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year 5, quarter 3
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[attr=class,bulk] Sephiroth watched as Alexander processed his story. He didn’t seem bothered by the potential for casualties should Sephiroth somehow relapse to his supposed old ways. He merely nodded and then went on. ”Judging by how much you’re keeping yourself aloof and collected right now, I’m guessing falling to madness would be a fate worse than death for you.”
Sephiroth blinked. Slowly. Words formed on his lips and then died there.
What…was he supposed to say to that?
Sephiroth was so thrown by Alexander’s blunt observation that he only half registered the man wishing him the best or rising to his feet, stretching, before deciding their next location. A fate worse than death?
There were many worse fates. Sephiroth was intimately aware of them. There was torture at the hands of the Turks. There was the slow, desperate poverty that consumed the hope of those he sometimes passed in the lower plates. There was an assignment to Hojo for whatever dark thoughts twisted in that fool’s mind. But falling to madness…?
Madness was not a singular, all-encompassing entity with which one could be diagnosed. The word brought to mind the raving of lunatics, unhinged and unmanageable in their delusions. That, perhaps, would be a fate worse than death, but that was not the end of it. The madness that Sephiroth had seen had been in the eyes of soldiers who had seen too much, whose hands were too stained with blood, and whose demeanor had turned wild as they muttered to themselves and flinched at sudden movements. Had Genesis gone mad in his defection? Perhaps, but that madness had been driven by desperation and a singular, all-consuming desire for revenge with no consideration of the cost.
Sephiroth considered himself a rational man. He had suffered a temporary lapse in sanity not unlike that of the shell-shocked soldiers and their nonsensical mutterings. He had been driven by a singular, desperate purpose.
A purpose which even now eluded him. Perhaps he still preserved too much of his rationality to grasp it.
’No,’ he thought. ’Madness was not worse than death,’ but by then Alexander had already moved on and was starting out the door. Sephiroth bit his tongue of his thoughts, pushed back a handful of his hair, and followed.
The air was brisk as he followed Alexander from the town proper into the woodlands on the outskirts. He said nothing as they walked together, and uncharacteristically Alexander followed suit. Sephiroth listened to the clicking of their footsteps against the cobblestone roads that slowly faded to dirt and gravel as they left the public eye. He watched the trees for signs of movement in the shadows. He had not forgotten the bounty Alexander had sought in their last meeting, and this seemed a convenient ruse for an ambush. The leaves whispered in the late autumn wind. The trees creaked as they swayed, their branches half empty in preparation for the coming winter. Alexander came to a stop in a clearing spacious enough for movement and yet not so wide that it would draw attention.
Sephiroth watched him carefully, wary of any sudden indications of attack. It didn’t come.
Instead, Alex turned to him and raised his sword, readying himself for attack. ”Remember, like you mean to kill me!”
This time, Sephiroth did not laugh. Instead, he closed his eyes, grounding himself. He took note of his surroundings – the layout, its advantages and disadvantages. The foliage had turned dry and flammable in the autumn months. That would rule out the use of fire materia unless he wished to turn their arena into a deadly inferno.
He would keep the option open in the not unlikely case of Alexander’s betrayal.
Sephiroth unsheathed his sword and brought it before him. The weight felt familiar in his hand as he shifted instinctively to a combative stance. He cleared his mind of distraction. There was only himself, his opponent, and his instincts honed to the sharpened point of a sword’s edge.
He opened his eyes and set them on Alexander. And then he moved.
He dashed forward with a speed that only mako infusions would allow, and as he closed the distance, he brought his sword in front of him, prepared to use its length for a mid-range advantage. He struck with pinpoint precision, his sword a flurry of silver, too fast for the eye to follow and with the strength to knock back an unprepared combatant several feet into the dirt. He kept his stance light, ready to dodge at a moment’s notice or take weightlessly to the air.
Alexander had the advantage in this fight if there was one to be gained. Sephiroth had told him his abilities and strengths. Of Alexander’s, he knew none. There was magic, he expected, supplemented by the use of his sword. From their last encounter, Sephiroth knew he must remain ready for even the most bizarre of counters from his potential employer.
’Like you mean to kill me.’ No. Sephiroth would not kill him. He had the restraint for that, but restraint was not a weakness, and Sephiroth did not hold back. His first offensive would test Alexander’s confidence and learn his natural reaction in the face of an unexpected assault.
