#abyssn

he sighs woefully , as if he’s been expecting this . as if he knew kaeya would present himself & as if he knew he wouldn’t be happy about it . such complexity whirls between them that even their ‘ casual ’ conversation sounds bitter .

@abyssn

If Noctis had thought succeeding in the Hydrean’s trial would bring an end to the battle tearing through Altissia, he could not have been more mistaken. The fight was still raging on when he opened his eyes. Waves crashed against the altar as Titan swung at the Imperial airships still closing in from every possibly direction. Some unlucky ships sank beneath the water, scarcely out of sight before more appeared to take their place. There were screams from straggling refugees, the rattle of guns, and the deafening roar of the Archean. It was pure, unceasing chaos.

Out of the corner of his eye, Noctis could still see Lunafreya, lying unmoving beside him and his stomach twisted. Guilt swiftly overcame his grief when he realized that he was still alive in this moment because of her. His fingers twitched in her direction, but he couldn’t lift his arm to touch her. Even now she was out reach. She always had been.

                            silence, on her end.   she cannot say she is woefully impressed with the empire, nor their actions, even as an individual on a neutral ground. fingers at her side twitch, curl into loose fists briefly before relaxing once more.  regardless of her views on them,  she is but a sole individual in the presence of another -- a presence that she would much rather not be in.  

                          he was dangerous -- this much she could sense about him.  and she was no foolhardy girl, she knew better than to fight without her gift.  and using that gift could very well condemn her at this point, sentence her to arrest ( did they try witches in these lands ?  ) or, at the very least to capture and questioning.   ground is stood, but she attempts to keep herself open, remain as non-threatening as possible. a passive nature would surely win favor. 

Familiar words.

The Lord of Ruin looked down upon the face of the king, his form wretched and decrepit, rolling in the confines of the grip the Goddess of Death held on him. The scent was familiar, as it also poured from his own eyes and his own lips, but it did not make any manner of emotion flicker to the Accursed’s eyes. He stared, eyes like the void, down at the fallen king like a towering guardian figure, poised to strike judgement down upon Regis.

However, finally, the Accursed stooped to one knee, bringing himself closer so as he could scoop up the Lucian King’s jaw within his fingertips. The touch was almost gentle. Almost affectionate, despite the death’s head that met Regis face to face. When finally Ardyn smiled, it was a leer, brimming with death and equal amounts of decay.

              “How alike we sound there, my lord.                   Why, you almost remind me of myself.”

Quickly, fingers dug themselves into Regis’ cheeks, gripping into the skin in order to force the king’s mouth open. Ardyn hovered his own mouth over the offering and as he smiled, the darkness around him seemed poised to envelop them both.

               “Here. Let me help you.”

The bile spewed forth like a living thin, pouring from Ardyn’s open maw to pour down into the retching, decay filled scum that Regis was becoming. Like mother’s milk, the monster gave and gave, adding on to the corruption that was growing in the king’s heart. For the Accursed could suck the very soul out of this one, if he wanted, and spit it back out into the blathering scum the man was becoming.

                                    “Breathe it in.”

There was no telling what was happening to him. He didn’t know, he was too ignorant. All he understood, all he could comprehend was the need for this rot. This sickness this decay this tar, for him to become one with it. To accept it, to harbor it, to grow with it. He knew this was the key to immortality. To never die, to never age. This was it. 

But he coughs and trembles, flesh rejecting what he had sprouted in himself. It would not keep, it would die if he did not act. He is weak, he is exhausted, he cannot fathom doing more than what he already has. So much time had gone into it, preparation and failures with each plot. No, there was no giving up. 

When the Lord before him lowers himself to the Monarch, when hand clutches his jaw, he obeys. He does not fight. For he sees it already, that Scourge seeping from the man above him, and he does not retaliate. Yet, when digits dig into the sides of his face, when jaw is pried open, he panics. 

No, he does not want this. Stop, get away. Get away! Unhand him! Unhand-- 

The pour of it, the taste, there is a mixture of fear and excitement. Of uncertainty and joy. Body goes limp, system shutting down. Mind moves too fast, with haste he cannot catch up with thoughts as they pass him by. It is panic. It is pain. It is solace. It is salvation. It is immortality. Who is he to deny someone offering it? How could he? After all he had done, after actions proved fruitless... A man under his nose possessed what he sought. 

It hurts. 

