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splendidlyimperfect · 3 years

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critical hit - chapter 4 [make a wisdom saving throw]

When Sting tells Natsu that one of his friends from school is going to be joining their weekly Dungeons & Dragons game, Natsu isn’t impressed - their table is already full. But while Natsu and Gray’s in-game characters clash completely, Natsu finds that real-life Gray might not be that bad after all.

Chapter Summary: The final session of D&D is upon them, and surprising sacrifices must be made. .

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Pairings: Natsu/Gray, Sting/Rogue

Tags: Modern AU, Dungeons & Dragons, Role-Playing Games, Awkward Flirting, ADHD Natsu, Geek Gray

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The rest of the week flew by in a blur of flirty texts, silly Snapchats, and a sushi date on Tuesday evening. Now it was Sunday, and Natsu and Gray were standing in the entrance to the basement, holding hands while Sting raised an eyebrow at them.

“Finally!” He grinned. “Glad my subterfuge worked.”

“Shut all the way up,” Natsu grumbled, waving his notebook in Sting’s direction. “You’re an asshole.”

Sting picked up a Skittle from the bowl in front of him and tossed it at Natsu’s forehead. “I’m an asshole that got you a date,” he insisted. “I believe what you meant to say is ‘thank you.’”

Natsu rolled his eyes before turning to Gray and kissing him on the cheek. “Ignore him,” he said quietly, smiling at the pink flush that crept across Gray’s face. “He’s always a dick.”

“I know,” Gray said, laughing at Sting’s mock outrage behind Natsu’s back. “But he’s also right.”

“See?” Sting kicked Natsu’s ankle as he let go of Gray’s hand and settled down at his spot at the table.

“And how long did it take you to decide to ask Rogue out?” Natsu asked, setting his dice bag on the table and raising an eyebrow at Sting. “Six months? Seven?”

“Over a year,” Rogue interjected from his spot at the end of the table. “Technically we knew each other for almost three years before he said anything.”

“Look,” Sting started indignantly, but was saved from having to explain himself by the arrival of Erza. Everyone immediately sat up in their chairs, organizing their character sheets and pulling out dice as she dropped her books on the table.

“Are we ready?” she asked as she settled down in her chair. The excited look on her face made Natsu grin, and he could see the feeling was mutual when he looked around the table. “Everyone remember what happened last time?”

“We freed the prisoners,” Gray said, tapping his pencil against the sheets of paper where he kept his notes. “But the summoning spell went off anyway, and we were—”

o.o.o.o.o.o

“—too late.”

The demon’s horns breached the portal, tearing through the reddish miasma as a foul black smoke filled the air. The stench of brimstone and burned flesh followed it and Gray coughed, covering his mouth with his sleeve.

“C’mon,” he said, grabbing Sting’s arm and nodding toward the wall. Natsu and Rogue were back by the door, herding the last of the prisoners to the stairs. Natsu turned around and made eye contact with Gray across the roof. His expression was grim, and he was pressing his hand over his side where a reddish stain was spreading through his robes.

“We can’t let this thing get out,” Sting insisted, pulling his arm out of Gray’s grip. “If it makes it through the summoning circle, we’re fucked.” He gestured to the lines of blood that had been painted along the rooftop. The sight of that – and the pile of corpses that were lying next to the tree – made Gray’s stomach churn.

“I can’t do much else,” he said, flexing his fingers as he dug deep for his magic. The well of power that usually surged through him was barely there. “I don’t have any offensive spells left.”

Sting looked back to Rogue and Natsu, then hefted his greatsword and turned back to the monster. “We have to do something. I’ll keep it busy; you take care of those three. If you can take them out, it should weaken this bastard enough to kill it.” He gestured to the three cultists standing by the portal before saying a quiet prayer under his breath and charging toward the demon.

Gray couldn’t help but stare in awe as he watched Sting’s charge. Brilliant white light burst from his blade as he swung it at the beast, gouging through its tough hide and causing it to howl in pain. The magic made Sting look holy and ethereal. Rogue appeared next to him – the dark to Sting’s light – keeping the creature distracted while Sting swung at it again.

“Hey.” Gray turned to see Natsu standing beside him, still holding his side and breathing heavily. “We’ve got those guys, hey?”

“You’re bleeding,” Gray said, reaching out to grab Natsu’s wrists. Natsu shook his head and pushed Gray’s hand away.

“I’ll be fine. We don’t have much time.” He nodded at the group of cultists, who were starting to move toward them. “I’ve only got a fireball left,” he admitted. “That won’t take all of them out. You?”

Gray shook his head. “I can portal us out of here and that’s about it.” He looked down at the bag on his hip, quickly trying to think of anything that could get them out of this mess. The only thing he could find was the dagger at his hip, and he didn’t have much faith that it would get him very far.

“Wait a minute,” Natsu said. “I have an idea.”

o.o.o.o.o.o

“What would happen,” Natsu asked slowly, staring at his spell list, “if we cast a fireball inside a cube of force?”

Erza raised her eyebrow at him from behind her screen but didn’t answer.

“I hate that look,” Sting said. “It either means this is gonna be great, or we’re absolutely fucked.”

“I’ve got a plan,” Natsu insisted.

Rogue scoffed as he took a sip of his iced coffee. “If it’s anything like your last plan, we’re gonna TPK right here.”

“We’re not all gonna die,” Natsu insisted. He pointed to an item in his character’s inventory – the Cube of Force. Gray wasn’t sure where he’d picked it up, but he’d only seen it a few times before. Pressing a button on one side of the magic cube summoned an impenetrable forcefield around the user, keeping them safe from all magic spells coming from outside. Or, Gray supposed, trapping them with a spell inside.

“It’s fifteen feet on each side,” Natsu said. “We just gotta trap all three of them in there and toss a fireball inside before they activate it.”

“Why would they do that?” Sting countered. “You’re just gonna throw the cube to them and say ‘hey, press this magic button, it’ll be fine?’”

Natsu hummed, then looked up at Gray. “Do you have the ‘suggestion’ spell?” he asked. “You could try to compel them to do it.”

Gray nodded. “That won’t work if we try to get them to hurt themselves, though.”

“They don’t know it would hurt them. You’d just be suggesting that they push the button on this very fancy cube that’s being thrown at them. It could be a jack-in-the-box for all they know.”

“We’d have to be within thirty feet for that,” Gray said. “If it doesn’t work, we’re kinda fucked.”

“We’re fucked anyway if we do nothing,” Natsu countered. “Do you—”

o.o.o.o.o.o

“—trust me?” Natsu’s expression was sincere as he gazed into Gray’s eyes.

Gray nodded slowly, digging into his reagent pouch and pulling out the necessary ingredients for the spell. He crushed them in his right hand, taking a quick peek at Rogue and Sting over Natsu’s shoulder. Sting looked exhausted and battered, wiping blood out of his eyes that dripped from a deep cut on his forehead. Baphomet’s hide was stained red and covered in deep gouges, and the demon roared as Gray watched Rogue clamber up onto its back and stab both daggers into its neck.

“Ready?” Natsu’s voice pulled Gray’s attention back, and he looked down to see Natsu holding out a bloodstained hand. Gray took it, squeezing it tightly before turning back toward the cultists.

“Ready,” he said quietly.

“Catch!” Natsu shouted, tossing the cube at the cultists as they charged forward. The leader stumbled to a halt as he caught it out of instinct, staring down at the strange object with his brow furrowed.

“Suadeant,” Gray whispered under his breath as he took a step closer, still gripping Natsu’s hand tightly. Sweat dripped down his forehead and the back of his neck, and his heart pounded as he stared down the cultists. “Praecepta mea.”

The cultist looked up at him, eyes wide, and Gray’s chest flared with hope for a second. Then the man’s lip curled up in a wicked grin, and he shook his head.

“You think you can fool me with your cheap tricks?” the man shouted, tossing the cube to the ground with a snort of disdain. “I am Ezrael, he who summoned the Prince of Beasts, the Horned King. I will not be deceived by the likes of you.”

“Fuck.” Natsu’s palm trembled against Gray’s. “Shit, fucking, fuck.”

“I can get us out of here,” Gray said, taking a step back and holding out a trembling hand. The air sparked and glimmered as a dimensional portal began to form. “We can’t do anything else – just fireball them and hope for the best.”

“It’s not gonna be enough,” Natsu said, tugging at Gray’s grip on his hand and looking across the battlefield. Rogue was on his back in the dirt now, still conscious but breathing heavily, with his arm at an unnatural angle. Sting stood against the door that the prisoners had escaped through, sword shaking in his hands as he fought against pain and exhaustion. “Sting’s gonna die unless we kill them.”

Gray looked on helplessly as Baphomet took a step toward Sting and hefted its enormous glaive in one hand, then brought it down in a powerful arc. Sting parried the blow, dropping to one knee as he fought against the might of the enormous beast. Baphomet knocked the sword from Sting’s hands, sending it clattering across the roof as it wrapped its claws around Sting’s neck and lifted him into the air.

“I’m sorry.” Natsu squeezed Gray’s hand and let go, giving him a regretful look.

“For…” Gray trailed off, one hand still casting the dimensional portal, the other trying to take Natsu’s again. Natsu shook his head, then surprised Gray by leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“For this,” Natsu said softly as he pulled back and gave Gray a sad look. Then he shoved Gray as hard as he could, knocking him back through the portal.

o.o.o.o.o.o

“What the hell?” Gray stared at Natsu, who was looking at his dice with an uncharacteristically solemn expression on his face. “Can I make a Strength check to counter that?”

Erza nodded and Gray rolled, cursing when his dice landed on an 11 and Natsu rolled an 18.

“What are you doing?” he asked Natsu. Sting and Rogue were also staring at him with twin looks of surprise.

“Saving you,” Natsu said. He kicked gently at Gray’s ankle under the table. “The plan didn’t work, so either we all die, or one of us does.” He looked up at Sting. “If I take the cultists out you can kill it, right?”

“I do only have… sixteen hit points left,” Sting admitted. “If I can get one good hit in, I might be able to banish it. I have to do fifty points of damage in a turn, but if it drops me and I can get my sword…”

“Well,” Natsu said, pulling out a pile of six-sided dice to roll the fireball’s damage. “Hopefully this works.”

o.o.o.o.o.o

“Natsu!” Gray’s shout was cut off, and he had no time to react as the magic ported him away, carrying him safely across the rooftop until he was crouched next to Rogue. He watched with horror as Natsu turned and ran toward the cultists. “Natsu, no!”

Natsu ignored him, dodging the first cultist and dropping to his knees to pick up the cube. He turned and gave Gray one more soft smile before pressing the button.

“No,” Gray whispered. The walls of force sprang into life, trapping Natsu in the cube with the cultists. All three of them were still for a moment, staring at Natsu in disbelief, and then the bright light in his hand expanded into an enormous ball of flame.

The explosion was eerily silent, muffled by the magical forcefield. It filled the cube in brilliant shades of orange and red, engulfing everyone inside in Natsu’s raw power. An enormous wave of magic exploded across the rooftop, washing over Gray and Rogue on its way to Baphomet.

“No,” Gray whispered again as the cube began to dissipate. The flames slowly died out, leaving behind three charred corpses and a pile of smoldering robes.

“Sting!” Rogue’s panicked shout snapped Gray out of his haze of grief, and he turned to see Baphomet stumble forward and release its grip on Sting’s throat. Sting fell to the ground on all fours, gasping and choking for air. His sword lay on the ground, just out of reach.

Gray stumbled to his feet, keeping an eye on Baphomet, who was still dazed from the death of its summoners. He darted toward Sting, grabbing the hilt of the sword and dragging it across the ground.

“Get up,” he said, grabbing Sting’s shoulder and pushing him to his knees. Sting coughed, then sucked in several deep breaths before nodding and reaching out for his blade.

“I’ve got this,” he said, voice hoarse. “Get behind me.”

Gray nodded, still dazed, and scrambled back against the door as Sting hefted the sword in both hands and murmured a few quiet words. The length of the blade burst into brilliant white flames that flickered as Sting took a deep breath and charged.

Gray watched with a deep sense of relief as the blade sunk directly into Baphomet’s chest. The demon howled in pain, swinging wildly at Sting, who dodged the blows and drove the blade deeper.

“Protero!” Sting shouted as another wave of holy magic radiated from him, spiraling out from the sword and creeping across Baphomet’s skin. It quickly engulfed the demon, growing brighter and brighter until—

o.o.o.o.o.o

“The holy magic and your deadly blow are enough to rip through the magic holding Baphomet to this plane.” Erza looked around the table, giving each of them a significant look. “As the tether that binds the demon dissolves and it disappears, a heavy silence settles across the rooftop. The shouts and screams of battle are gone, and all you can hear is the wind blowing through the branches of the horrible, flesh-like tree.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Sting swore, dropping his head into his hands and exhaling. “That was intense. I was sure we were all gonna d—” He caught himself, looking over at Natsu, who was staring at his dice with an uncomfortable expression on his face. The spot on his character sheet to track his health read ‘Hit Points – 0/93.”

“You’re not dead yet,” Rogue said quickly. “Sting can—”

Sting shook his head. “I’m out of healing spells,” he said regretfully. “I used my last slot on that banishment. And we’re all out of healing potions.”

“Yeah, and this is my last death saving throw,” Natsu said. He glared at his dice. “I failed the first two, so if this one fucks up…” He looked up at Gray. “I’m dead for good.”

o.o.o.o.o.o

Gray groaned, pushing himself to his feet and trying not to focus on the aches that crept across his body. He still felt dizzy but managed to lock his gaze on the motionless pile of robes on the other side of the rooftop.

“You’re bleeding.” Sting’s voice was muffled, and Gray blinked at him, still trying to clear his head. “You should sit down.” When Sting’s hand landed on Gray’s shoulder, he pushed it off, shaking his head and taking another uncertain step forward.

“I gotta…” He trailed off, looking back over at Natsu’s body. “I…”

Sting’s expression twisted into guilt as he followed Gray’s gaze. “Shit,” he whispered. He looked down at Rogue, who had managed to shuffle himself against the wall of the building. Rogue nodded, gesturing for them to go to Natsu. “C’mon,” Sting said, grabbing Gray’s arm and wrapping it around his shoulders.