If he was to win, he must learn his opponents' attacks, his patterns, and his weaknesses. Sephiroth was nothing if not a strategist.
Alex's eyes widened in realization as Sephiroth concentrated, made his move. Wait, he's really-- The thought was interrupted as his body realized Sephiroth was coming in for the kill. Figuratively, he hoped. Hopefully not literally. Maybe like he meant to kill him was a bad idea. Even so, he had to react, and it was only years of experience that really saved him here. As he instinctively raised his bastard sword to absorb the blow in the nick of time, he felt the sheer force of it spread throughout his body as it quickly gave under pressure. Had Sephiroth been exactly as been described, sure, but he never really accounted for the possibility of a superhuman. Within an instant he had felt his feet leave the ground, and as he soared through the air in a most undignified manner, only one thought was able to pass through his mind. I'm gonna kill Aerith. He almost wondered if she'd left it out on purpose to try and kill him off as some kind of sick joke. Ohhhhh, that would be just like her, wouldn't it? He'd give her a piece of his mind after this!
He landed on his back for a moment, sliding on the ground as the rest of his body moved up, pulling him over onto his face as he finally landed in what appeared to be a soft patch of foliage. Said foliage also looked suspiciously like poison ivy, but that was neither here nor there. At least, not for a little while. At least Alex was fortunate that he wouldn't have to deal with this during the fight to stay alive. Even if so, there was plenty of rage to keep Alex from noticing it. In fairness, said rage wasn't actually directed at Sephiroth. Well, it was, because Sephiroth was unfortunately right there, but the cause of it was Aerith, Sephiroth held no blame in this. But it was enough to shoot back up onto his feet immediately as he cast the spell Bristle. It would bequeath him superhuman strength, though by his estimate, not enough to match whatever the hell training regimen Sephiroth put himself through. Just, more enough to not get sent flying with every hit.
He meant for the casting to sound like a ferocious war cry. Embarrassingly however, due to Bristle coming from a boar, it sounded more like an enraged pig squealing than said ferocious war cry. Reaching behind his back, so Sephiroth wouldn't see the actual casting, a broken handle appeared in his hand as he infused it with aether. "She is so fucked!" He roared, mostly to himself, hurling the broken handle into the air as it began to materialize above Sephiroth's head, several feet in the air. Aether gave it shape and form as it formed into... a giant cartoon weight? Dark in color with a simple 4T scribbled on it, it hovered in the air for but a moment before it began plummeting down. Bizzare was really just one of the lighter words to describe Alex's spellbook.
Plus, what kind of monster has the power of a giant 4 ton weight?
[attr=class,bulk] It seemed that he had overestimated his opponent.
It took only that single strike, and Alexander Sorel was sent flying backwards through the air in an ungraceful arc, a look of shock on his face before he landed hard in the surrounding foliage. Sephiroth’s lips twitched into the shadow of a smirk as he let out a short ”Hmph,” of laughter. For all of his talk, for all of his posing and shows of power, Alexander was the same as any other overconfident soldier which Sephiroth had quickly put in their place.
The truly strong, he’d found, had very little need to boast of their strength. Sephiroth watched as Alexander scrambled back to his feet, his face and arms scratched with whatever plant-life he had scraped through on landing. Sephiroth would have thought that that short show of power would be enough for their little interview, but it seemed he was wrong. As Alexander turned to face him, his eyes burned with fury. He was indignant. Shamed, perhaps. And like all men with more confidence than power, he channeled that shame of defeat into anger.
Sephiroth raised his sword defensively, ready to counter whatever came his way, as Alexander braced himself against the ground and let out…
A squeal? It sounded rather…pig-like. Sephiroth raised his eyebrows derisively. His derision turned to confusion as Alexander’s strange squealing turned to an enraged shout.
Who was…she?
Sephiroth didn’t have long to question because Alexander threw something over him, and instinct took hold once again. He felt the crackle of magic over his head, and Sephiroth dodged backwards as the force of something fell directly where he’d been standing only a moment before, landing with a loud thump into the earth. Whatever it was, it was metallic and thick and reminded him vaguely of the weights that Angeal slid endlessly onto the bars at the gym. Sephiroth didn’t have time to take it in fully because the simple act of its summoning had caught him off guard, and now he was on the defensive, sword raised, aware that for a split second he had been made vulnerable.
If Alexander was truly as experienced in combat as he claimed then he would use that second to go on the offensive and take advantage of Sephiroth’s surprise, and so Sephiroth prepared himself to counter, always perceptive of whatever strange magic might assault him next.
