupid friend."
