#♜ drabble ⇾ luche.

[nightiingaled]

Falling Apart - Drabble. [Luche]

CONTENT WARNING: Torture

Time was nothing to him under these conditions. Had it been a day or a week or longer since he'd been taken? How would he know? He barely remembered being ambushed - barely remembered waking up. Everything had been a blur since the torture started. Luche should've known they wouldn't take any time getting to the point.

He had fallen asleep where he'd collapsed, head leaned against his chest with exhaustion. Couldn't have been that long before he was woken yet again, pulled violently forward by the chains around his wrists. Luche let out a startled yell, ripped into consciousness. "Time for the rack again?" he joked. He kind of sounded like Nyx.

No one spoke as Luche stumbled to his feet, knowing full well they would drag him if he didn't. His eyes were all but swollen shut - lack of sleep or bruising, he didn't know. But he still got a good look at his would-be torturer. Someone new. From what Luche could process he was wearing some kind of armor - an exosuit if he remembered his designs right. Glauca?

Graced with the presence of a great general - that couldn't be good. "Surely I don't warrant a visit from the General himself," Luche pressed. He'd grown more talkative the longer he was in captivity - nothing important - but desperate for distraction from the pain he'd turned to speech. To humor of sorts. Luche had a feeling he was cracking, albeit slowly.

The general grabbed him around the jaw and hefted him off his feet, pressing into existing bruises. Luche gasped, swallowing air in tiny gulps. "You're a nuisance," the general growled and something - something felt OFF all of a sudden. "If you have nothing important to say, do not speak." The voice was distorted by something within the armor, but Luche couldn't shake the feeling he'd heard those words before, the cadence....familiar. That's impossible, he admonished.

The General tossed him to the floor and the magitek soldiers dragged him back, wrapping his chains around a nearby pillar. He was pulled forward, arms in front of him. His knees dug into the stone flooring below him and he leaned forward at a cramped angle, unable to straighten his back. Luche had to admit he didn't know what was going to come next. For most of his time here, there had been the rack - a metal table kind of thing that he'd been strapped into hour after hour after hour. Electricity had been the go to for most of it. Otherwise, they had simply beaten him. He couldn't imagine what the General had planned for him.

"Something old-fashioned." The General answered the unspoken. "Niflheim likes their fancy toys too much, when perfectly good fire and metal will do the trick."

Luche felt the heat several moments BEFORE the burn - the poker hovering above his skin as if to TOY with him. The heat warmed bits of skin in a comfortable fashion at first and then past comfortable, burning hot, then fire to the touch - sweat breaking out across the area. Luche stiffened as the poker touched his neck and seared the area. Fingers dug against stone and he tried not to scream.

He failed.

The poker pulled free and Luche sank forward, breathing heavy. He heard the General behind him, pressing the poker to the coals once more. It was a small moment of reprieve before he felt that heat again and once more it hesitated before it finally touched the skin of his back. This time it pressed harder against his skin, practically digging until it drew blood too, simultaneously cauterizing the wound it created.

Luche didn't remember losing consciousness, but he came around to the smell of burnt flesh and searing pain. He hadn't been out long. He could still hear the General in the coals. "Don't you have questions?" he breathed out. Not that he would answer them - he hoped. "You already know what we want to know," a familiar voice said, taking several strides to be in his realm of vision. He inhaled sharply as Captain Drautos faced him, poker upheld as he approached. "Don't you, Luche?"

The poker glinted red in his eyes as it pressed to his cheek. It hurt to scream, only moving the poker closer to his skin, driving it against bone. "Don't you -" Drautos' face was all he saw. His Captain. His hero.

"Luche!"

He blinked, reality settling in around him. A hand was on his arm, worriedly gripping onto him. It pulled away as Luche faced the Captain, still staring him down. "I said, report, Luche!"

"Yes, sir." And as he finished his report, Luche watched the way the man walked off. The same way Glauca had walked away, each time...back to the coals.

"Luche...are you okay?" a voice asked.

"Yeah..." he said with a dismissive wave, "I'm fine."

[nightiingaled-a]

❝I am the king’s sword. I do not think. I only strike. ❞

He knew it was a diversion. Not because Drautos had told him, but because it didn’t sit right. Niflheim ships on the day of a treaty? A kidnapped princess that never should’ve been there at all—had that been the justification for the murder of a fellow Glaive? Luche felt his blood run cold at the thought. Surely their Captain would not be so heartless as to sacrifice one of his best—at the hand of their tactician—to simply facilitate a diversion? The man stared at his hand and noticed that he was shaking. Had Drautos chosen the two of them on purpose? It would’ve been a good plan: taking out the Glaive’s strongest mage and leaving their strategist unable to think straight. Luche clenched his fingers together into a fist. Astrals knew the damned plan was working and he hadn’t even followed through.  