If the man was as untrained as Sephiroth suspected then he would let the moment slip by, and Sephiroth would have the time to readjust his stance and dash in for an offensive of his own. The battlefield was always changing, and rather in war or a mere session of sparring, combat required fluidity above all else.
As Alex saw the weight land with a loud thunk on the grass made it all too clear that this guy had really good reflexes. Aerith had seriously--Well, no, dodging it was well within someone with decent enough reflexes. Enough not to be completely squished by a cartoon weight, anyway. Well, the weight didn't crush him. In all honesty, that was probably for the best. Flattening the poor guy on an interview probably was not good for retaining long term employees. Not to mention that most people probably wouldn't want to sign up with a place that had a tendency to kill them by accident. ... Not that anyone was looking to sign up with the Rising Stones anyway. Oh no. No, most people would rather travel all the way to Torensten and get good with the Dragonlames. Ohhhh, he would put them in their place, just you wait.
But for now, the only target within the vicinity of his rage was poor Sephiroth, who despite whatever crimes he committed in life, definitely had done nothing to Alex personally. Maliciously. But even Alex was willing to concede that it was at least self defense. Plus, Sephiroth was willing to make up for it. Nevertheless, Alex was still, somehow, an experienced warrior, veteran of a thousand battles. He knew an opening when he saw it, and he grinned. That cocky grin that oozed the words "got you now." He siezed the opportunity as his mouth opened, and a wave of noxious fumes poured forth. It was one of his aces, something few were ever really able to stand up to. The Bad Breath flooded the area, immersing it in a rancid scent. That wasn't all though, carrying a myriad of ailments within it; taking a direct on hit was often a fight ending blow.
And Alex knew it, too. Leaning back as he grinned, crossing his arms. "Look, you've done good. But if you wanna call it here, you're more than welcome to. No shame in it." Honestly, it sounded more like a taunt than anything. Something to at least salve his bruised ego at such an embarrassing start. At least it wasn't lethal, unlike the weight, so that was something to work with. "But you've got a few seconds before you pass out. Try not to hit yourself on the way down." That had... been something that happened. He'd seen plenty of foes accidentally attack themselves or an ally afterwards. Needless to say, he felt quite confident about the upcoming results.
[attr=class,bulk] Sephiroth didn’t know what happened next. One moment, he had his sword raised defensively. Then the moment passed. Alexander did not charge forward as Sephiroth had expected. Instead, he merely stood there, a look of undeserved triumph on his face. It was that look that planted a seed of uncertainty in his heart. On the one hand, he ought to take the offensive if Alexander was not going to do the same. But on the other…
No. This could be a trap. This man wielded strange magic not tied to any materia in the databases he had studied. The best course of action would be to skirt around him or perhaps take to the air. He had the upper hand in dexterity. No matter what the mercenary was planning, it would come to nothing if he was taken by surprise.
Then the smell struck him.
Sephiroth was almost staggered by it. He felt his throat convulse. His eyes watered. Still, he kept them open, aware of his circumstances. His head spun with that noxious, fetid scent. It was a silent, unseen miasma which engulfed him and the surrounding woods. Was it poisonous? Across the clearing, he heard Alexander’s voice, confident and almost mocking, ”Look, you’ve done good. But if you want to call it here, you’re more than welcome to. No shame in it.”
Sephiroth raised his eyes to Alexander. He was simply standing there, arms crossed, completely unguarded. His lips pursed into a thin line.
He didn’t hear what Alexander said next. He heard words lost to the wind as he launched himself weightlessly into the sky. The air was no more clear of the stench here than it had been on ground level, but whatever effect the gas attack had intended, it had failed in its execution. Perhaps Alexander was inexperienced in its use. Perhaps there was something in Sephiroth’s rather…unique biology which had shielded him from it. Though his eyes stung, though his stomach turned, though his concentration threatened to waver, he would not be dissuaded from the fight.
No sooner had Sephiroth launched himself airborne before he thrust himself down again, single-wing outstretched for accuracy as he struck Alexander like an arrow from above. He slashed once, twice, three times and then more in rapid succession. It was not his most perfect form. The stench was a distraction if nothing else, but he knew his own signature move by instinct alone. Octoslash. His strikes were precise, piercing nothing vital even with its immense speed.
