Little Ol' Me...

Kefka stills, taut as the hairs of a fiddlestick.

Strike him in the face.

You can sometimes also find me: 

@ofxliminality​ - Auron 

@xargentum​ - Prompto

@libraxelementia - Ignis 

My muse has to tell nothing but the truth for 10 9 asks. Include ✘ with the asks!

“Oh, but that’s the beauty of it! My sweetest! You think I don’t know how you’ll shiver and squirm, hearing that brat’s death from my lips? Ohoho, my little seraph, you still think me stupid! That’s how I killed him! With the knowledge I’ll never, ever, ever spill a drop on his death!

It’s mine, that’s what stings, isn’t it? I don’t even have the good graces to share!” 

        The hand across his eyes might as well not have bothered; The freak was pale to the point of translucent, and that searing light poured through his skin like glass. Then, when the hand released him, what he could only guess was a heel to the back of his head kept him facing downward– Only marginally better– As though he was gonna dare open his eyes ‘til that light died down.

        When it did, at least when Gladio could no longer see through the back of his own eyelids, the air was left filled with an oppressive presence. One blatant enough to stall him a moment before he lifted his head. 

       Thankfully, despite the sting, yeah, he still had eyes, though it took a few blinks for them to adjust to the blurry purple image before him. Then a few more times to comprehend what he was looking at.

      Kefka didn’t fit in the cell anymore. Not comfortably. No longer closest to Prompto’s height, he’d grown at least a couple of feet, and his thin frame was now built with a rippling layer of muscle. His skin had darkened, and seemed to have been stretched tight as leather across his newly muscular figure. All that, and the glow of his empty eyes might’ve registered as enough of a threat to rise his pulse… But the four great wings, curled askew against the walls of the cell, left him looking instead like some big, angry, purple bird.

      His first comprehensive thought was “yeah, glad to be spared the loincloth.”

             …Even so, Gladio knew better than to tell him that.

       “…Answer to nothing’s right…” He muttered, attempting to scoot back from the clawed foot pinning into his chest. “So, you’re some sort of daemon, huh. That it?”

Kefka’s eternal grin stretched further as he regarded his pet. Truly, it was the behemoth’s brick wall behavior keeping him intact. Unusual. He’d seen a thing or two in his time, that was for certain. To rip him to shreds over his insolence would be a shame. 

For now.

His foot on Gladio’s chest did not withdraw. Instead he pressed forward, keeping contact, growling, “Stay...” 

A daemon? Interesting. Nothing boring, not a flying clown, not a madman... This one had common sense to swallow his words... Disciplined.. His heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest... It all said as much. 

“I made myself God, isn’t that fun?” Kefka mused, settling in midair, legs crossed, as though meditation were a thing he’d ever consider. His long, white wings arched around Gladio. 

Confronting sentence prompts. [send these without quotation marks to avoid error!]

“You positively reek of boring! Do I look like one to dabble?” 

One could mistake Kefka for an ordinary harlequin, circling Ignis, military posture and muttering, ceaselessly, to himself, were he not levitating several inches in the air moments later, drifting like a rag in the breeze. 

’ 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄  𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 ’  𝒍𝒚𝒓𝒊𝒄  𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔

Sitting in the middle of a room torn to shreds, Kefka giggles, turning his face towards drifting dust and feathers, smothered by an ethereal footprint he knows full well isn’t his own. No use in pretending. 

Wasted, this power... 

He doesn’t cast Noctis so much as a glance, plucking at the embers clinging to his tights. 

The audacity. 

Teeth, nails, elbows, knees... Kefka sinks into Noctis like a wildcat, scraping the pair of them down the wall to tumble in the dirt. Even curling his fingers around his throat, he’s expecting him to warp away, knowing better than to try pinning brattish thin air. 

Screams... 

    Endless, warbled thorns, destruction’s orchestra... 

       Harmonized chaos... 

“Hmm?”

 Music? There had been another kind he’d listened to. Yes. The kind to tell a grand story without words. The kind he’d twirled himself stupid to.

He waved away the faceless query.

Confronting sentence prompts. [send these without quotation marks to avoid error!]

“Well, well! Isn’t that better, using your words, eh?” 

When was the last time someone noticed, calling it out so boldly? It was tough work, taming one with brawn and brains.

“Maybe you really can be a good boy after all, hm? You wanna see what I am, beastie?” 

Kefka curled his fingers into Gladio’s hair, pulling it to lift his head. He ran his free hand over his face, down his neck, deep curiosity swarming to the surface of a coldness that never left. 

His thumb pressed against his lips, still bloodied from the rope. Any teasing tones vanished, a low growl replacing them.

Immediate snarling. 

Who gave this spiteful, disobedient, jealous little thing permission? 

Confronting sentence prompts. [send these without quotation marks to avoid error!]

Shaken out of his contemplation, Kefka grinned, stretching the painted smile ever further. 

“You can’t expect me to remember every single sorry soul I’ve ever slain, can you?” 

He wouldn’t have bothered to turn and face him, had turning one’s back to Kuja not been akin to turning one’s back on the ocean. He let his head fall to the side, eyes almost glowing. 

“Perhaps, if you’ve lost someone special, look a little harder, hm?” 

His smile split, unveiling sharp teeth, no amount of tenderness in his tone able to hide something like excitement or glee, poorly restrained and quaking. With each drum of his nails against his bicep, embers and sparks scattered, drifting into the air. 

“Unless, of course, poor little ol’ you has been sick to the bone, fretting and flitting hither and yon, in search of their precious plaything? Now that would be an unfortunate spectacle!”