Each step across the rooftop ached. When they finally reached the charred circle where the fireball had gone off, Gray dropped to his knees. Sting helped him to roll Natsu onto his back and Gray brushed pieces of singed hair out of his face. His forehead and cheek were badly burned, and his arms were blistered, and Gray stared helplessly at his chest, willing it to move.

“You idiot,” Gray managed through the tears that were starting to form. His throat was thick with smoke and emotion. “You stupid fucking… we could have figured out something else.” He ran his fingers down Natsu’s arm and took his hand, squeezing it gently.

“He saved us,” Sting said gently. He was crying too, tears making tracks through the dirt and blood on his face. His hands trembled as he pressed them to Natsu’s chest, but his magic only flickered dimly. “I can’t heal him. I’m sorry.”

o.o.o.o.o.o

“Here goes nothing.” Natsu picked up his twenty-sided die – bright red, flecked with gold – and shifted it between his fingers a few times before tossing it into the center of the table.

The room was eerily silent as the dice rolled. Gray’s chest was tight with the emotions of the roleplay – despite it not being real, the thought of Natsu sacrificing himself for everyone made him desperately sad.

“C’monnnn,” Natsu whispered under his breath. The dice spun once more, then landed next to Gray’s coffee cup – on a 20.

o.o.o.o.o.o

“It’s not your fault,” Gray reassured Sting, who slumped down onto his knees as well. “It was his cho—”

Natsu’s hand twitched in his.

Gray looked down, eyes widening as Natsu’s fingers trembled, then weakly wrapped around his own. Natsu’s chest rose with a shallow, shuddering breath, and relief and joy flooded through Gray as his eyes slowly fluttered open.

“Did…” Natsu’s voice was raspy as his gaze tracked from Sting to Gray. “Did it… work?”

“Yes,” Gray squeezed his hand tightly. “Yes, you stupid fucking idiot. Don’t you dare ever do anything like that again, you absolute moron.” The angry words were tempered by a wet laugh of relief. Gray ran a thin layer of ice across the burns on Natsu’s face and arms and he sighed in relief. “Can you move? We should get out of here.”

“Ugh.” Natsu took another shallow breath and tried to push himself up on his elbow. When he wobbled unsteadily, Gray put an arm around his shoulders and helped him up.

“I’m gonna go get Rogue,” Sting said. “I’m glad you’re alive. Thank you.” He squeezed Natsu’s shoulder, giving him a grateful look before heading back over to the other side of the roof.

Gray pulled Natsu as close as possible, being careful to avoid his wounds. “You’re an idiot,” he said again. “I thought you were dead.”

“I thought I was too,” Natsu admitted. He sighed and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Gray’s shoulder. “I’m glad I’m not, though.”

“Me too,” Gray whispered before nudging Natsu’s chin up and kissing him.

Natsu made a soft, happy sound, returning the kiss and gripping Gray’s robes as tightly as he could. “Gray—”

“Shut up.” Gray shook his head and kissed Natsu again. “You’re not dead and neither am I so just shut the hell up and kiss me.”

o.o.o.o.o.o

“Gaaaaaaaaaay,” Sting whispered, laughing as Natsu punched him in the shoulder. He was still looking at Gray with pink cheeks and the widest smile Gray had ever seen.

“You all make your way slowly down the stairs,” Erza interrupted, “supporting each other as you limp back out into the forest. The dark clouds begin to part as the sun breaks through, filling you with hope and warmth. Despite your wounds and your exhaustion, you are content, knowing that your quest was fulfilled, and you saved the world from a hellish nightmare.” She closed her notebook with a flourish. “And that’s the end of that campaign!”

“That was awesome,” Sting said. “I can’t believe we all survived.”

“Barely,” Rogue added. “Pretty sure my arm was about to fall off.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t get blown up,” Natsu said indignantly.

“I believe that was your choice,” Rogue said, laughing. “And you got a kiss out of it.”

“Worth it,” Natsu agreed.

The rest of the evening was spent laughing at each other and retelling the best parts of their adventures, and by the time everyone was ready to leave, it was almost one in the morning.

“Hey.” Natsu caught Gray’s hand as he started to head upstairs after the other three. “Do…” He hesitated, looking at the floor. “Do you wanna stay? I mean, I can drive you home if you want, of course, I just thought—”

“Yes.” Gray waited until Sting, Rogue, and Erza were up the stairs before pulling Natsu close and kissing him. He ran a hand through Natsu’s hair, brushing his messy bangs out of his face and bumping their noses together. “But this time we get to sleep in your bed instead of the couch.”

Natsu laughed, kissing Gray’s cheek and nudging him upstairs. “Deal,” he said.

Once everyone was gone, it didn’t take long to get ready for bed. Gray yawned as he shifted over, letting Natsu curl up next to him with his head resting on Gray’s shoulder. He made a soft sound as Natsu slipped a hand under his shirt, tracing gentle circles on his hip.

“I’m glad Sting invited me to play with you guys,” Gray said quietly, tipping Natsu’s chin up to kiss him again. Natsu sighed contentedly and cuddled closer as he ran his tongue along Gray’s lower lip.

“Me too,” he murmured between kisses. “And I can’t wait for the next adventure.”

#fairy tail #gratsu #stingue #gray fullbuster #natsu dragneel #sting eucliffe #rogue cheney #erza scarlet #fanfic #ft fanfic #d&d #dungeons & dragons #fluff #critical hit #new chapter #update #completed fic #my fic

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lobster-tales · 4 years

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College AU - Rangshi

This is for the first day of the Winter ATLA Femslash Week! This work is available here on AO3.

Prompt: Kiss/First Kiss or College AU

Yun invited Kyoshi to join the university's fencing club. He forgot to mention that the sabre coach's daughter was hot.

When Kyoshi entered the practice gym for the first time, she didn’t expect the noise. Voices of students and referees mingled with sneakers scraping on the floor. The most unique sound, however, was the clash of the fencing weapons. She had thought the swords would clang together harshly, like in the movies. Instead, they met with hollow clunks.

A small group of students sat on the bleachers, taking a water break. Many of them were looking her way, curious but not wanting to approach. Kyoshi inhaled deeply, forcing herself to walk towards them. As she got closer, more of the students looked up. She heard the whispers; “Holy shit she’s tall,” “Do you think she’s a professional?” “I hope she’s not a foilist.”

Kyoshi was used to being gawked at. She had a naturally intimidating presence, and most people used it as an excuse to avoid her. For Kyoshi, loneliness was like a knife in her side: less trouble to leave it be rather than let everything spill out.

“Foilists! Back on strip!” The students evacuated the bleachers, passing by a figure that barely surpassed her in height. The man’s face held lines that betrayed his age and good humor, chin blanketed by a long beard. He shot Kyoshi a grin, and relief flooded her system. “Hello there; you must be Kyoshi.”

“Yes,” she hesitated, unsure how to address him. “...Sir.”

The man let out a boisterous laugh. “You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ unless you’re in trouble. The rest of the time, you can call me Kelsang. I’m the foil coach.” He stuck out a large hand, and Kyoshi took it. “Yun was adamant that you’d be here, though I should tell you that practice started an hour and a half ago.”

Kyoshi felt warmth in her cheeks, and averted her eyes. “They… needed me to stay an extra hour in the kitchen.”

“Oh, so you’re a chef then?”

“... Dishwasher.”

He nodded respectfully. “Honest work.”

Kyoshi wanted to drop the subject. “Where is Yun?”

“He’s on strip now,” Kelsang said, indicating a duel that was taking place. “You want to watch?”

She followed Kelsang, surveying the gym as they stepped towards the center. She picked out three distinct practice groups. At the center, a team wore all white and held large weapons. The group behind her had smaller weapons, and silver vests over their white gear. The third team was still warming up at the back of the gym.

Kelsang noticed her evaluation. “How much did Yun tell you about fencing?”

“A little. I know he fences epee.” They joined a handful of students watching a duel. Two masked fencers stood directly across from each other. For each fencer, an electric cord plugged in beneath the large bell of the weapon, disappearing into the sleeve of their white jacket. The cord reappeared behind their bodies, pulled taut from a metallic box at the edge of the strip.

One of the fencers was stiff, awkwardly swiping the weapon up and down. His opponent was completely at ease, stance low to the ground as he casually knocked the other fencer’s attacks aside. Yep. There’s Yun.

Kelsang leaned over, explaining the basics. “There’s three weapons: foil, epee, and sabre. To put it simply, epee and foil are the swords that you stab with, while sabre hits from the side of the blade. Of the three, epee is the largest and heaviest.”

Yun’s opponent lunged, nearly losing their balance as Yun gracefully moved out of the way. The tip of his blade landed on the other fencer’s arm.

“Halt!” The voice belonged to a referee. He seemed to be similar in age to Kelsang, though his features were far more serious than the foil coach.

“That’s Jianzhu,” Kelsang said. “He’s our epee coach.”

Jianzhu called, “Counterattack arrives. 4-0.” The fencers readied themselves again. “En garde, prêt, allez!”

Kyoshi frowned. “Wait, what just happened?”

“Yun got the point, so they return to en garde and another round begins.” Kelsang smirked. “Usually, we just say ‘en garde, ready, fence’, but Jianzhu likes being pretentious.”

The statement earned Kelsang a glare from the referee, who quickly turned his attention back to the match.

Kelsang continued. “In epee, you score points from the tip of the weapon. You can hit your opponent anywhere on their body, as long as you hit them first.”

The other fencer went for Yun’s toes. Yun gracefully lifted his foot, stretching his leg and bringing his heel down in a lunge. His blade landed on the opponent’s arm.

“Halt!” Jianzhu called. “Attack no, counterattack arrives. 5-0, bout.”

The opponents removed their masks, reaching out with their left hands to shake. Yun looked towards Kyoshi, his eyes wide as he shot her a breathy smile. “You made it!” He unplugged his blade, passing the cord to another fencer. His messy bun flopped as he trotted towards her, eyes twinkling as he pulled her into an embrace. Despite the sweat, he smelled like warm spice.

“I’m here,” Kyoshi said stiffly, enveloping him in her tall form. She felt the eyes of the other students. No doubt several if not all of them had crushes on Yun, and here she was in his arms. Not that she blamed them; Yun was easy to fall in love with.

“Jianzhu,” Yun said, pulling back. He threw his hands wide, displaying Kyoshi in front of the coach. “This is Kyoshi! She’s the one I told you about.”

Jianzhu considered her, nodding courteously. “Kyoshi, welcome. We’ve been needing another epeeist, especially someone with a lot of…” He tried to put the words delicately. “... Reach.”

“Hey, I saw her first!” Kelsang chuckled. “I already claimed her for foil.”

“She can decide on her own!” Yun said indignantly, but leaned toward her to loudly whisper, “But epee is the best.”

Kyoshi smiled shyly. “If it’s alright, I would like to look at the other weapons.”

“Sure!” Yun pulled her away, calling back to Jianzhu, “I’ll be back!”

Foil was next. Yun showed her the lithe blade, explaining the basic rules. They watched several bouts before she asked, “What about the third one? I didn’t see another set of strips for them.”

Yun rolled his eyes, indicating the far end of the gym. “They’re just setting up now. Hei-ran keeps them doing warmups for most of the drill time.”

“Can we watch?”

“Of course!” Yun practically dragged her to the sabre area. “You’ve gotta watch one of Rangi’s bouts.”

“Rangi?”

“Yeah, she’s insane on strip.” He shrugged. “I mean, she’s the coach’s daughter, so it’s no surprise.”

An older woman with black hair eyed them as they approached. Yun introduced her as the coach, Hei-ran, before asking when Rangi would be fencing.

Hei-ran cocked an eyebrow. “She wasn’t planning on fencing today. She’s doing private lessons.”

Yun smirked. “Not if I can help it.” He briefly took Kyoshi’s hand. “Wait here.” Before she could respond, he was already jogging across the floor to two fencers, both in full gear.

Kyoshi stood beside Hei-ran, aware of the coach’s perfect posture. As a habit, Kyoshi slouched in an unsuccessful attempt to make herself smaller. Now, she mimicked the coach and straightened her back.

The two of them watched the sabrists set up the strip and change into their gear. Hei-ran glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “So, Kyoshi, have you ever fenced before?”

“No.” She hesitated, not wanting to relinquish more information than necessary, but she sensed Hei-ran would not be satisfied with the simple answer. “... Yun actually asked me to come.”

“And how do you two know each other?”

“We went to high school together. After graduation, he came to the university while I did my associate’s degree at community college.”

Hei-ran considered her. “A very responsible decision. Your parents must be proud.”

“Yeah…” Kyoshi pressed her lips together. “I uh… I actually don’t… have those…”

“Oh.” Hei-ran looked like she was uncertain whether to emote sympathy or not, and settled for, “All the more impressive.”

“Thanks.” Kyoshi shifted her weight. She hated feeling like a statistic. “And what about you?”

“My father was a fencer. I learned at a young age, much like my daughter. An injury prevented me from getting my A rating.” She noted Kyoshi’s confusion. “The US Fencing Association rates fencers from the lowest level, U which stands for unrated, to the highest level A.” Hei-ran nodded towards the strip, where a masked opponent stood across from Yun. “For context, Rangi is a C-rated fencer.”

“Ah.” Kyoshi watched as Yun donned a silver jacket over his white gear. Rangi was already sitting in a low stance, the cords plugged in to her gear. Yun finished hooking up his own weapon. He flashed Kyoshi a grin and placed the mask over his head.

Hei-ran cleared her throat. “Excuse me.” She moved to the strip, hands out to either side like a conductor. “Fencers, en garde. Ready. Fence.”

Kyoshi could have blinked and missed the attack. Her jaw dropped as Rangi immediately stood from her long lunge, turning her back to Yun as she returned to her starting position. Yun laughed, taking the point against him in good stride.

“Attack arrives, 1-0. En garde. Ready. Fence.”

This time, Kyoshi’s eyes kept up. Yun and Rangi lunged concurrently, clashing together.

“Halt! Simultaneous. No point. En garde, ready, fence.”

As the bout went on, Kyoshi made mental notes of the style of fencing. Unlike in epee and foil, there was very little back and forth, no hesitation. The three minute timer on the clock usually only ticked down a few seconds before the round was over.

“Halt! 1-4.”

Yun whooped and called, “See that, Kyoshi? I got her!”