It right bloody hurts, and he hates that his own thoughts have been reduced to such things in this time. The train smells like old leather, his teeth grit with each bump over the tracks, Gladio can be heard hitting a wall outside their shared room, and Prompto holds Noctis in his arms while he cries in the room next to this one.

The walls to these rooms are too bloody thin, Ignis decides as his face throbs with hot pain. 

He looks blindly above him and closes his eyes if only to feel that the darkness in his vision is by his own choice in this moment. 

It doesn’t help much. 

It had been several years since the end of the world, and even longer since Kefka had been blessed with pleasant company, and so when he heard the entrance to the tower being opened, he couldn’t help his curiosity. Who had sought out this place? And better yet, how had they found it?

Ever since the final battle with the Returners, he’d kept up the illusion of not being there. Hardly anyone knew of his continued livelihood, and even less knew where to seek him out. The ones who spoke of his continued existence were simply laughed at and the stories had become the stuff of children’s nightmares, tall tales used by parents to keep their kids compliant.

Kefka had essentially become the boogeyman, but he didn’t seem to mind it at all. 

And why should he? Especially when he continued to dole out his judgment harshly from atop his tower. 

The God of Magic walks down the circular staircase and into the main entrance of his tower where he is greeted with an odd sight indeed. The man who’d entered his domain dressed strangely, nearly as outlandishly as Kefka, although not nearly as colourful. His hair was a fantastic main of wine-coloured locks. He appeared to be in his 40s if he truly was human (Kefka could already tell there was something strange about the man). And he was huge. Though, to be fair, standing at 5′2″ and weighing 105 lbs, Kefka didn’t exactly appear intimidating at all. Everyone was huge in comparison. His arms cross as he steps off of the last of the stairs and stands before the intruder.

He was weak. Weakest he had been in ages. He felt as though mortal blood once again coursed through his veins, and, perhaps, for this time, it did. He was seeping in the darkness of Sin and Scourge around him, but it did little to alleviate his symptoms. For now, it would seem, he need only rest, though he could not protect her if enemies came to their gates.

He would hope those who wished him harm had seen his death as permanent and would not be gracing the doors of his fallen kingdom any time soon.

Amber eyes flickered open to look up towards Yuna and he brought up a hand to brush fingertips against her skin. The once God-King took a hard intake of breath, as though the thought of needing to breathe again was foreign to him. How could one who had once been immortal need to remember what sweet life came from breathing again. At most, he could hope it wouldn’t be permanent.

             He had deeds to finish. This world wasn’t done with him, yet.

“You’re doing your best comfort, my dear.” He offered, though his voice was slightly cracked. “Is Nostra doing well?” He asked, though he himself seemed perplexed in the notion that he ‘cared’.

                        How many eons had it been since his heart had bled?

  luchel had been summoned , along with velm whom had cast protective barrier around this area of the palace that few could cross , mainly relegated to a few of his trusted fledglings like osiris and nostra’s own wet nurse who was something of a secondary mother to their son . yuna’s heart ached for him , wanting nothing less than to protect the god-king she loved more than life itself . even like this , her loyalties would not be compromised . not when they had been tested before .

  her caring ministrations were gentle to his person , careful to avoid bringing harm to him further . though , yuna had lost her penchant for pure magic such a long time ago only her summons could manage it .

  this was a bald necessity . her hands stroked the periphery of his face , along sharp cheekbones and the rugged lines of his jaw , over stubble ; doing whatever she could to ease his plight . her throat felt constricted by what weighed so heavily over them , of what the vengeful hexatheon could exact upon them . oh , but how her heart worried ! even if those in her retinue were easily as powerful if not more so , the air was filled with disquiet , plagued by the toxic brew of worry that sat heavily on her breast of late .

  ‘ but -- i should do more , ‘ yuna whimpered helplessly , reaching down to kiss his forehead even as a stain of ink touched her lips , a flavor long since gotten used to . ‘ he’s fine . i think osiris is looking after him , but ... he’s alright . ‘ she cradled his head , sighing .

  The demigod was strangely reflective that night, perched upon a high eave overlooking broad expanses of sumptuous lawns wherein gardeners busily worked through the evening hours, paying no mind to the God-King’s apprentice who seemed thoroughly distracted, as if something plagued his mind. A human birthday. That’s what this day was, and he wasn’t sure if he were sobered or bitter by the realization of its coming.