He’d been questioning everything since that moment, since he and Crowe had parted ways with their plan. Even now as he watched the Kingsglaive suit up for deployment he wondered if there was a way to call it off. But it was a direct order from the King himself, not their missing Captain—Luche didn’t want to suspect that Drautos was MIA due to his involvement—and if he was wrong there would be hell to pay for ignoring such an order.

Luche tried to clear his mind as he went through the motions of suiting up. Pauldron faithfully cinched to his shoulder, a proud lion poised to strike. Boots pulled up, buckled once, twice, three times for good measure. Matteo’s knives were around his thigh where they always were, a comforting pressure that he’d loath to be without. It wasn’t working. Luche’s mind was still a buzz of static and concern, fear oozing out of every pore. He was sure any one of the traitors in their midst could see him like a beacon, if Drautos hadn’t aready warned them. Did the Captain know that Crowe was still alive? That the body was a fake? Had he done anything to confirm the complete success of his assignment? Luche rolled his shoulders. He hoped Crowe was doing alright.

It was with little difficulty that Luche looked to Nyx and offered him main command. Not only had Nyx been the one that had searched out the infiltration details, the one who demanded they be deployed, but Luche couldn’t see what to do. Worry and fear clouded his way. To try and direct the rest of the Glaive would be like a blind man trying to lead the seeing. He was not that much of a fool to lead them recklessly.

There was tension in the air that could’ve been cut with a knife and Luche felt it like a brick in his stomach. Only a portion of the glaives returned his battle cry and the other half shifted their feet or just watched. Tredd was among the latter and the very realization sent something cold down Luche’s spine. He swallowed and for once he might have even prayed, begging that he was only imagining everything.

What a fool he was to push something so obvious to the back of his mind.

That moment had been when the ice had begun to form in his chest, and he begged it to be his imagination. His magic all but failed him again, his warp off by several feet, putting him behind the others by several moments as he waited for his stomach to settle before warping again. He arrived in the lower decks just as the Nif troopers began running to and fro as if alerted to their presence. Fingers taut on his kukri, Luche tapped his comm to report to Nyx, all the way on the other ship. He’d already heard Pelna’s report about the princess being held there on that ship, so why was the enemy coming to life here?

Luche didn’t hear anything of the exchange between Pelna and Nyx, catching sight of another Glaive and darting in their direction. The tactician pulled short immediately when he saw Tredd pulling his blade free from the other’s chest, shoving the body aside. The sight was so unexpected that for a moment his breath hitched in his chest, and Luche had to recalculate if he was even alive.

“What the hell?” he hissed. The MTs behind Tredd moved to aim their weapons at Luche and he pulled his kukri up, ready for a fight, still sure that the blade wouldn’t stop their bullets. He was trying to decide whether he had it in him to warp once again, he wasn’t sure–if he was completely honest with himself–not after he’d completely missed the ship. But…life or death, he might not have a choice.

“You didn’t see this one coming?” Tredd had the gall to laugh at him and some part of Luche didn’t begrudge him the jest. How could he have missed everything that had been right in front of him? He had bided his time too long trying to get to the center of this conspiracy. He had given his glaives the benefit of the doubt. To betray the King, to betray their home, to betray him—it had been unthinkable.

“The Empire! You threw in with them?” The question seemed almost redundant, but he couldn’t keep himself silent in the moment unfolding around him. Six knows how long they had served together, Tredd had always been temperamental but this–

“You did too, pretty boy, or did Drautos forget to tell you that when he ordered Crowe’s death?” Tredd had that damned smile on his face, hand moving in a flourishing wave as if this was nothing more than another every day talk—not words about treason or the sharp bitter sting of it all.

Luche ground his teeth together at the suggestion, not sure if it was safe to give away that Crowe was still very much alive—at least as far as he knew. The glaive clenched his hand tighter around his weapon afraid that he’d drop it in the emotion threatening his functions. He had tried to keep from suspecting Niflheim’s hand in the would-be betrayal, had hoped that it was just a mutiny against the King without outside influence.  The bitterness that swept over him was overwhelming as he allowed everything to fall into place before him. Understanding had never made him feel so disgusted.

“I followed the Captain’s orders, not theirs,” he snapped, each word clipped as if he was biting them out. But even the thought that Drautos would send him on a mission for their enemy sickened him.