Truthfully, she hadn’t seen the point, but gave him a thumbs up anyway.

“En garde, ready, fence.”

Both fencers took one step forward, but to Kyoshi’s surprise, Rangi moved back. Yun advanced cautiously, before he took a quick step and lunged, swiping at her arm. Rangi held out her weapon to block the attack with a parry, and Yun immediately retreated. Rangi advanced towards him slowly, flicking her blade up and down. Yun jolted a few times, anticipating an attack. Rangi kept pushing him towards the end of the strip, toying with him.

When Yun was at the edge of the strip, he lunged. Rangi was faster. She rushed him, her blade clicking against the top of his mask as she drove past him.

“Halt! Attack no, attack arrives. 5-1, bout.”

Kyoshi stared at the lights on the scoreboard. Green and red were both lit up, and she furrowed her eyebrows in thought. If both of them attacked at the same time, then why did Rangi get the point?

She looked up just as Rangi removed her mask, her cluttered mind blanking instantly.

Rangi’s black hair was cropped just above her shoulder, half of it pulled into a messy topknot. Her angular features were clean, and Kyoshi realized she hadn’t even broken a sweat during the entire match. As Rangi exhaled, her lips parted slightly. Kyoshi’s own breath caught in her throat at the sight. Rangi’s dark bronze eyes landed on her, and for a moment, Kyoshi thought she might fall to her knees.

Rangi reached out to shake Yun’s hand. He took her fingers in his, tilted her hand, and kissed her knuckles. Kyoshi stiffened as he did so. Part of her had always been envious of Yun’s good looks, his ease with people, but those feelings were nothing compared to the jealousy that ripped through her now.

As the fencers unhooked from the strip, Hei-ran noticed Kyoshi’s pallor. “Are you alright, Kyoshi? You look ill.”

“I- I’m fine.” Kyoshi regained her composure. “I was just… impressed by the... fencing.”

“I see.” Hei-ran’s voice held a fleeting compassion. “It can be daunting at first, but we’ll provide any training you need.”

Yun and Rangi both approached them. This would be the fourth time Yun had introduced her tonight. Kyoshi usually limited him to three at any given social event, but for some reason, she didn’t mind. “This is her, Rangi.”

The sabre fencer stuck out her hand. “Yun’s told me a lot about you.”

Kyoshi slowly took her hand. She wished she could mimic the way Yun had tilted her knuckles. She wanted to lay her own mark there.

Rangi gave her a strange look and she realized she’d been holding her hand too long. Kyoshi let go quickly. “Hi. Same.” She was telling the truth; Yun had told Kyoshi about a sabre fencer. He’d left out the part where she was drop dead gorgeous.

Yun threw his arms around both of their shoulders, reaching high to grab Kyoshi’s. “Practice is almost over, and Tuesdays are milkshake nights. The diner’s just across campus.”

The hour was getting late, and Kyoshi was exhausted from work. She felt, though, that there was no excuse strong enough to keep her from getting to know Rangi.

Huffing playfully, Rangi grumbled, “Fine, but I need to be in bed by midnight.”

***

At 2:00 AM, the three stumbled out of the diner doors. Yun dangled between Kyoshi and Rangi, clutching at his stomach. “Okay, maybe three milkshakes was too much.”

“You think?” Rangi growled. “Come on, where’s your dorm?”

They supported him for three blocks, finally resting outside the massive hall. Yun managed a weak salute before staggering inside the building. Once he was gone, the two dissolved into giggles.

Rangi shook her head fondly. “He is something else, huh?”

The same jealous feeling pricked Kyoshi, and her laughter was cut short. “Yeah… sure is.”

Stretching, Rangi asked, “You live on campus?”

“Yep. C Hall.”

“Perfect. I live in B. We’ll walk together.”

The streets of campus were well lit. Buildings towered around them, their purposes mysterious in the dark. Save for the occasional studious night owl, Kyoshi and Rangi were alone.

Rangi broke the silence first. “I know you didn’t get any practice time, but how did you feel about fencing?”

“It was cool.”

“... Would you be interested in coming back?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Rangi eyed her. Like her mother, she was never satisfied with the easy answer. “So how do you know Yun?”

Hei-ran had asked her the exact same question only hours before. Part of Kyoshi wanted to repeat her answer, but she fell prey to a stronger urge. She had already given away too much of herself tonight. “From high school.”

Though Kyoshi was nearly a head taller than her, Rangi had set a rapid walking pace. Kyoshi had finally adjusted to her speed, but when she glanced to her left, she saw Rangi was no longer beside her.

Rangi’s voice came from behind. “Do you have a problem with me?”

Kyoshi whipped around. Rangi glared at her intently, arms straight at her side. Kyoshi’s mind raced as she wondered what she had done to deserve such an aggressive response. “What?”

“You haven’t said more than three-word sentences to me all night.”

“Y-yes I have,” Kyoshi said feebly. She knew Rangi was right.

“You had no problem talking to Kelsang or my mom. So what is it about me? Did I do something?”

Dread clutched Kyoshi. The only way Rangi would have known about her conversations was if she had been watching her. Everyone was watching you, she told herself harshly. You’re impossible to miss. “No, you didn’t do anything at all, I just…”

“Just what?”

“I just…” Her mouth tried to sculpt her feelings into words. “I… think you’re cool.”

Rangi’s eyes widened slightly. She must have been prepared for something worse. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” The statement had been painfully simple, but Kyoshi felt more vulnerable now than she had all night.

“Well… I think you’re cool too.” Rangi spoke carefully, almost like she was afraid of spooking her. “Actually, I was really looking forward to meeting you. Yun talks about you all the time.”

“Right…” Kyoshi trusted Yun’s word, but this entire exchange would have been easier if she was a complete stranger.

“All good things,” Rangi said quickly. “Just that you’re… hardworking. And strong.”

Kyoshi wasn’t sure how to respond other than, “Cool.”

After a pause, Rangi cleared her throat. “We should get back to the dorms. It’s late.”

“Yeah.”

The rest of the walk passed in silence. Kyoshi almost preferred the lack of conversation. She wanted nothing more than to be near Rangi, close enough to feel the energy that radiated off of her.

Rangi halted once more, facing a stone building. “Here’s B Hall.” She glanced back at Kyoshi and offered a curt, “Goodnight.”

“Wait.” Rangi’s eyes pierced her, and Kyoshi realized she had said the word out loud. “Um… That last point… during your duel with Yun?”

“Bout. We don’t say duel.”

“Right, bout.” Kyoshi pressed her lips together, thinking. “Why did you get the point? You both hit at the same time, so wouldn’t it have been...” She struggled to recall the word Hei-ran had used. “Simultaneous?”

Rangi considered her wordlessly, and for a moment, Kyoshi was afraid she wouldn’t answer. At last, Rangi said, “In sabre, we have something called priority, or right of way. Essentially, it means offense and defense. It’s like… soccer. You know how in soccer, one team has the ball and the other has to defend?”

“Yes.”

“It’s like that. Right of way is like the invisible ball. So even if both fencers attack at the same time, whoever was on offense gets the point.”

They stood a few feet apart, directly in front of each other. Kyoshi took the last few seconds to memorize the lines of Rangi’s face. She wondered briefly if either of them had the right of way at this moment. The obvious answer was Rangi. Even though she’d only known her a few hours, Kyoshi recognized that Rangi always acted first.

“Well, goodnight, Kyoshi.” Rangi was about to retreat.

A heady mixture of exhaustion and night air spurred Kyoshi. She decided to take the moment, seize the offense back. She reached for Rangi’s hand. Before she could stop herself, Kyoshi lifted Rangi’s knuckles to her lips. “Goodnight… Rangi.”

Kyoshi saw her bronze eyes widen, but turned away before the rest of her face could react. She made for her own dormitory, walking with purpose but not with urgency. There was no sound but the wind in the black trees, the unfaltering steps of her own feet.

#winter atla femslash week #rangshi #college au #fencing au #kyoshi novels #my fic #atla fic #atla

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sephirothisaslut · 4 years

Text

I’m not fond of goodbyes... See you later?

The first time Cloud met the General was on an errand for Zack.

It was Sunday, and Zack had gotten drunk the day before. How he got drunk in the first place is a mystery, but Cloud suspects it’s just an excuse to sleep in. Zack sent him a rather long message via PHS apologizing to Cloud for the inconvenience, telling him to go to his mentor (Angeal) and explain Zack’s absence.

Rather annoyed with his friend, Cloud resorted with scolding him over the phone.

“Why can’t you text him? Do I really have to say it in-person? “

“Sorry Spiky but we were supposed to train today, and Angeal doesn’t allow phones in the training room.” Zack sounded sheepish. “look I’ll make it up to you. How about some Ice-cream? My treat!”

“Ugh, Zack you’re lucky I’m awake anyway. You know this is the only day Cadets can sleep in.”

“Yeah yeah, Thanks a lot Spike!”

“I hate you” Cloud said, hanging-up.

He gathered his bearings, woke himself properly and got dressed for the day.

Cloud made his way through the building and entered the elevator, pressing the SOLDIER floor. The building was rather quiet, save for the occasional pencil pusher. Seems like everyone slept in today, of course except Cloud. Grumbling at his predicament, Cloud exited the elevator and headed to the First-Class Training Room. He knocked and entered as the door slid open.

As he stepped inside, he froze. There in the middle of the room was the Silver General himself, arms crossed and clad in his usual attire. He lifted one eye-brow and spoke.

“What are you doing here Cadet?”, Sephiroth said with a snap.

“Se-Sir! Zack asked me to tell the Commander about his absence Sir!” Cloud replied in a salute.

“At ease Cadet. It seems that both of us are hear for the same reason.” Sephiroth explained with a smirk. “Angeal sent me to inform Zackary of his absence.”

“Sir?”

“Tell Zack that training is postponed today, Angeal was sent on a mission along with Genesis last night.”

“Ye-yes Sir!” Cloud said, still stiff and dazed.

“Cadet I told you ‘at-ease’, and today is Saturday is it not? You’re not on duty.”

“yes si- I mean yeah.” Cloud uttered while rubbing his neck, “Sooo, I should leave then…”

Sephiroth merely raised an eyebrow again and smirked, looking very amused.

“Yeah ok, um, see you later” Cloud said as he left, then tensed as he realized what he just said to ‘the fucking General.’

“Hmm, see you later Cadet” Sephiroth replied as he went through the door, leaving Cloud in an empty training room.

“Ughh Zack why do I have to go” Cloud grumbled, “I’m a Cadet, I’m not supposed to be hanging-out with SOLDIERS, much less the Gods-damned Top Three of Shinra!”

“Oh come one Spike, you’ll be fine. And besides you already met Angeal and Sephiroth that one time, and Genesis will probs be ok with you, so long as you don’t insult Loveless.” Zack said while dragging Cloud toward the SOLDIER Housing section.

“You could’ve at least told me earlier so I could’ve made some more Mashed Potatoes.” Cloud gestured to the container he was holding.

“Shush, stop being a worry wart and relax. Come on!” Zack sprinted as Cloud chuckled and jogged behind him.

It was a fairly warm evening, Angeal welcomed the two boys, and Thanked Cloud for his Mashed Potatoes ( to which Cloud responded with a stuttered “yo-Your welcome…”). Genesis was lounging on the couch reading Loveless, while across him was Sephiroth scanning Angeal’s CD collection for a suitable movie.

Noticing Cloud’s gaze, Sephiroth looked up and met his eyes.

“Ah it’s the Cadet, I assume you’re here with Zackary?”

“Yes Si-“

“I believe it’s Saturday, ease-up Cadet” Sephiroth said, referencing their first meeting.

“I-…Yes”

“Sephiroth don’t be a hypocrite, how can the boy relax if you keep calling him cadet?” Genesis chided, lowering his book to tease his friend.

“Hmmm, True. So Cadet, what’s your name?” Sephiroth asked, turning to Cloud.

“uh-Cloud Si-, I mean Cloud…Cloud Strife” Cloud stuttered with a slight blush.

“Cloud? Very unusual name.”

“Look who’s talking” Cloud whispered under his breath, turning to head to the kitchen to offer help to Angeal.

“Touché”

Cloud winced, he forgot about enhanced hearing. He looked over his shoulder to see if he’s offended the General somehow, and relaxed when he saw Sephiroth had returned his focus to the CD Collection.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he left to make sure Zack hadn’t burned whatever dish Angeal has tasked him to supervise.

After preparations and several dishes, the group settled in front of the TV and started their little movie marathon. Genesis sat beside Angeal, slightly leaning on the gentle giant. Zack was seated between Angeal and Cloud, while Sephiroth settled at Cloud’s other side.

A movie in and Cloud tried not the squirm, and he seems successful. He tried focusing on the movie and not the fact that he’s sitting next to Sephiroth. He peeked at the General and blushed as he met Sephiroth’s eyes.

“So, Strife. I take it training is hard?” Sephiroth asked with a small smirk.

“Yes si-…yeah, yeah it is.”

“Hmm, who is your drill sergeant?” Sephiroth asked with curiosity.

“Sir Ghi, he’s tough on us.”

“Why is that? I heard from the Thirds that he was a relatively moderate instructor”

“Ah, it might have something to do with Bunker 4” Cloud explained with a chuckle.

“Oh? What did they do?” Sephiroth leaned closer, now obviously invested in the story.

Cloud, now noticing that their shoulders are touching, was flustered.

“Th-they didn’t do anything” Cloud squeaked, “They started a rumor that apparently Sir Ghi had once tripped during a fight with a Zolom.”

Sephiroth merely continued looking at Cloud, his smirk now a smile.

“They said he face planted in the mud and had to call for reinforcements to help him.” Cloud continued, now a little relaxed.

“It’s true” Sephiroth laughed.

“No shit!?” Cloud blurted, surprised. “I-I mean, really?”

“Yes, I was the ‘reinforcement’ that was called. It was quite messy, he never accepted missions on Swamplands after that.”

“Oh Gods, I gotta share this with the rest of the guys.”

“It’s better if you don’t, I imagine once the story spreads, Sir Ghi will make your training regime much more painful.” Sephiroth said, turning back to the movie.

“Hmm, true.” Cloud hummed as he returned to the movie.

“Oh and Cloud?” Sephiroth said without looking

“yes sir?”