He would not kill Alexander. No matter how dirty his opponent played, no matter how he’d taunted him, no matter how he’d assured him to fight as though he meant it, he would make certain not to kill him.
He had his revive materia equipped, after all. How near death Alexander came depended on the mercenary’s own reflexes.
As Sephiroth launched himself into the sky, Alex's grinned vanished. That, that wasn't supposed to happen. 'That usually works.' There were only a handful of foes he'd met in his lifetime that had been able to take that attack head on and stay in shape. Usually it, at the very least, poisoned them or something. But Sephiroth just shrugged it off. It took him a moment to remember that Sephiroth was apparently a world ending threat--back home, and that might have had something to do with it. Nevermind the surprises he'd already been given, especially upon giving another. '... And why does he only have one wing?' Did the other one get ripped off or something? Furthermore, how was he able to hide it so well? This wandering thought, of course, would cost him. Perhaps if more was a stake, or if his pride hadn't simply gotten the better of him, he'd have been paying more attention.
But Sephiroth's attack was dead on, each one finding their mark in a horrifying, yet masterfully graceful manner. Slashed and stabbed and cut, it had only taken a second, such was its precision, before Alex found himself on his back, vision fading in and out of white. At first, he had only felt the impact, the clean slices of that sword, and the blunt feeling of being pierced. Blood began to flow freely, staining his clothes and seeping into the ground beneath him. It was only moments later that the pain truly began to seep in. As he laid on his back, bleeding out from multiple wounds, he could only think one thing; 'He hits as hard as Zenos.' It began to sink in; this man was a match for Zenos. He'd have never slacked off with Zenos. He'd have gone into it one hundred percent. He cursed himself for not taking it seriously from the start, realizing that he probably should have taken the time to get his damn armor.
Or at least used Loom to let it pass through an incorporeal form. Maybe if he'd actually paid attention instead of taking it for granted. Idiot.
Hear. Feel. Think. A mantra that repeatedly ran through his mind, allowing him to break through the static that drowned out all else. He breathed, and drew upon that wellspring that flowed deep within. That same wellspring that, more than once, allowed him to withstand what should have killed another man. And there he found the strength to stand. Rising from his back in a surprisingly fluid motion, leaving blood behind him with every movement. Despite the severity of his wounds, his amber eyes held no glaze, only clarity and a clear determination to fight to the bitter end, and he stood as if he'd only been scratched. And then he remembered that this was only supposed to be a job interview. And with that, all at once, everything came crashing into him, and he hunched over, nearly collapsing to his knees, obviously struggling to hold it together. A few repeating sounds of effort before he finally managed to croak out. "Good enough. You win." He felt a bit galled at having to admit he'd actually lost, but he tried to take some comfort. Maybe the fact that he wasn't dead was, in and of itself, at least something impressive. Right?
A soft glow emanated from one of his hands as he began to try and knit the wounds shut. He was in too bad of shape for White Wind to make any difference. Most he could manage was Vercure, and keep that going for a while. But he was sure he'd live. Probably. He'd been through worse. Definitely. Plus it seemed like Sephiroth managed to avoid anything vital. Whether that was a testament to his skill or Alex's sheer dumb luck, he couldn't be too sure, nor would he really question it either. There was another groan from him. "You know, you really undersold yourself. I really should've seen it coming when you said you went from just a soldier to a general." He was going to be feeling this for a good while, even once he was patched up.
He was still going to kill Aerith for this later. Gods, his sweater was ruined. He could get blood stains out, but the cuts destroyed any hope of repair.
[attr=class,bulk] Sephiroth’s strikes landed, every one planned and precise. They came in a practiced flurry of steel so sharp and quick that it took a moment for Alex to react. It was only once Sephiroth had finished his attack and dodged weightlessly out of range that he saw Alex’s face go white, launched onto his back with the impact of the final blow as blood began to well from the eight wounds that Sephiroth had given him. Sephiroth found no joy in this. There was a thrill, he had to admit, to facing an equal in combat. There was satisfaction, likewise, in victory. This encounter held neither of those qualities. Sephiroth had been a force of nature, delivering the only natural consequence to a man’s own hubris. That was all.
The man’s clothes, once a casual red button-up with black suspenders, were now shredded as terribly as the flesh beneath. Sephiroth watched impassively as the man laid there, slowly collecting a pool of his own blood beneath him. He wanted to give the man a chance to recover. With his unusual magic, he may have cast something protective before their battle – Life 3 perhaps? But the moment for any such magic came and went, and while the man’s breathing was far from the death rattles of the fatally wounded, Sephiroth knew better than to wait for a concession of a battle lost from a man in this condition. He stepped forward, silver bracer raised as he called on the power of his materia.