“You got a choice to make here, Luche,” Tredd pressed, making very deliberate steps into Luche’s space and pressing a forceful finger into the other’s chest. “You’ve always been one of us rats, no matter how hard you try to pretend you’re not.”

Luche swiped the other glaive’s hand away with his free hand, glaring. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this much anger boiling in his skin. Tredd smirked, pleased at getting a rise out of the other and began to move away again. “We will never be anything to them, the Nifs—“

“They stole everything from us!”

Tredd glanced at him, smile gone as he retorted, “And the King did nothing!”

Luche grit his teeth. He already knew there was no arguing with the other, this betrayal was already in motion and Tredd had already made up his mind. Lowering his stance slightly, Luche flipped his kukri forward in a threat. Tredd blinked in surprise and then smirked, Luche thought he even heard him sigh. Perhaps the other had hoped Luche would join them, the thought both pained and disgusted him.  

“Here I thought you were the smart one,” Tredd teased, starting to back away, disappearing out of the nearby hatch.

Luche moved as the bullets started flying, visor falling into place, hand lifting, a shock of lightning knocking the troopers back. He gave a sharp gasp at the burning feeling that streaked from his fingertips and through his chest, and then shoved the pain aside. Sprinting past the collapsing robots, he darted after his traitorous companion.

He knew better–he never ran headfirst into anything. Distraught and confused, he wasn’t thinking clearly—he wasn’t thinking at all. Tredd was waiting for him around the corner and easily shoved the glaive right over the side of the railing.

Luche didn’t waste the effort to try and slow his descent by warping, his stomach was still reeling from the thunder spell he’d used to take down the MTs and he didn’t have the time. He laid his blade flat against his body and turned a bit, letting himself slam into the landing with a force that rattled through his bones. He shoved the pain back, telling himself to deal with it later, when—if—he survived. He hesitated, glancing up to look for his assailant and seeing no sign of the smirking redhead. Luche glanced back down, analysing everything unfolding around him.

Think before acting, he reminded himself. The sting of betrayal was clouding his mind and he wasn’t sure if he was more disappointed in the glaives or himself. This changed nothing. Survive. Complete the mission. His teeth dug into his lip. Who was he kidding—this changed everything.

Before him was a choreographed dance of glaive against glaive, brothers in arms, a training session and nothing more. What a beautiful lie that would be. Luche took in a sharp breath, his gaze lifting to the glaive approaching him, weapon at the ready.

“Don’t do this,” he warned. Luche’s weapon-hand was shaking, body drained by magic, heart unready to take the path before him. He didn’t want to kill any one of the glaives—his glaives. He told himself he’d sent them to their deaths dozens of times before, this was no different.

I am the King’s sword.

A telltale smirk stretched across the glaive’s face beneath the visor and Luche closed his eyes, tightening his grip and exhaling slowly.

I do not think.

Eyes opening, Luche rushed forward, kukri pulled back.

I only strike.

He swiped his kukri across the glaive’s chest, spinning round and kicking him away from the fray. Luched moved past him, taking the place of another glaive as they fell, blade clashing with the killer’s blade. He shoved the traitor with his armoured shoulder and heard a pained exhale of air but little else. Luche stepped back as the other slashed at him, kukri lifted to block. He expected to receive another swipe from the other’s blade, but was startled as the other grabbed out, securing a grip in Luche’s uniform. Luche didn’t have the time to pull away or react before blade tore through flesh, his attacker’s kukri shoving through belt and vest and jacket and straight between his ribs. Luche’s eyes widened, a soft gasp of pain escaping him as the other held him there, kukri buried in his side. He saw through the other’s visor, eyes meeting with Axis Arra’s for this brief moment, nothing said, only shown in the complete and utter anguish behind Luche’s features.

Luche’s hands shook, reaching out to try and grab onto the other. He couldn’t speak, just breathing seemed to move the blade uncomfortably, ripping through muscle and flesh some more. I trusted you. They had always been his glaives, his family. He would have given the world for each and every one of them and they had killed him.

Then the moment was over, the kukri being ripped free like a thorn and Luche felt himself falling, gasping for air as darkness swarmed over him.

You’re okay, Luche, you’re going to be okay. Just breathe.

Luche’s eyes struggled open, hoping to see the familiar face staring back at him, but he saw nothing and the bitterness swelled in him again.