“Call me Sephiroth”

Cloud looked at him, shocked. He gaped, then slowly closed his mouth and turned back to face the TV.

“Sure…Sephiroth” Cloud said, leaning slightly on the General.

Cloud didn’t see but a satisfied and happy smile graced Sephiroth’s lip.

After 3 more movies and several snacks and meals, everyone agreed to call it a night. Genesis left for his apartment, Angeal and Cloud stood and left to wash the plates, Zack headed to the bathroom, and Sephiroth volunteered to fix the living room. Cloud emerged from the kitchen and Zack from the bathroom. Everyone said their goodnights, and farewells.

“Hey Angeal, we’re heading out now!” Zack yelled toward the kitchen

“Goodnight Zack” Angeal voice emerged with the sound of running water.

“Night Seph!” Zack addressed the General. To which Sephiroth responded with a nod.

“See you later Cloud” Sephiroth smiled as he passed the two.

“See you later, Sephiroth” Cloud responded with his own smile.

It had been months since Genesis defected, and weeks since Angeal had too. Zack and Sephiroth were saddled with the duties two Commanders with their normal workload. Adding to the stress, the President has tasked Sephiroth with bringing Genesis, and Angeal back.

Before he was to be deployed, Sephiroth called Cloud.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be out, but it will most likely take a few days. Three at least” Sephiroth explained.

“Hey it’s ok, I’ll be fine. Just stay safe yeah? Come back soon, and drag Genesis and Angeal back with you.” Cloud responded soothingly.

“I intend to, but I suppose I can’t blame them”

“…” “Sephiroth?”

“Yes?”

“Do you sometimes think about it?”

“About what?”

“Defecting” Cloud whispered, but then hurriedly supplied, “I-I mean I know Shinra doesn’t exactly have a safe environment, and I know their ethics are-“

“Cloud” Sephiroth’s voice cut through Cloud’s rambling.

“So-sorry I was just-“

“Cloud, I would never leave you.” Sephiroth said as both a reprimand and a promise. “You’re too important to me for that”

“o-oh”

“Cloud I love you”

“I love you too…I’m sorry I guess I’m just depressed from failing the SOLDIER exam and…”

“SOLDIER or not I still love you”

“…thank you, Seph.”

“Anyway, the transport is here…See you later?”

“hmm, yeah. See you later Seph”

Sephiroth snapped his PHS close, and turned sharply toward the chopper. He was determined to bring his friends back. And he was determined to return them even if he had to drag them by the ear, he had made a promise after all.

Cloud fought. And he intends to survive. He survived two Sephiroth clones, and Geostigma. He can survive this.

Several years since he had found himself atop the cliffs. Since he impersonated Zack. Since he lost his memories, and still missing a bulk mostly from his time in Shinra. He fought, and struggled. He held his ground as Sephiroth, the Calamity’s child, threw half the city at him. Cloud glided, jumped and dodged. He parried and slashed, hoping that this would be the last time he had to face this monster.

Cloud didn’t understand Sephiroth’s obsession with him. Perhaps it the Jenova cells, but there were times when Sephiroth’s gaze bore through him and saw something more than a puppet. Nevertheless, he still fought. Their blades met and sparked. Cloud cornered Sephiroth, finally using his Limit Break. First Tsurugi glowed and each individual sword floated and surrounded the World’s Enemy. Every strike hit his adversary where he intended.

Cloud landed, his blades followed, surrounding him. Sephiroth rose, his wing outstretched. And then…He fell.

Cloud rushed toward him, intending to finish the job. He stood beside the One-Winged Angel, and saw-for the very first time- his face devoid of insanity and madness.

Cloud was shocked. He looked closely at the monster he had been chasing and fighting, and saw only a man. Sephiroth looked at him, smiling with broken eyes. He didn’t sneer, he just smiled sadly. He spoke in a rough, scratchy voice.

“I’m sorry Cloud…I…I’m sorry” The man said, staring into Cloud’s eyes.

“Shut up Sephiroth! You have no right to ask for forgiveness” Cloud replied with a fierceness that made Sephiroth wince.

“I know…But even so, I still would like to try” Sephiroth pleaded, his eyes now looking at the grey, empty sky.

“After everything you did to the planet? To the world? Sorry isn’t going to cut it.” Cloud glared. How dare Sephiroth of all people.

“I’m not asking the planet’s forgiveness…I’m asking for yours”

“what?”

“I’m sorry I left Cloud. I’m sorry I believed Hojo over you and Zack. I’m sorry I broke my promise.”

“what are you- “

Cloud winced; his hand shot to his head. He’s seeing visions… memories? He doesn’t know. It feels different from Jenova. There was no pain, only surprise and confusion. What are these? Are these his or Zacks? No, it’s definitely Cloud’s. Then why…no…

“No…No..nonono” Cloud crashed to his knees, clasping Sephiroth’s hand.

“Cloud?”

“no no Seph please This can’t- .. You can’t” He gasped, still dazed from his recent memory rush. He pleaded and begged as Sephiroth slowly disappeared in flecks of black feathers and miasma.

“Cloud…”

“don’t..just not-“

“Cloud…I’m not fond of goodbyes…”

‘See you later?’

Cloud returned Sephiroth’s broken gaze. He squeezed his hand tighter, afraid to let go.

“You can’t-” He whispered as the hand he held turned into a single black feather. He bowed down, unmoving for minutes.

And at the very last second, Sephiroth finally broke Cloud.

Cloud woke up. His vision swam as his eyes focused on the Cadet barracks’ ceiling. His PHS was ringing. It was Zack.

“Why can’t you text him? Do I really have to say it in-person? “

“Sorry Spiky but we were supposed to train today, and Angeal doesn’t allow phones in the training room.” Zack replied sheepishly. “look I’ll make it up to you. How about some Ice-cream? My treat!”

“Ugh, Zack you’re lucky I’m awake anyway. You know this is the only day Cadets can sleep in.”

“Yeah yeah, Thanks a lot Spike!”

“I hate you” Cloud said, hanging-up.

Cloud stood and rose from his bed. It has been months since he was sent back, and this was the moment he had prepared for. After several minutes he was dressed. He applied his contact lenses (being sent back with his enhancements, meant that he had eyes that glowed like headlights). He headed to the elevator and pressed the button for the SOLDIER Floor. And just like last time, the building was quiet. He slowly walked toward the First-Class Training room, his knuckles hovering over the door. He breathed in, and out…Then, he knocked.

The door opened to reveal the Silver General. His back was turned, arms crossed. Cloud allowed himself to drink-in the sight. He was just as he remembered.

Sephiroth turned, his eyebrow rose.

“What are you doing here Cadet?”, Sephiroth said with a snap.

“Sir! Zack asked me to tell the Commander about his absence Sir!” Cloud replied in a salute.

“At ease Cadet. It seems that both of us are hear for the same reason.” Sephiroth explained with a smirk. “Angeal sent me to inform Zackary of his absence.”

“…” Cloud said nothing. He refused to.

“Tell Zack that training is postponed today, Angeal was sent on a mission along with Genesis last night.”

“Yes Sir!” Cloud replied

“Cadet I told you ‘at-ease’, and today is Saturday is it not? You’re not on duty.”

“Sir, even so, you are still my superior” Cloud strained to keep his voice from cracking.

Sephiroth merely raised an eyebrow again.

“I shall take my leave then Sir.” Cloud saluted and turned, “Goodbye…Sephiroth” he whispered, knowing this time, Sephiroth can hear him.

Perhaps he had been selfish. Waiting months before enacting his plan. Just to say goodbye.

He never looked back. He didn’t dare to. After rounding a corner…he fled. He ran from the tower. He ran from his old life. He ran and never looked back.

A year later, Sephiroth was sent to return Genesis and Angeal…He never came back.

A few months after Shinra’s General went AWOL, Avalanche had managed to kill the President. A gaping hole was left on the President’s chest, a single strike from Masamune. Meanwhile, Hollander remained slumped on his chair, a pool of blood under him. A blond man standing over him.

Several more months following President Shinra’s death, it rained in Midgar. Genesis’ and Angeal’s degradation cured, and Jenova was thrown into a pool of Great Gospel’s water. Sephiroth kills Hojo, and burns his corpse to ashes.

#sefikura #time travel #sephiroth #cloud #tragedy #fanfic #final fantasy #ff7 #ff7cloud #ff7 remake #im sad yall #no regrets #sephiroth x cloud

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enithinggoes · 3 years

Text

The witch’s teachings, lesson 6: Some planning, some action

Lesson 6- Some planning, some action

The next weeks were full of urgency, I was attempting to gain as much mastery as possible over the benefits of my pact in a short timespan. My lessons with the witch turned mostly to this subject temporarily, I discovered I could see perfectly in the dark, and over much longer distances than ever before. With the right amont of focus, I could even perceive the surface thoughts in people’s minds, but I found that if they became aware of it they could obfuscate intentions with proper concentration, something that Morgana already seemed to have some experience with. She proposed that I try and combine my enhanced vision and mind-reading to read an opponent’s movements, though I was still not nearly fast enough to parry her strikes consistently with my dagger.

On the more direct side of things, if I envisioned myself manipulating an object a few translucent apendages of iridescent coloring, apparently invisible and intangible to others, would manifest and delicately follow my instructions, incredibly precise(I wager I could even sow some injuries as well as with my hands through them) though not very strong, unable to lift more than a few kilograms.

Once I had some control over these abilities we went on to gathering information to take down the duke, “He’s clearly not a complete stranger to magic if he could send a demon after me before, so we should know more about his capabilities before we strike”, explained my master, “so It’d be best to have a plan when we confront him.”

We commandeered another inquisitor wagon, and after defeating the knights on it, the driver was scared enough that even without the watcher’s powers he probably would have told us what he knew, still the insurance about his honesty was useful. Once we were done speaking to him, the witch told me to switch clothes with him, so I’d have a good disguise, and then we let him go, to flee to the nearest town.

While Morgana compared the wagon driver’s description of the Duke to what she had written down on different creatures and their characteristics, I decided it was time I had a talk with Lyssa. “Hi, seems like our next quest will be quite dangerous, are you nervous at all?”

She turned to me with a smirk, “to be frank, cat, not as much as you’d think. I mean, this is what I’ve been training for, right? Stopping the inquisition and taking down the people who think they can just kidnap and kill whoever they find threatening or strange. I’m happy the time seems to have come earlier than I expected.”

I chuckled, “alright, I have something to thank you for, I imagine it’s impossible you didn’t notice these.” I pointed to my changed eyes.

“Hey, if you didn’t want to tell me, felt there was no reason for me to ask,” she answered.

“Well, I don’t know what’s about to happen in the coming days, so I figured I should at least tell you where these come from, and also something about our master…” I explained to her my pact with the watcher, and the story behind master’s black hands and powers.

Lyssa seemed somewhat forlorn, she looked down and said “I see, so, she doesn’t trust me, thinks I’ll go mad for power huh?” Though her lips stayed rigidly straight, I guess she didn’t want to seem as bothered as she was.

I wanted to better explain my master’s thought process, and why she’d chosen to keep this information from Lyssa for the time being. “Look, I think she knows your heart is in the right place, and she trusts you enough to make you a powerful warrior. She might just not trust pacts in the first place, my encounter with the watcher was a complete accident. And she did plan to tell you so you’d be prepared, but she didn’t want you to seek it out.”

“I know!” she half-snapped at me, throwing the stick she was holding to the ground “ I just… I just don’t like her assuming I’d make those choices. Even if she didn’t see it as malice, she’s still thinking I’d make those mistakes and you wouldn’t.”

I didn’t know what to say, I couldn’t really refute her complaints at all, so I just tentatively put my arm on her shoulder and brought myself close, saying “I’m sorry.” As softly as I could. Her whole body was tense, like she’d gone into an instinctive defensive state without anything to fight against.

We sat there for a while, not saying anything, before she pat my back lightly. “Thanks, cat, for trusting me with this, you’re a good friend.”

Soon, Morgana came back, she seemed agitated, but at the same time there was an electricity to her, like the euphoria people could experience in moments of great danger, both of these feelings bubbled under the surface of her voice and gestures when she explained: “Alright, here’s what we know, duke Lucius has his inquisitors head out about once a month, they usually bring back 2-4 people, usually women, accused of some form of “witchcraft”, all but one are publically executed, one is taken into the castle to “repent” in the chambers. The duke attends the executions by but he doesn’t go out for anything other than that, he stays in his room during the day, signing treaties and writing laws, and demands to be left alone during the night,” she gave a knowing smirk, “You may already suspect this, but I’m quite certain we’re facing a vampire.”

The witch raised her left hand, putting her fingers up as she enumerated the steps of her plan. “Here’s what we’ll do: you, familiar, can take us in the stolen wagon into the town, keep your hat over your eyes and don’t let anyone get too close lest they notice too much. We’ll head to the castle in the late twilight, early enough that the duke won’t suspect the time of his “meal” but late enough that we may have the advantage of the rising sun on our side, I don’t think it’ll outright kill a powerful vampire, but it might weaken him. We’ll need to stop by some other town to grab some stakes, maybe a torch or two, he’ll be very adapted to darkness.”

Lyssa had clearly listened as intently as I had, though she still had questions, “alright, but what should we know about the vampire’s abilities, what should I watch out for?”

“I’ve only heard stories of battles against vampires so I am not entirely sure, but I know he’ll have superhuman speed, reflexes and strenght, as well as limited shapeshifting and mind manipulation abilities, though if you both keep your focuses I’m sure it won’t be enough to control you, since I don’t intend to have you fight him directly, it’s too dangerous. I only need you two to distract anyone at the entrance so I may sneak in and confront him” answered Morgana, her expression becoming deadly serious by the final sentence, so I felt a bit too intimidated to argue.

I got up from where I was sitting, raising my hand timidly to ask, “alright, despite the vagueness of this plan, I don’t doubt your ability to defeat the duke, but are you sure this will solve everything? I mean, even if their true goal is just to feed the duke and keep anyone too wise down, doesn’t mean the inquisition will stop if he dies, the ideology used to justify it might live on with the people in power left, and we can’t just go around killing every member, they might total at the hundreds!”