Revive. Life 1. He would not waste his magic on a man who had brought this outcome upon himself. He would do enough to stabilize him, but that, it seemed, was well within the man’s own well of abilities. Before Sephiroth could finish his casting, the man was already struggling to his knees, perhaps out of sheer determination or perhaps some unknown ability. Sephiroth lowered his hand and raised his eyebrows instead as he looked into the enraged eyes of the mercenary. They promised a fight to the death. For what? Pride? Sephiroth fixed the man with his own cool and unblinking stare. After a tense moment, the man half-collapsed again and finally conceded Sephiroth’s victory. It was unsatisfying.
More importantly, it seemed that the mercenary was not as of yet unconscious and had some kind of healing magic up his thoroughly torn sleeves. His hands lit white with it as he held it to his many wounds, and Sephiroth watched the familiar sight of flesh knitting back into angry red scars. The man groaned.
”You know, you really undersold yourself. I really should’ve seen it coming when you said you went from just a soldier to a general.”
Sephiroth felt his lips twitch at that. Perhaps there had been a misunderstanding between them.
”Shinra’s SOLDIER program is only open to the most elite,” he said with the slightest hint of amusement. ”We are given mako injections to enhance our abilities and trained for Shinra’s most formidable missions. I was a general of those SOLDIERS.”
The fight was done, and Sephiroth took no joy in watching Alexander struggle before him. Instead, he strode forward until he towered over the staggered man, reached into an inner pocket of his coat, and offered him a hi-potion. ”When should I expect my first mission?”
Another groan as he felt the sharp pain fade into a dull ache. Before long it'd stop hurting, but he still wasn't going to be doing anything anytime soon. Alex looked up, waving his hand at the hi-potion with a shake of his head. "I'm good, but thank you." At least Sephiroth had the courtesty of offering, unlike some people. But the magic stopped for a moment as Sephiroth explained the reality of SOLDIER, and it took Alex a few moments to process that information with a blank stare. To his credit, he did blink a few times, so he wasn't dead, obviously. "SOLDIER." He repeated. "They called your supersoldier program SOLDIER. He looked up at the man in black, furrowing his brow. "Anyone ever tell Shinra that they're awful with names?" The magic started again, and before long, he was able to start rising back to his feet. "And what the hell is Mako."
He was almost envious that it still worked. SOLDIER was giving him more Project Resonant vibes than anything now. He'd be livid if someone from that came along and it turned out the Resonant still worked while his Echo didn't. Especially if that someone was Zenos. The last thing he needed was that guy coming back now and hijacking another dragon god or something. Especially since Alex knew the man would come for him. He looked again at Sephiroth, maybe he would get Sephiroth to deal with it. Maybe the guy would like an even fight. Maybe it'd be enough to make Zenos leave him alone and focus on a new playmate. He let out a sigh, dismissing it almost immediately. As tempting as that was, Zenos was ultimately his problem to deal with, and it wasn't fair to toss him at someone else. If his first words to Prompto in such a scenario would be to run for his life, then he should do it with the others, too.
That was a new one, really. But it explained a lot. Sephiroth was not some grunt turned general. He was the elite of the elite. Of the elite. Shaking his head as he continued his healing, he carried on to the next subject. "Anyway, yeah." A job. Right. Sephiroth really earned his keep there. "Seeing as you did so well, I can give you the most dangerous job I got." Looking to the side, he coughed. "I was gonna do it myself, but." He gestured vaguely to himself. That wasn't gonna happen. "Anyway, there's a flock of Chocobos causing grief outside the Headstone forest." But, his gaze managed to focus for a moment as he sharply stared at the SOLDIER. "But you aren't dealing with your average Chocobos, Sephiroth." It was a stern warning.
His gaze narrowed. "They're red." Very dangerous, indeed.
[attr=class,bulk] Alexander refused his potion, claiming to be fine without it. If this had been one of his men, Sephiroth would have scolded that kind of arrogant display, but he wasn’t and so Sephiroth merely stowed the potion away again. Alexander was over-confident. He was self-reliant. He was also his own man, and if he wished to suffer longer then it wasn’t Sephiroth’s job to stop him.