“Gotta move,” he bit out, words hoarse and weak. He clutched a hand to his side and forced his way to his feet. The traitors were already gone, moving away in the distance and he turned the other direction, making his way back towards the transport ships. The mission was still priority, treason or no. Nyx surely wouldn’t be in on this and they’d both need all the help they could get to escape. Hopefully, the princess and their hero was still in one piece.

“Not a diversion, my ass,” he coughed.

For once, he wished he’d been wrong.

[nightiingaled]

death drabble | @altrxisme - Luche

He’s not in the greatest shape. A laughable concept considering the day’s events. Luche had BARELY managed to slow his descent from the sky with a harried teleport, but the balcony he’d landed in had still done quite a number on him. Not to mention the damage Axis had done on the ship. He was still bleeding a good deal from his chest, crimson red beginning to be visible in the tears in his uniform. But he’d pulled himself up and away from that house and onto the street. Somehow.

Bleeding, bruised and broken – that’s how the Nifs had found him – stumbling along numbly. He already knew what he’ll find - who they were taking him to see. Maybe he could have stopped this all if he’d only accepted the truth. He goes with them, too heartbroken to fight back.

“Captain…” They do not speak then. Drautos waved another glaive over to see to Luche’s wounds. There’s more for me to do, Luche decided. He wanted to speak to the other glaive, to ask how they could go along with this HORROR? But he couldn’t find the words.

Drautos returned to find him weakly leaning against a large piece of rubble, head hanging low. “I need you to meet Nyx at Section D and retrieve the ring.” He outstretched a hand, holding a gun for Luche to take. “I can’t do this anymore….sir.”

“Yes you can.” The voice was firm, unyielding. Luche had always respected – even craved – that from his Captain. A steadfast form to lead them against an immovable enemy. As a boy it had made Drautos his hero. Now, it made him his enemy.

Slowly, Luche pulled himself to his feet. He was unsteady at first, swaying and feeling his bones practically GROAN amongst the distant pain. The gun was held with the trigger turned towards him, ready to grab – ready to use. He could try – he could go down fighting.

He wouldn’t win.

“No.” Luche looked Drautos right in the eyes, equally as steadfast as the man he had looked up to all these years. An understanding was passed between them in that moment. He was not to be swayed. “I will not betray my glaive.”

“Pity.” And Luche knew what choice had been made. Even as Drautos turned away he knew his mind had already been made up, that what came next was inevitable.

Luche didn’t even feel it.

Drautos – no he’s something else now – held the sword in place for several moments, long enough for Luche to get a close look at the grooves leading into armor and cloth and skin. Blood sputtered from his lips and he exhaled sharply. But he smiled, weak muscles uplifting his lips.

“For hearth…and…home.”

[nightiingaled]

death drabble | @lastglaivestanding [Luche]

"Are you sure about this Luche?"

The Glaive was sorting through his pack one last time, methodically checking each and every pouch to ensure everything was in it's place. "Captain's orders." He sounded solemn when truly he was afraid. He couldn't let on to a fellow Glaive as much though.

They gave him a sideways look. "Yeah captain's orders--But..." They're voice dropped low, "Luche last time you almost didn't come back."

Luche froze. The terror that had already crawled it's way under his skin flared to life like a cold flame. "I remember." He didn't mean to sound so abrasive with his tone, but he had no other recourse to avoid giving away his true feelings. Of course he remembered his capture, but the Captain said jump and Luche said 'how high'.

A cleared throat and the other Glaive changed the subject. They reached for a lovely jeweled hairpin that Luche was checking off into the bag. "Oh yes, this is absolutely your color."

Luche's features burned bright red and he coughed, shaking his head. "It's a gift...for the princess," he said softly, "But keep that to yourself."

"The princess!"

Luche gave them a stern look and they subsided. "Please...promise me you'll come back."

"You know I can't."

"Just this once."

"I promise."

. . .

The taxi dropped him off outside the city, a motorcycle waiting exactly where mission parameters stated it would be. He was watching the area closely as the taxi drove off, casting his eyes around to see if he'd been followed. Nearby movement grabbed his attention as another van turned the corner, dark grey in color it turned at the stop sign and started down towards Luche.

He stiffened in preparation for a fight, but the van drove on past and disappeared into the horizon. Luche gave himself a wry chuckle, shaking his head. Paranoid...

The sound was barely seconds ahead of the pain, a loud noise that echoed in the empty expanse. The pain tore through his back, not once, but two more times as the bullets struck home. Luche collapsed over the bike in agony, feeling someone grab his collar and toss him to the ground.

He met death with his eyes open - staring his killer down as one final bullet took his life.