The witch clenched her fists and her lips stiffened, as she turned away slightly for a moment before answering, “I can’t solve everything, truth is, the power vaccumm that will follow could have dire consequences. But the thing is, we can’t just let duke Lucius keep his power. Every month we delayed this would be another group of people slaughtered! He may even extend his reach to other communities like…” She clenched her teeth, though she’d stopped speaking I could clearly hear “Like he did with me.” After she composed herself a bit she continued, “the point is, I’m not sure what will happen after I take him down, but it’s gotta be better than this. We’ll figure it out from there, I’m sure people will eventually learn that the man was a parasite and these towns can and should run without him, if we train more witches there’ll be less reason to fear what’s out there and therefore less reason for people to blindly follow the inquisition. We can’t plan everything out beforehand, but we’re not going in blind either. You’ve both shown me that others can and will pick up the cause when given the chance.”

I nodded in agreement, and Lyssa said “let’s do this then, wipe him off the face of the Earth.”

“Thank you”, said Morgana, “and one more thing, familiar. I think you’ve learned enough to be your own witch, even without me from now on, so it’s time you get a name, what do you think of Cato?” she suggested with a proud smile.

I was surprised, but very happy, hearing that had made me realize how much I’d learned over my travels with the witch, and I wouldn’t hesitate to say that it was that moment that inspired me to compile her principal lessons in this text. When I answered her, my voice carried joy I’ve seldom felt in my life, and true appreciation for my teacher, “I’ll wear it proudly”.

#the witch's teachings #magic #fantasy #original writing #original work #original story #weekly

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tinydemondragon · 5 years

Text

Beginning : Previous

I have no self control. Here you go!

~~~

“Ah, hello good sir! You’re my competitor?” Vigil nodded. “Ah, I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before, what’s your name?

“Virgil,” he mumbled, shifting from place to place. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him and it was making him uncomfortable. He just wanted to get to the match already.

For a second, the guy looked shocked. He straightened his spine, eyes going wide, and his mouth opened slightly. But the look was gone almost as soon as it came.

“Well then, Virgil, come on up here and we shall get started!” Geez, he was gonna ask for Virgil’s name and not give his own? What, did he just assume everyone knew him?

The guy put his mask on as Virgil stepped up on the platform, trying to ignore the crowd. It made his skin crawl, knowing all these people were looking at him. He felt himself hunch his shoulders in and had to fight the urge to tell everyone to stop looking at him. They were supposed to watch this, to learn or whatever.

Logan stepped up beside them, where the directeur would usually stand.

“Let’s get this DE bout started shall we?” He asked. Patton had been behind Logan, watching but not interfering. Now, however, he stepped up beside Logan.

“DE bout…?” he trailed off, sounding confused.

“Yes, a DE bout. It’s the term for a match. It will consist of three periods, each around three minutes long. There will be a minute break between each period. At the end of the bout, the person with the highest score will win, however, should either of them reach 15 points, they will automatically be declared winner.” Pausing to push his glasses up, he turned to Patton. “Was that explanation sufficient?”

“Yeah!” Patton answered, beaming. “Gosh Lo, thanks!”

“It’s nothing.” He cleared his throat, turning towards Virgil and the guy across from him. Oh yeah, Virgil was so teasing Patton about this later. Though this wasn’t an official match, Virgil still saluted both his opponent and Logan. Old habits die hard and all that.

“En garde!” Virgil’s body snapped to his stance on it’s own. Ah. Nice to see the instincts were coming back.

“Pret.” The world started to fade away, leaving just him, his opponent, and his foil.

“Allez!” And immediately, Virgil had to parry as the guy lunged towards him. He was even faster up close. Virgil nearly didn’t get his foil up in time.

And that set the pace for the rest of the bout. Lunge, parry, attack, dodge, it took everything he had in that first period to keep up.

But, he could feel himself adjusting, improving, keeping up. By the end of the first period, they were sitting at 5-3, in his competitor’s favor. Not impossible odds.

He was in. Completely. All anxiety was gone, buried underneath euphoria and planning. His mind was racing, wondering how he could compensate for his lack of speed. He was slightly taller, so his reach was further. If he could keep himself at a distance, he could curb that dangerous speed.

Logan’s voice interrupted his thoughts. Had it already been a minute? With a slight shake of his head, he went back to his starting spot, ready to get back into it.

Parry, parry, attack, lunge, dodge, it comes to a halt as Virgil scores another point. 5-4. Dodge, lunge, parry, disengage, attack. It stops again, they’re tied. Lunge, parry, dodge, dodge, lunge, parry, parry, dammit. 6-5. He can bring this back.

Back and forth, over and over, another halt. Tied at 7-7. One more round. He’s adjusted to this guy’s speed, but it isn’t easy to overcome it.

He takes a deep breath in. He can do this. The guy’s good, but not perfect. There are windows that to attack, to parry.

“Not that those windows are easy to predict.” Virgil grumbled. There fact that he was out of practice wasn’t helping either. In fact, Virgil suspects he’s being underestimated.

Which annoys him. What’s the point if your opponent doesn’t take you seriously?

Still, it just means that he has to show this guy why he shouldn’t underestimate Virgil. That doing that is a mistake. That Virgil may be out of practice, but that doesn’t mean that they can take it easy with him.

Last period. He can do this.

A lunge, right to the center of his chest. He parries, but it turns into a disengage. He’s just able to dodge, jumping back at the last second. Has this guy gotten faster?

He lunges forward, just barely missing the touch. A parry-riposte. Damn. 8-7. Okay, just gotta take it back. No big deal, he’s got this.

The other man lunges again, must be realizing that he can’t afford to be lax, finally. This means it’ll get harder, but there’s no fun in a victory unearned. Then there will be the worry that he was being pitied or something.

Parry-riposte, parry-riposte, over and over fighting over this one point. But Virgil gets it in the end. 8-8.

From there, it’s all instinct. Virgil doesn’t process what he’s doing, doesn’t think about it, he just moves. It’s all he has time for.

“Arret!” Wait, did someone score? He hadn’t felt anything, though!

But no. The bout had ended. They were still tied, however.

“Sudden death overtime,” Virgil muttered.

“What do you mean?” Patton asked, scrunching his nose up. Adorable.

“Sudden death,” Logan answered, “means that the next person who scores a point will be declared the winner.” Geez, did Patton realize how smitten he looked, staring at Logan right now? There were literal hearts in his eyes.

The guy across from him snorted. Virgil glared at him, though it wasn’t visible from underneath his mask. Still, he better not have anything bad to say about Patton, that was asking for it.

“En garde. Pret. Allez.”

Back and forth, parry, lunge, back and forth. Virgil felt sweat drip down his back, arms screaming. The rush was starting to fade. Hiis muscles were reminding him of the fact that he hadn’t done the whole “physical activity” thing in years.

Still. He was nothing if not spiteful.

And his perseverance paid off. In a blink of an eye, Virgil fainted, drawing the guy into a parry that hit nothing, and lunged forward, hitting his chest. With a smirk, Virgil withdrew.

Taking off his mask, he cocked out a hip. He was exhausted, but the thrill of beating this guy was glorious.

“No way,” the man snarled, yanking his mask off. Virgil felt his smirk grow. If this was a real match, he would’ve gotten a black card. The ego on this guy was ridiculous

“What’s the matter, dude? You seem pretty worked up over a match you basically threw.”

“I did not throw the match! I never throw matches!”

“Oh, so you admit, then, that I’m better? Then I don’t see the problem here.”

“Why you- you-” Oh it was almost cute how upset this guy was getting. Virgil straightened his spine, happy about his height for once. The few inches he had on the guy really helped.

“Roman!” Logan interrupted. “You need to,” for a second he fumbled, “chill out.” Was that a-. Was that a flashcard?

Wait a second.

Roman.

No. No way.

Virgil stepped a little closer to the guy, almost unconsciously.

The nose, the eyes, the voice. No wonder he seemed so familiar. He did know this guy, from camp!

But, the Roman of back then wasn’t such a jerk. He never underestimated his opponents, and he didn’t have such a big ego.

No way, this wasn’t the Roman he knew. Whoever this clown was, he wasn’t his friend.

Still, a small part of him hurt. He didn’t have very many friends, and he treasured the few he did have. And this one? Had been one of the few reasons he missed his old town, if only because it meant going to camp and seeing him.

But this wasn’t him. And a small part of him, the one that dreamed of meeting him again and rekindling his friendship, broke.

~~~

You didn’t think it was gonna be that easy did you?

I SURE AS HECK DID AND THEN IT WASN’T

Ahem. Anyway.

Tag list! @coconut-cluster, @madsk3tch, @thgjclw, @lydixa-petal, @thatcacidork, @its-the-cat-queen, @athenashipsthings, @queen-of-deciet, @nafsbluebery, @littleladynightshade, @fiive-second-cookies, @a-killjoy-refrigerator

I think that’s everyone... if I missed you let me know!

#sander sides #prinxiety #logicality #eventually!#i promise!#ts logan #ts virgil #ts roman #ts patton #ts sides #dragon writing #fencing au

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aftermathdb · 6 years

Text

DEATH BATTLE Review: Ryu vs. Jin.

Two martial artists with a dark side duke it out in the arena. We’ve got quite the battle on our hands, folks.

Ryu’s back in the ring. After a fight from Scorpion, the wandering martial artist is looking for another round against DEATH BATTLE Franchise newcomer: Jin from the Tekken series. And I guess if people get mad about the result, they can boot up Street Fighter x Tekken and do their own version.

Ryu′s Preview.

Ryu’s preview starts off pretty well. Going over a brief history, and background. We all know this by now. Gouken’s story, Sagat’s defeat, and the slightly modified Ansatsuken. We know how Ryu’s story goes by now, he’s already shown up before.

We don’t get the fingerpainting joke, so that hurts the score by about .01 points, but I round up. So, it doesn’t make much of a difference. Also the lack of mentioning that using the incorrect Kanji for the Joudan Sokutogeri gives you “Darehha Joke Foot” is a tad disappointing, but I can’t really complain.

The Dark Hado gets it’s own card, and it’s just really cool to see them get into more detail about it. It’s really cool to see it with more depth, and I hope that we can see more detailed cards about the super modes we see in the future.

Ryu’s feats are pretty cool to see too. Especially that boulder feat, blowing up a skyscraper, and surviving Balrog’s Gigaton punch (His fight with TJ gets a nice callback in the episode itself. Since it was one of my favorite episodes of all time, it’s really cool to see previous fights being referenced like that. I kinda wish they’d do more callbacks like this).

They do point out that his record isn’t as impressive as it might seem, considering that he’s Street Fighter’s mascot, but it’s still worth noting that he still won plenty of battles.

And his end line is badass.

Jin′s Preview.

At this point, I think it would be surprising if Jin’s backstory were skipped over. We see a bit of his childhood, some of his family life, and a bit of his grandfather.

Jin’s fighting style is gone over, and we see a lot of the skills he’s got on his side.

And this fighting style is pretty impressive. And we see a bit more about Jin’s backstory. Judging by it, it’s hard to determine where he falls in the morality scale. I mean, dragging the entire world into his own family problems is pretty bad, but he has good intentions. Road to hell I guess. Looks like I gotta update the team attacks doc I have lying around. Maybe I could take the route I did with Wonder Woman and Thor and just make a separate one for those two. Jin seems like the guy who only really has a kinship with Ryu in the crossover games.

Much like the Dark Hado, Devil Jin gets a rundown as well. Overall though, at this point, Jin only really has speed on his side. Ryu in his base managed to lift 36 tons, while Jin has only managed a bit over 30 by virtue of scaling. 12,000 pounds can make all the difference in a fight.

Even Jin’s feats are impressive. Aside from starting WWIII, a lot of these things are pretty standard for most protagonists…? - Where does Jin fall in the spectrum anyways? I mean, starting WWIII is a dick move (putting it mildly), but it also seems that he would try to punch off Sephiroth’s head if given the chance. Maybe I’ll have him find some kinship in guys like Venom and Dante as well to help him out.

The end line that Wiz gives is slightly more badass than Jin’s “It will end with this bloodline!” quote.

The Battle Itself.

Torrian (Guy who animated a freaking lot) is taking this on. And the overall voicelines in the battle are recycled voice clips from their games. The music is Fight Like A Devil by Therewolf (music is unavailable on both youtube and iTunes as of me writing this). Lead on sound design is Chris Kokinnos.

The fight starts off pretty basically though. But the Pacing really picks up once Jin escalates the fight. They start in a dojo that looks like it came out of Tekken, but I’m not 100% sure. If someone knows the location of the first part of the fight, please feel free to inform me.

Overall, the fight is really well-paced. The music is really good, and seeing Ryu using his parrying move is just freaking satisfying.

And when Ryu unleashes the Hadoken, it just tells you that the fight is about to get real.

Ryu holds the upper hand for a good part of the fight until the location changes. With the Tatsumaki Sempukyaku just tossing Jin around like he’s a shirt in a dryer is badass. All of this is followed up by one of the most impressive Shoryukens to be seen, and the Shinku Hadoken to blast Jin in the face.

Of course, Jin goes Devil mode and more or less no-sells it, but for a moment there, one would think that Ryu ended it right there, and didn’t need to turn into Evil Ryu or use the Power of Nothingness.

Of course the battle doesn’t end. People would be asking what would happen if Jin entered his Devil form, and whether or not one of Ryu’s could defeat it.

Anyways, Jin uses his speed to gain the upper hand, and smashes Ryu through the floor…

Apparently, the dojo was right above the Spring Maiden vault. Who knew? Lionheart would certainly have some explaining to do if he weren’t dead (Woohoo! RWBY reference FTW!).

Jokes aside, Ryu enters his Dark Hado mode after the crash, and we get to see a recreation of the Cinder vs. Raven fight… Only with fighting game characters, and in the sense that it actually feels like they’re trying to attack each other rather than throw power around like Poison Ivy throwing around spores. Also, it’s with martial arts, and not big-ass swords that would make Cloud say "Your swords are clearly compensating for something.” (Woohoo! Final Fantasy reference FTW!).

Regardless, both of them end up back on the ground as Ryu’s Dark Hado peters out after Jin’s assault. But not before he enters the Mu No Ken (Better known as “The Power of Nothingness”) and starts to fight back and push him back for the two of them to finish up.

Finishing blow in

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

Goddamn! that is some DragonballZ stuff right there.

Also, Ryu then says “I walk the path of a true warrior.” Which is a nice callback to his previous fight. Intentional or not, that’s really cool.