It took the man a moment to process what Sephiroth had said. That wasn’t unusual. What was rather unique was Alexander’s mockery of it. ”They called your supersoldier program SOLDIER? Anyone ever tell Shinra that they’re awful with names?”
Sephiroth couldn’t help a short huff of laughter. ”The executives were more concerned with results,” he said, his lips twisted into a dry smirk. He had never considered just how…blunt the name truly was. It was a fact of life. Something not to be questioned. Now, he couldn’t help but imagine the executive board brainstorming names and ending on SOLDIER.
For the first time since they’d spoken, Alexander wasn’t wrong.
The man watched him curiously for a moment as though considering something. Sephiroth allowed his curiosity. He didn’t feel the need to explain the concept of mako. It felt ridiculous to do so, like explaining the qualities of water or air. The man’s comment had seemed more an expression of frustration than a true question regardless, and so Sephiroth waited, subconsciously standing at attention as though he were receiving a military assignment.
After a long moment, Alexander gave it to him.
”Chocobos,” he repeated tonelessly. Alexander seemed…truly concerned about them. He called this the most dangerous assignment he had. And he drew attention to the color.
Red. Sephiroth had never seen a red chocobo. Even so, he could only imagine that it would be more versatile than the others in some way. He had never heard of a particularly dangerous chocobo, but he knew better than to begin an assignment on assumptions alone. He had always made it a habit to read over the mission details at least three times in advance and annotate them with his own notes.
”What do you know about the target?” he asked, trying to suppress his initial instinct to mock what seemed to be a ridiculous reaction. ”Do we have a bestiary on hand? What are the terrain conditions? Are there any particular risks of note?”
Executives? What in the world did that even mean. Maybe Shinra had something akin to Uldah's Syndicate, he wasn't entirely sure. The flow of his hand faded, this was good enough, he could sleep off the rest. He wasn't dead and that was what mattered, right? But, still, what the hell was Shinra even doing then? They just sounded like a confusing mess. "At least Garlemald had the foresight to call their project something that wouldn't confuse everyone else." At least when you heard something foreboding like the Resonant Project, you knew you were dealing with some kind of, classified, clandestine nonsense that would have the public in a riot if it got out. Except with Garlemald, because as long as the horrible experiments were being done on savages, then no one cared. He wouldn't deny that there was some satisfaction in watching Garlemald collapse overnight once Varis was out of the picture, but he'd never say it out loud.
But Alex took a moment to scratch at his temple, trying to remember the details. He did the best he could, but not having the actual job in his hand made it a bit difficult to come up with the rest. He was good at remembering faces, remembering names, but small things like that could slip his notice at times. He snapped his fingers after a moment as it seemed to come back to him. "They're causing problems for local hunters. And they're a fire hazard. I guess the Headstone Forest burning down would be bad or something." Of that, he wasn't so sure, if it really was as bad as he'd heard before. "Anyway, it's outside the Headstone Forest. So, you know. It's haunted. I think. Wooded, that sort of thing." He wasn't entirely sold on the entire place being haunted, but what did he know? In all his time here, he'd really never had a reason to actually go there.
He took a moment to examine his clothes, frowing at the fact that, yeah, there was absolutely no salvaging any of this. He gave a defeated sigh. He really should have taken the few minutes it would have taken to get his armor on. This was one of his best outfits for when Fall came around, too. The red working well with the sweater to give that warming aesthetic.
Alex tried to come up with more info, explaining it as clearly and concisely as he could. "Red is the most dangerous type of chocobo." He continued onward with a sagely nod. Clearly this was a matter most dire, and Sephiroth would be a fool to assume it was anything but true. Clearly. "You're aware of Behemoths, yes? Particularly their ability to summon meteors to kill everything in the immediate vicinity upon their sudden demise? That is something Red Chocobos can do. They fire them off much faster. They can level the whole area if you don't take care of them fast enough. So just think of it as dealing with an entire brood of Behemoths. All at the same time. And they don't need to die before they can summon those meteors." Surely that made sense, right? But that did pose the danger. "Which is your issue. If you can't dispatch them fast enough, they'll swarm you with meteors, level and burn the forest, and well, if it really is haunted, I'm not sure where the now displaced poltergeists would go."
No lifestream, meant no passing on, right? "Is this all making sense?" He didn't really feel the need to emphasize that this was not a prank, surely everyone knew the actual dangers that red chocobos presented.