Verdict + Explanation.

So, Street Fighter finally ended their losing streak. That’s really awesome. Overall, the fight takes a bit to pick up speed. It starts out pretty slow and methodical, but that’s standard for most fighting games. Once one gets the rhythm down, the fight really starts to pick up pace and it gets faster as each player tries to get a read on their opponents, much like how both fighters here had to stay one step ahead of the game to keep the advantage. And throughout the fight, Ryu made the best reads, as highlighted by his parries in the early portion of the fight. The fact that it feels like a fighting game is really cool.

Also a factor was how their powers had limits, which had to be scaled to other characters with similar or the same powerset. Jin’s father, Kazuya could only survive a satellite laser blast in his Devil form, and cause volcanic eruptions. The latter of which had a generous amount of force given to it.

Ryu on the other hand, had to be scaled and compared to the other Ansatsuken Dark Hado wielding warrior, Akuma. Ryu managed to survive Akuma’s Island busting attack, and regularly trades blows with him as well. It helps to justify the scaling.

Personally though, I’m not a fan of power scaling unless it’s rightfully justified. And I’d say that this does it very well in the justification department. Ryu can trade blows with Akuma, and has beaten him before, so his strength should be around the same level when in his Evil Ryu or Mu No Ken forms. Not that it matters, he was tough enough to take on pretty much all of Jin’s attacks. And while we didn’t get to see the Raging Demon, it was still a fun fight. Even though it apparently wouldn’t have worked (As seen in the notecards), it still would have been nice to have seen them in action.

Despite Jin’s speed edge, Ryu’s other stats just gave him the leg-up he needed to win in the end. And even when scaling Jin to a Gun-Jack Robot to try to give Jin an additional edge over Ryu in a scaling attempt that likely would have been in the comments section, they point out one little detail that ends the argument:

Akuma beat up a bigger meteor than the upgraded robot did.

Overall impression.

Like I said, I’m not a fan of Power Scaling. Though, given that there weren’t many other options to figure it out completely, I would place it as a “Necessary Evil.” But I would say that the word “evil” is a bit much. It’s still a great fight, with some pretty solid justifications for the reason.

8.3/10. It loses some ground since they had to use a lot of scaling to justify the feats and stats, but it’s still a great fight nonetheless.

Next Time…

……… Screw it.

WATCH OUT!

I will be a tad dissapointed if they don’t point out that Jack is technically a Ronin in either the episode proper or in his preview. Regardless, this is going to be fun.

Is there a fight that you want me to review? - Send an ask/request, and I’ll look into it!

Do you want to read my fanfic based around DEATH BATTLE itself? click here!

Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you next time for…

Ronin Jack vs. Number 1.

#Death Battle #Deathbattle #review #screwattack

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years

Text

FFXV: Eschaton - 3/4

Fic: Eschaton (ao3 link) - chapter 3/4

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Pairing: None (gen)

Summary: Sure, it’s the end of the world, but that just means someone’s got to fix it.

And then the world found its somebodies.

(aka, with Noctis gone into the Crystal and no one sure when he’ll be back, Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto end up saving the world one piece at a time)

——————————————————————————————

ONE YEAR

"I was starting to think you'd lost your touch, big brother," Iris taunts, laughing as her sword slices through another Snaga.

Gladio parries the Red Giant's next strike with his shield and slices at the daemon's leg. "Sure," he says. "That why you're going after Snagas instead?"

"I'm keeping them off your back!"

The Red Giant abruptly makes a creaking sound, its head detaching from its body as it tumbles forward with a loud crash. Cor lands, as light-footed as ever, on the other side. "You both need to focus on fighting," he tells them. "Not clowning around."

Gladio shrugs and toes the corpse in front of him. "Remember when they used to disappear when you killed them?" he says wistfully. Sure, they've come up with plenty of different approaches since then, and at any rate the daemon corpses are handy for the MTs, but he can't help but sigh at the realization that the battle might be over but there's still lots of work to be done.

"That was then," Cor says. "This is now."

"Oh, lighten up, sourpuss," Iris says, already cleaning her sword. "You're as happy as I am to have Gladdy back in the field and not, like, growing more tomatoes."

"And yet I manage to keep my joy restrained to moments when we're not in direct combat," Cor replies dryly. "Look at that."

“Also, those tomatoes kept the whole city fed,” Gladio points out, because he thinks that’s worth mentioning. It wasn’t his fault that his innovation had resulted in Ignis recruiting virtually every able-bodied person available to go lay out as many harvests as humanly possible.

Or that the first round was mostly tomatoes.

And yes, they were all sick of tomatoes right now…but not as much as they were sick of mushrooms.

Iris snorts. "Yeah, yeah," she says. "You just want to gossip about your precious schools. Go ahead and scout the next rise; I'll drain and burn the bodies."

"Keep a flare on you in case –"

"— of trouble, and we're linked up on the MT network in case I need you," Iris completes the sentence, rolling her eyes. "I've led the hunters of Hammerhead all but solo for six months, Cor, and I've fought as a hunter since the Long Night started a year ago. I know how to do this!"

Cor and Gladio exchange long-suffering looks.

"I saw that!"

"Let's go scout ahead," Gladio says hastily. He doesn't want to incur Iris' actual wrath; that way lie pranks and suffering.

Cor – who fears nothing, and who Iris is way too respectful of to ever properly prank – snorts, but nods and follows Gladio forward.

"What do you think Aranea wants us for?" Gladio asks, determined to hold off at least ten minutes before bringing up his school. Just to show Iris.

He hopes Aranea has a good reason, if only because last week marked the extremely disappointing turn of the first year in which Noct still did not return.

"She was unclear," Cor says. "As ever. She may just want us to clear the grounds."

Cor does not particularly like Aranea, and the feeling is decidedly mutual. Ignis says that it comes from the fact that Aranea – who runs the transportation between Niflheim, Accordo, and Lucis – tends to act like she's the one in charge, no matter the situation, and Cor is far too accustomed to ignoring the person nominally in charge in favor of taking actual charge himself, so on their first joint mission, he suborned half of her lieutenants and took care of the mission in his own way without her permission. She blew up about it, which led him to not-so-subtly question her competence, which in turn led to her trying to ban him from her parts of the world – impossible, of course, but enough to sincerely irritate Cor.

Not that her little ban lasted long. Cor the Immortal is still their greatest morale booster, and – much to Aranea's displeasure – he lives up to his reputation, which means they have to deal with each other sometimes.

Gladio personally suspects that it might have more to do with the fact that Aranea is a very attractive woman, wearing very little, and as a result she is accustomed to having slightly more sway than normal over men, and therefore overreacted when Cor treated her in the same indifferent way he treated any new commander, and by the time she calmed down, Cor had already developed a dislike for her and she couldn't back down without admitting she was mistaken.

Ignis says that theory is ridiculous.

Prompto agrees with Gladio, and points out that as a mercenary of Niflheim, she wouldn't have been aware of Cor's rather infamous disinterest in any form of romance or sexual attraction, whether male or female.

(Gladio still remembers the arguments about it when he was a kid – his mom was certain that she just needed to set Cor up with the right someone, and his dad let it continue as a joke on Cor; it went right up until Cor convinced a whole bunch of would-be suitors to wait for him, naked, in Gladio's dad's office, at which point even Gladio's mom officially gave up. The king then yelled at them them both – Gladio's parents, that is, not Cor – about the exact meaning of the term 'aromantic' and 'asexual' for about an hour, which Gladio suspects helped. Admittedly, Cor has never actually adopted the terms, preferring to say that he’s in an exclusive polyamorous relationships with his many swords, but that’s because his sense of humor is warped.)

Either way, Gladio plans to advise Aranea to just apologize already, because while Cor would never jeopardize a mission, any mission, simply because he disliked a commander, he also doesn't really believe in the concept of 'forgive and forget'.

Certainly not after Drautos.

"She wanted us to come to a lab," Gladio points out. "That's not really her specialty. So it's gotta be something impressive."

Cor snorts, but doesn't disagree.

"I'm more interested in why she didn't come meet us," Gladio says. "You'd think the Minister of Transportation would be a bit better at – transporting."

Cor just gives Gladio a look that clearly says that he's aware that Gladio’s aware of his dislike of Aranea and he's not so young that he can be cheered up by someone playing on it.

"Oh, fine," Gladio says. "We'll see when we get there. I just wish we'd regained cell service this far out."

"We've gotten most of the northern part of Lucis back to stability," Cor says, and this time he does sound pleased – rightly so, since it was the first set of Crownsguard graduates that took on the project of restoring the cell towers after the daemons had demolished them back when the Long Night had first started. The first class had been primarily composed of hunters, of course, and people who already had fighting experience, but Cor took them from individuals who were pretty good and turned them into a frankly impressive fighting unit. And then he’d divided the class between those who joined Prompto’s armies and those who stayed in the new Crownsguard that defended Lestallum and its outposts.

Gladio can’t wait until Cor’s second set of graduates is ready to go out – maybe Prompto will stop asking about them in every letter.

"We've got access as far down as the Quay," Gladio reminds him. “If you recall.”

"That's still spotty; it doesn’t count," Cor replies dismissively, but he can't help the slight curve of his mouth. "You just want to know when your radio broadcasts can start going out more frequently."

"I still can't believe that's as popular as it is," Gladio complains. He really, really can’t.

"People literally have nothing better to do than to listen to you," Cor points out.

"Ouch."

"And Cindy's been giving away mini-radios tuned to your station for free."

"Double ouch. And what do you mean 'my station'? I'm the only station out there."

"Exactly," Cor says dryly.

"Keep insulting me, and I'm signing you up to speak at my school again."

"Running the Crownsguard now," Cor says laconically. "Way too busy."

"I'm sure I can get Ignis to give you an afternoon off," Gladio says sweetly. “Especially if I brought a few of the kids and had them sound all soft and vulnerable about how much they’d really love it if their childhood hero could just spare them a few hours.”

Cor considers his chances and wisely decides not to say anything more.

He really hates giving those speeches.

Or maybe it was all those children staring at him that bothered him...

Speaking of children -

"The Corlings are doing well," Gladio offers, keeping his tone neutral. He knows it's something of a sensitive subject for Cor, sometimes.

Gladio can't blame him. If he ever found out that one unfortunate battle, years before, resulted in the enemy obtaining some of his blood, with plans to use it to obtain his genetic material in order to create horrific cyborg-daemon hybrids specifically designed to kill him...

The Empire even named them "Immortal Killers".

If Gladio's happy about anything in this Long Night, it's the fact that the twisted minds behind those projects are dead as doornails.

Luckily for Cor, there are only three of them – genetic material degrades quickly through the cloning process, apparently, and the Empire only managed to obtain a small amount in the first place. Horrifyingly, they were planning on pitting them against each other, leaving only one Immortal Killer to go after Cor once they reached their accelerated adulthood.

Now, divorced from their purpose and from the growth hormone injections that forced them into too-rapid aging, they are just – children.

Children with Cor's eyes, and face, and –

Well, they don't all have his hair, not since Immie decided she wanted to be a girl when she grew up and grew it long, anyway.

Tal and Kille thought she was nuts at first for providing such a handhold, but she proved quite vicious about it, and Cor took her side, so they're all over it now.

Cor took them in, of course; Gladio suspects that's the real reason he agreed to take on the role of Marshal and trainer of the Crownsguard again. Misplaced guilt about his inability to prevent the inevitable destruction of Insomnia was nothing against the longing stares of a set of seven year olds who desperately needed a father.

Cor loves them to distraction, even if he’s uncomfortable discussing them with people who know their origins.

Indeed, even now, heading into Niflheim with all its memories, Cor looks pleased at Gladio's comment on the Corlings.

(Technically they all have the last name Leonis, but somehow everyone called them the Corlings instead.)

"That's good to hear," Cor says. "They said something about mathematics...?"

"Kille submitted a proof for a prize," Gladio confirms, taking care to pronounce it the way Prompto suggested – Ki-ye – all those months ago when the MTs explained the Corlings' origin. "He was waiting to see if he won before telling you, so act surprised when we get back."

"He won?"

"Highest score in his class."

Cor actually smiles at that. "I was never good at math," he confesses. He's always most pleased – they all are – when the MTs do something that showcases how profoundly different and unique they are despite their cloned origins.

Gladio smiles back, happy on Cor's behalf – and on his own, since he's been demoted (in his own school!) to teaching math to the younger kids. Kille is just old enough to be in Gladio's group, so Gladio is totally taking some of the credit.

"Immie's taken up art," Cor adds, smile widening and eyes going distant for a moment. "And I'm pretty sure Tal is too young to be stalking Cindy for any of the obvious reasons, so I'm hoping he's taking an interest in mechanics."

Gladio's about to make a joke about Corlings being precocious when, right in the middle of that pleasant moment of nostalgia, Aranea shows up.

"What're you two talking about?" she asks.

Cor's smile is gone as if it never was. His face looks like it's been carved out of stone. "Captain Aranea."

Aranea scowls at him. "I was a Commander in Niflheim's army, Marshal; I'm sure I've mentioned that to you."

"Have you?" Cor inquires politely, not giving an inch.

Yeah, this is going about as well as Gladio expected.

"Hey, Aranea –" Gladio starts, hoping to head any trouble off at the pass.

He's too late.

"At times I think that the cost of allying with you lot isn't worth the benefit," Aranea sneers at Cor. "Given that you constantly disrespect us and focus on your own needs –"

"You called, we came," Cor says. "You're welcome to ask the daemons to help instead."

He looks like he's seriously considering turning to go.

"Cor –" Gladio starts.

"Since when are you a peacemaker, big guy?" Aranea taunts.

Cor bristles in Gladio's defense, which is totally unnecessary. "If you don't want us here, then –" he starts.

"Hi, Aranea!" Iris chirps, coming out of the shadows. "Wow, you look tired – what happened?"

Gladio looks at Aranea a little closer. She does look tired, either like she hasn't slept or because something has been seriously bothering her – or both.

Aranea opens her mouth to snap something defensive, but ends up exhaling in a long drawn out breath.

"Did something go wrong?" Cor asks, hostility fading rapidly to be replaced with professional concern. "Are your people safe?"

"We had a pretty bad attack," Aranea concedes. "A week or two back, though; nothing to do about it now."

"And your people?" Cor presses.

"Mostly fine," she says, and runs a hand over her face – a very uncharacteristic act of vulnerability for her. "Biggs took a bad hit."

"Your right hand man," Gladio says. He was one of the two that drove the train that took the three of them and Noct to Gralea, and who brought the three of them and the Crystal – useless hunk of rock that it is – back. Gladio can't say he has fond memories of the man, the pain of losing Noct was still too raw and overshadowing all else, but he knows how important he is to Aranea. "I'm sorry to hear that. Nothing that could be helped by elixirs or potions?" He hesitates. "A phoenix down?"

Phoenix downs have become increasingly rare, even more so than before; Ignis hoards them like a miser and keeps them among their most precious of medicines, behind shielded doors and a vigilant guard.

Gladio knows all too well that he doesn't have the authority to give one out, but he'd be willing to argue the case for one – if one could even help after a few weeks. They really are more useful within a few hours, or a day at most.

Aranea shoots him a half-smile of thanks. "No, but thanks for the offer," she says, reining in her emotions. "But we haven't given up on him yet. That's actually why I wanted you to come."

"Us?" Iris asks. "What can we do? We're hunters, not doctors."

"Doctors wouldn't help," Aranea says. "What I need are soldiers, to give a soldier's opinion. I don't trust myself."

Cor is frowning. "You have an ethical dilemma?"

"Something like that," she says. "It's easier if I show you. Follow me."

They follow her. She came to the rendezvous point in a drop ship, which was an almost unheard-of luxury, for all of Cindy and Cid's promises about developing an updated generator that could be distributed without having to take away from their current lighting supply – she must really want their opinion.

The trip to the lab is much faster after that. Iris tries a few times to start a conversation, but Aranea isn't interested and her solemn mood is infectious.

They mostly sit in silence.

The lab is a pretty typical example of the Niflheim style, which is to say, bland, dark, and incredibly creepy, designed as if mere efficiency was not enough and they needed to be soul-draining, too.

It was an MT lab.

Gladio makes a face at the signs of the sleeping pods, the mechanical devices called 'threshers' that are used to extract daemon blood, and all the other signs that declare the place's vile purpose.

Former purpose.

Except when Aranea leads them down, deep inside, it hasn't been gutted like most of the others in Lucis and Accordo have been. It's still clean and pristine and the computer banks that line the wall still hum with life.

"What's going on?" Gladio asks, officially uncomfortable. They're only a month or so into the first MT rehabilitation efforts – weaning them off the daemon blood, reaccustoming them to light (what light they have), detaching the armor and masks that had been welded onto their flesh. It's going pretty well, by which Gladio means that it's absolutely horrific – invasive surgeries and devastating withdrawal symptoms, screams as light burns tender flesh and vomiting as they breathe unfiltered air for the first time in years – but that the first few who had volunteered for the process are starting to settle into something that resembles human bodies.

They all still need a lot of physical therapy, not to mention continued access to the mental health services which have been made available to all MTs. Moreover, the rehabilitated MTs' skin is largely still a pasty chalk white that only vaguely resembles human, with the barest echoes of what color it was before the process took hold; their eyes are still a spectrum of shades of red, from pale pink to deep burgundy, rather than any normal shade; and the tallest of them, the axe-men and -women, still tower over even tall men like Gladio.

But they are clearly human, with uncovered faces and uncovered hands, with hair they can grow or color or style, and they are overwhelmed with relief.

Not all the MTs thought the process was a good idea, of course, with some of them preferring their hardy armor and photophobic skin with the ability to supplement their diets with the nighttime photosynthesis the daemons used. Gladio's pretty sure someone's coined a more appropriate scientific word, but he doesn't know it – he just knows that he's moderated a lot of debates on the subject, and people on all sides have very strong feelings.

Gladio is personally in favor of each MT getting a fair choice, just like the MT kids (theoretically) have the options to choose to graduate to MT once they're fully grown, though thankfully none have yet grown old enough to make that choice.

The fact that the MTs have that option available to them, though –

Perhaps that's why the lab is still functional.

Gladio hopes that's why the lab is still functional.

"It's a conversion center," Cor says before Aranea can answer, his mind clearly having gone down a similar path as Gladio's. "For the final MT process. Why are we here?"

"Because I need your opinion," Aranea says, her voice solemn, and then she leads them into the operating chamber.

Biggs is lying on the table. His injuries are bad – Aranea wasn't exaggerating. Just based on what Gladio can see, he already knows there's no way Biggs is walking off of that table again, and Biggs' skin shines with that characteristic glisten that speaks of too many potions and elixirs, and the fact that none of them have made a dent.

Or worse, that they have, and that this is all they've managed to accomplish.

Biggs is also connected to several devices that Gladio doesn't recognize, large boxes with no symbols on them, but which blink with lights signifying their activity.

There are several people in labcoats, and several MTs, one of which has the pale naked features of the rehabilitated.

"I'm sorry about Biggs," Gladio tells Aranea again. She nods.

"So you've brought us all this way. Now tell us, what's the question?" Iris asks. Her hand is resting casually in her belt, but that's only a few inches away from her sword.

"Istherius," Aranea says. "Explain to them what you told me."

One of the men in labcoats nods. "Biggs is in a coma," he says crisply. "Given the scope of his injuries, he is clearly unlikely to recover. As a result, it will not be possible to request his consent as to an experimental medical procedure that may preserve his life."

"What procedure?" Cor asks.

"As you are well aware, MTs can survive significantly more severe injuries than humans," Istherius says delicately.

"You're suggesting converting him to an MT," Iris says flatly.

"Not a complete conversion," Istherius says. "Nor are we even discussing a permanent one, necessarily. Our research has demonstrated that the MT conversion by necessity includes a moment in which consciousness is terminated –"

"Death," Gladio translates. "They all die when they become MTs?"

"Only for the briefest moment, then they're immediately resuscitated with the MT activation process," Istherius says. "Essentially, the interface on the helmets, which as you know is wired into brain activity, acts as a sort of back-up device to help kick-start the brain – and, we hope, the mind. It mimics the functionality of a phoenix down, but in a drastically different manner that does not rely on the efficiency of magic and the whims of the Six. This technology is 100% manmade."

"Interesting," Cor says. "The Empire couldn't get phoenix down to work, since that relies on a minor summoning of the power of the Six to revive people and the Empire was – shall we say – not favored by the Six, so they came up with their own workaround."

"Precisely," Istherius says.

"An interesting way to avoid prophecy," Cor says dryly. "If you don't like the will of the Astrals, you can just bypass it and impose your own instead. Classic Empire thinking. Why wasn't this more widespread?"

"At the time of the Empire's destruction, it was still classified as experimental despite having been in regular practice as part of the MT conversion process," Istherius says. "They couldn't figure out how to adapt it to non-MTs – individuals who hadn't been raised with a slow onset of daemon blood injections designed to enhance their natural antibodies resistant to the scourge – without infecting the subject with the scourge and thus converting them not into MTs, but into daemons."

Gladio assumes they found this out by trying it out on people. Six, he's happy the Empire's gone.

"So why are we here?" Iris asks.

"Isn't it obvious?" Cor asks. "They think they've figured out a way to get around that problem, but Commander Highwind won't authorize the procedure until we assure her that if this is successful, Biggs won't hate her forever for robbing him of an honorable death."

Aranea doesn't even comment about him using her actual title. That means Cor is right.

"Shit," Gladio says, heartfelt. "How sure are you about the procedure?"

Istherius winces. "It works reliably on mice, and the principles are transferable."

"But you haven't tried it on humans at all."

"Biggs would be the first one," Istherius confirms. "We were unwilling to experiment on anyone without consent, and Commander Aranea refused to risk any of her soldiers. It's only the extremity of the situation that led her to consider it – Biggs is the first person we've recovered that is still alive even after such a drastic injury."

Cor, Gladio and Iris exchange solemn looks.

"What about the larger consequences of this?" Iris asks. "Even assuming we do think Biggs would accept it – let's say it works. What then?"

"What do you mean?" Aranea asks.

"MTs are part machine, and machine parts last longer than human parts," Iris says. "Do they live longer? Are we going to have a sudden influx of people demanding to be converted to MTs in order to try to live forever?"

Istherius looks surprised by the question, and also lost for words.

The rehabilitated MT – a former sniper, judging by the patch on his jacket, and his features are typical of dark-skinned islanders like Wesker, though his skin retains the artificial albinism of the MTs – steps forward, then.

"Very few MTs have been able to live out a typical lifespan," he says, his voice soft and still raspy from years of deterioration to his vocal cords from the preventative voice box blocker placed on most MTs. "However, there was once a test group devoted to testing that idea, using artificial growth hormones to mimic the aging process. The end result showed that the average lifespan of an MT is not noticeably longer than a regular human – the averages were about the same in the control group – but that MTs retained functionality to a later age. But once they reached a certain age, they died of what is called natural causes – heart failure, stroke, or simply inexplicable cessation of life. While certain more elderly individuals – or those with significantly deteriorated standards of living, such as quadriplegics – might view the process as worthwhile, it is unlikely to be beneficial in most instances given the disadvantages of being an MT and the discomfort of the process."

By 'discomfort', he meas 'horrifying pain beyond your wildest dreams'.

"So no ethical question of overuse. That means we're back to square one," Iris says. "Whether Biggs would want it."

"Aranea, you knew him best," Cor says. "Why ask us? Iris and I never even met him."

"I don't know if he'd want it," Aranea says, her voice tight. "I don't know if it's just me, wanting him back, wanting not to have to tell Wedge his partner's gone. I'm too close. I can't make the call. That's why I wanted you three. You're good, loyal soldiers, like him; you're the closest I can get to asking him."

"If your procedure doesn't work, he becomes infected with the scourge, right?" Gladio asks Istherius.

"Yes," Istherius says. "We have several monitors that will let us know if he begins to transform; we will of course begin euthanization procedures if that occurs."

"Most hunters would rather die than risk becoming a daemon," Iris says. "What procedure are you using that you think will keep him safe?"

"We will be performing a transfusion of Xtoh's blood at the same time," Istherius says, nodding at the rehabilitated MT. "We've done tests and we believe that the resistance to the scourge that still remains in his blood will be enough to keep the scourge at bay for the limited period we need to attach the mask."

"And he'll be metallic after this?" Gladio asks.

"He will have an MT mask," Istherius confirms. "And several armor pieces. However, we believe that we will be able to remove it a few weeks via the typical rehabilitation process. It would be attempted after the original conversion process is complete, to allow for recovery."

"You believe, but you're not certain,” Iris says, frowning. “He could be stuck like that forever."

"Nothing is certain with this procedure," Istherius says. "But I personally believe it's worth the risk."

"Do it," Cor says.

They all look at him.

"The utility of a process like this can't be understated," Cor says. "Even if it does require temporary or even permanent conversion into an MT. A manmade process could allow us to rescue individuals that the Six have abandoned, including those already severely infected by the scourge. Right now, all we can do for them is let them say goodbye to their families and then put them out of their misery. This is another option, one that could help us eliminate the spread of the scourge."

"What does that have to do with whether Biggs would want it?" Aranea demands.

"You asked for a loyal soldier's opinion," Cor says. "Believe me when I tell you that to a loyal soldier, there is no greater honor than to risk your life in the service of humanity. If he's the soldier you say he is, he would be the first to volunteer himself to shoulder the burden."

"Biggs took us into Gralea," Gladio says, very quietly. "He drove the train through the Glacian's curse and a scouring of daemons. He and his partner fought back to back for hours to keep the train free so that we would have a way back home when we were done. And he did it all without even the slightest hint of complaint or hesitation. Cor's right, Aranea. If this works, we can save lives. He'd think the risk – even the risk of becoming a daemon – is worth it."

Aranea looks at Iris, who licks her lips.

"I can't tell you what a soldier would do," Iris says. "I'm not one. For all of my childhood training, I never fought in war, and I was never meant to. I'm a hunter, and hunters hate daemons more than anyone. But – Gladdy and Cor are right. The Long Night has shown us all that there's bigger things at stake than in war, where it's side against side for the ambitions of the powerful. What's at stake now is humanity. Us against the daemons. That's why we're so cautious in the field – if you die fighting, all you're doing is robbing humanity of another shield. You have to live to fight. If someone told me that I could live to fight another day, then whatever the risk, I would take it. It would be my duty to take it. I wouldn’t think twice."

Aranea exhales, long and hard. "Okay," she says. "Istherius. You may proceed."

He nods.

"There's a waiting room outside," Aranea says. "You don't have to –"

"We're staying," Cor says.

The wait takes hours – all night, by the clocks, though that phrase has lost its meaning with the disappearance of the Sun.

And then –

"You can come in now," Istherius says.

Aranea stands slowly. "Is he..?"

"See for yourself, Commander."

Inside the room, lying on the bed, is a man haphazardly dressed in MT armor over all the places that were previously gaping wounds, his face the familiar fixed green smile of the MT masks.

He's sitting up.

"Oi, Commander," Biggs says from under the helmet. Gladio's almost expecting the customary MT crackle of static, or at least the raspy tones of the rehabilitated, but Biggs' vocal cords were never damaged – he sounds just as he always did. "One of these days you'll have to give me my orders before I jump in, yeah?"

"Biggs," Aranea says. Her voice is shaky.

"Now, now," he says. "No emotion, now; it makes me queasy."

Aranea laughs, still shaky, but far more genuine. "It always did. Awful presumptuous of you, Biggs, thinking this has anything to do with you."

"Now that's the Commander I'm used to," Biggs says approvingly. "Don't you go fretting about me. I'm fine."

"You realize that the conversion process could be permanent, right?" Iris asks. "You might be an MT forever."

"Some of my best friends nowadays are MTs," Biggs says, waving a dismissive hand. "Wot with this brand new world we're living in. Some of 'em even prefer it. And if they can see the benefits, well, I don't see why can't I."

"We need to tell Ignis about this right away," Cor tells Aranea.

"Of course," she says. "I'll order you a drop ship. And – thanks."

Cor looks at her steadily for a long second. "It's nothing," he says firmly, and turns to go. Then, over his shoulder, he adds, "Be seeing you, Captain Highwind."

Aranea's jaw drops as Cor walks out of the room. "Oh, that man –" she starts.

Gladio lets out an involuntary bark of laughter, and then flees the room before Aranea kills him.

Those two are never going to get along.

——————————————————————————————

THIRD YEAR

"Home sweet home," Prompto says.

"And here I thought only MTs lived in pods," Tifor says.

Prompto snorts. "It's not that bad!"

Tifor doesn't say anything.

"It's a bit small, yes –"

"General, if I'd known that you were satisfied by such small living quarters, I wouldn't have bothered offering you a tent," Tifor says. "A spare backpack, perhaps."

"You're getting snarkier by the day, Tif," Prompto informs her.

"I'm glad you've noticed," she replies dryly. She opted for rehabilitation a year back; her face – pretty, like the rest of her, if your type was six foot six tall women who could bench press you and had the muscular build to prove it, which, honestly, whose wasn't? – is visible, now, and that means Prompto can see her smirk fade to puzzlement. "Was this actually where you used to live?"

"Yeah," Prompto says. "Honestly, I think the only reason it's still intact is how far away from city center it was. I used to have to ride the bus for nearly an hour to get to school, much less go visit –" Noct, I miss you!, the voice in his head still wails. But it's been three years, and while Prompto's pretty sure the wound of his absence will never heal, even once Noct comes back – because he will come back – he can't let his feelings get in the way of his actions. He's a General now. "— go visit Noctis."

"The King in Exile," Tifor agrees. "Is he the fourth young man in your photos?"

"Photos? How did you get a look at my photos?" Prompto asks, puzzled. He hid away all his old albums.

Tifor nods inside Prompto's old apartment, and Prompto sees them, near a collapsed wall.

Photos of him and Noct, back from their schooldays and after. Pictures of the four of them, just like he used to take. Pictures of just Noct, fast asleep on Prompto's shitty couch, because that man could sleep anywhere.

Prompto bets that Noct is napping inside that Crystal. That's why it's taking so long for him to come back out, all those naps.

"Yeah," he says, and smiles. "Yeah. That's him. Have someone collect those for me, will you?"

Tifor nods, tapping the wristband that functions as her helmet transmittor – via his own, Prompto can hear her silently passing the message to Jiten, who is back at camp. Unlike Tifor, Jiten never opted to go for rehabilitation, preferring what he calls the efficency of his cybertronic form. Prompto respects his decision. It does mean that he would be staying back more during this particular mission.

Crown City is as shadowed as the rest of the world, but the mighty generators of the Citael still cause the streetlights to shine bright.

Sure, MT armor is designed to resist it, but Prompto isn't willing to risk Jiten enduring a break.

After all, someone needs to run the mail department, and no one is as good as Jiten.

(Prompto's gone from having a secretary to having a department of secretaries. He's starting to see why Regis and Clarus always spoke of power as a burden and a pest instead of a good thing.)

He shakes his head and heads back out to the streets, where his MT squads are very slowly canvassing. After nearly three years, they know what they're looking for and how to look out for themselves, but Prompto can't help the burst of anxiety that comes from knowing that they're in Insomnia proper.

There's a reason they put off coming here, again and again and again until Ignis made the final call to go in, saying that if they left it too long it would develop an aura of terror that they couldn't permit.

Personally, Prompto thinks it's a bit late for that, and that feeling has everything to do with the person who's taken up residence in the Citadel.

Ardyn Izunia.

Bastard in chief, and architect of the Long Night.

Honestly, if he wasn't such an immortal asshole, killer of Lunafreya, trapper of Noct, overall dick, Prompto would be kinda pleased that he exists, if only for the benefit it's been to the MTs.

The MTs have been incredibly useful, both in Prompto’s armies and in helping with the farming and the harvesting that was now a part of everyone’s lives, but they haven't necessarily had the easiest time integrating. The people of Lucis have learned to hate the Empire and their endless MT armies, and that hate is both entirely understandable and totally irrational in the depths of the Long Night.

Prompto heard someone the other day call it the World of Ruin, which seems a bit much. Sure, the world has gone the same way as the Inferian after his wars, but they're building what they can out of the ruins. And part of what they're building is a society in which humans and MTs walk freely with each other, MTs relearning what it means to be human again by socializing with others of their kind, undoing the Empire's greatest cruelty.

It's been a hard slog. In the beginning, there wasn't enough food, and people suffered, and suffering led to a near riot – a near pogrom, if Prompto wants to be accurate about it, with large sections of the refugee camp blaming the Empire for the Long Night and the MTs for serving the Empire. It was only forestalled because Gladio, Iris and Cor came out, swords drawn, and announced that they'd attack the first person still holding a weapon after a count to fifteen. No one wanted to test them.

Gladio's school did most of the groundwork, introducing the kid MTs to everyone and making clear that the adult versions were just grown up versions of the kids, and that helped people see some distance past the unchanging masks.

Ignis took the next step, telling the story of Ardyn Izunia, and creating an adequate target for the hatred of the community – one that they all could hate, when Aranea turned up with documentary evidence that Ardyn helped the Empire develop the MT program in the first place, decades back.

Prompto’s even moderately sure they weren’t forged, not that he would put it past either Aranea or Ignis.

It was Prompto's job to finish the work, and he did his best: his MT forces are integrating with Cor's Crownsguard, now, encouraging people to rely on each other as fellow-soldiers, but in what media they have, it's still his MTs who bring back treats from the cities and powder to make elixirs from the mines, his MTs that do heroic deeds on scales that hunters couldn't imagine, his MTs establishing the settlements at the Quay and elsewhere – the ones who build the homes people live in, and guard the routes of travel.

Prompto makes sure all MTs have plenty of vacation time, and gives them instructions to mingle and be friendly, and little by little, people are getting used to seeing them.

It isn't quite so weird anymore, regular humans and MTs standing together.

Prompto's proud of that, if nothing else.

Well, he's also proud of his chocobos.

He'd been sure – sick-to-his-stomach sure – that they were all gone, devoured by daemons and murdered by starving raiders (a new and most unwelcome development), but then one of the MT squads came back with reports of "unusually large ground-based birds in a multitude of colors" and Prompto just knew.

Sure, they'd all gone wild again, but it wasn't that hard to retrain them with offers of feed, treats (Ignis had nearly strangled Prompto at first for requisitioning some lamps and farmland and manpower to be used to grow chocobo treats) and memories of comfortable beds.

Prompto helps run a chocobo farm now. This is all of his childhood dreams come true.

The MTs tend to be split between the ones who are devoted to them, like Prompto, and the ones who think they're gigantic pests.

Still, there are enough of the first category for them to have mounted cavalry units now.

Man, sometimes Prompto loves being a general, and being able to order a chocobo cavalry charge? Definitely one of the times.

Their cavalry is currently patrolling the outskirts of the city to make sure they aren't going to be attacked from behind – even the fiercest daemon thinks twice when there's a screamingly mad chocobo charging headlong at it, a fully armored MT on its back carrying a rifile, sword, or axe – but they aren't really that maneuverable in the city.

"Stop pining for your birds," Tifor advises him.

"How do you always know?" Prompto asks. Yes, he's whining. No, he doesn't care.

He has to be professional sometimes, sure, but when the local government consists of your best friends (but one) and your armies consist of people who think of you as the ideal human (literally) no matter what you do, he doesn't need to try all that hard.

"You make the same face. Every time. Are you satisfied with this district?"

"I'm not seeing anything anyone's missing," Prompto agrees. "But I'm still feeling like something's off."

Tifor frowns at him, clearly not getting the same sense, but nods and starts issuing silent orders to double up on patrols and to be extra thorough.

Prompto really appreciates how efficiently Tifor picked up the apparently universal tendency of sergeants to think their superiors are crazy idiots but to fulfil their orders in the best way anyway.

"It's not that they're missing something," he tells her. "It's, like, this growing sense of menace. Something evil this way lurks, y'know?"

"Certainly, General," Tifor says. Her tone is less respectful than her words.

"Seriously, Tif; there's practically a crescendo of spooky ominous music going on –"

"I will find the MT responsible and have them shot."

"Tif!"

"Disciplined?"

"It's not an MT, by the Six," Prompto says, rolling his eyes at her. "I know the difference between a helmet-transmitted earworm and actual music already – and also? The music was a metaphor."

"I see. Shall we proceed toward the interior and see if your – music – gets louder?"

"More ominous," Prompto corrects. "It'll get more ominous. Have I ever told you about the time with the Marlboro? And its babies?"

"Never," Tifor says. "Certainly not in excruciating detail, with play-by-play recreations using salt shakers over a dinner table instead of actually eating using them."

"...right, I've done it a few times, then?"

"Yes, General."

"Gotcha."

Lightly bickering, but keeping their ears peeled for trouble, they head further into the city.

There are a lot of daemons in Insomnia – Prompto's had to do some serious daemon-slaying personally, and the MTs that comprise his bodyguard (always lurking in the background so as not to disturb him, but there) usually prefer to kill the daemons before they get anywhere close.

The bodyguards are fairly new. Ever since the raiders started getting more organized and started with the traps and assassination attempts, anyway; Prompto insisted on bodyguards for Ignis after he was nearly taken out by a sniper hiding in the crowd during one of his bimonthly in-person Q&A sessions, and Gladio after the idiot literally threw himself, unarmed, on a daemon that popped out of a box near the school.

Like, Prompto doesn't blame him. He would've done the same if there’d been a daemon anywhere near all those kids.

But things like that showed that the two of them definitely need bodyguards. Prompto totally concedes that they can take care of themselves, they're awesome and badass and all of those adjectives – and they can totally kick Prompto's ass – but they have duties that keep them distracted, and some asshole just needs one good moment to get them.

Of course, Ignis and Gladio then turned that same logic back on Prompto, and now they all have bodyguards and no one is happy about it – except everyone else in the camp, which greeted Ignis' begrudging announcement with cheers and "it's about time!"s.

Everyone’s equally miserable. Ignis says that’s the sign of a perfect compromise, really.

"I think I do know the music you refer to," Tifor says abruptly. "But it is at the Citadel, not here."

Prompto definitely agrees about the Citadel being full on haunted, but – "I still think there's something here. Daemon, maybe – underground? There are subway tunnels – or maybe something else. Something watching."

Tifor is oddly quiet.

"What, no mockery?" Prompto asks.

"No, sir," Tifor says. "Your feeling was correct. Please activate your chatter."

Prompto links in with the local MTs.

The scouts have located a dark figure, barely visible, watching them from a shadow. It has teeth, and a hat .

Apparently, between Ignis' announcements, Prompto's reinactments, and Gladio's narratives, the MTs have managed to get a startlingly accurate idea of what Ardyn looks like, or at least his hat, and have identified him accordingly.

They're currently pretending like they can't see him.

Keep up the good work, Prompto says, doing his best not to move his lips when he works the link. He's no natural at silent speech through the chatter, not like the MTs raised to it are, or even Ignis, and he's currently regretting not having put in more practice.

Based on his movements, we believe he wishes to speak to you, General, one of the scouts reports.

Prompto doesn't even need to calculate the odds – absurdly powerful possibly-daemonic immortal asshole who might also be a Lucis Caelum, with all the magic that entails versus a very competent but sadly mortal MT army – to reach the necessary conclusion.

Let him. Split and regroup, but make it seem orderly. We don't know if he knows about my role. Stay on silent.

They haven't seen hide nor hair of Ardyn since Gralea, other than the obvious signs of his presence in the Citadel. It isn't clear how much he knows, if anything.

Tifor disapproving but following close behind, Prompto makes his way to a fountain and sits down right in the middle of the square.

Sure enough, it's only a few minutes before he feels that ominous music feeling of being watched, followed only a minute later by, "Decided to accept your true heritage, I see?"

"I was born to be an MT," Prompto says steadily. "I've accepted that. You accept being born to lose?"

Ardyn snorts and materializes out of the darkness. "I did always like you best out of dear Noct's retainers," he drawls. "You still had spirit."

Prompto tries to think about a world in which Gladio and Ignis could be characterized as not having spirit and comes up totally blank.

He decides not to engage on that subject.

Prompto crosses his arms. "What do you want?" he demands instead. "Are you here to finish the job you started on the train?"

Ardyn laughs. "Don't be absurd!" he says, his lilting tone mocking and condescending as always. "You have to survive until our dear Noct's return – it wouldn't be nearly so satisfying to destroy him if he didn't have that little glimmer of hope first. And don’t forget - I did tell him I would keep an eye on you for him."

"Funny," Prompto says. "Haven't seen much of you."

"You've hardly been in any real danger," Ardyn points out in return. "But come now, we're being rude. Why don't you introduce me to the fine specimen you have accompanying you? I must say, I haven't seen such unique features before."

Ardyn doesn't seem to know about the rehabilitation process; that's something.

"I am from the east," Tifor says. "And am afflicted with albinism."

"Hardly afflicted, my dear lady! You are a positive jewel," Ardyn exclaims. Prompto would think that he means his compliments - Tifor is extremely striking – but his tone remains bland and condesencding and somehow offensive despite the nice words. "You should keep better company. One never knows about the quality."

"You intend to kill me to teach a lesson to Prompto while honoring your promise to the King," Tifor says. She sounds bored. "It's just as you predicted, Prompto."

Ardyn's eyes narrow just enough that Prompto sees that Tifor's shot in the dark hit true.

Prompto heaves a sigh. "Do you think he'll use a knife?" he asks her, sounding equally bored. "To remind us of Lunafreya?"

"You described him as 'excessively melodramatic', so that seems appropriate," Tifor agrees.

"Do you intend to keep us waiting long?" Prompto asks Ardyn. "I have better things to do, so get on with it if you insist on making whatever point you think you're making."

"You've grown quite cold, my dear Prompto," Ardyn says, insincere smile spreading over his face. "And quite cruel, to think I mean you ill! I will do no harm to your lady here. Though I must say, I had thought your affections were elsewhere - in Hammerhead, perhaps?"

"Been there, done that," Prompto sneers, mostly because this seems to be actually working, what the fuck. He hopes Cindy never finds out about this. "Do you have anything new, or are you bothering me for no reason?"

"I found myself curious as to your presence in Insomnia," Ardyn says. "Reasonable enough – especially with all the MTs about."

"I've 'embraced my true heritage'," Prompto says. "What business do you have here?"

"A spider need not explain itself to the fly," Ardyn says. "But it seems to me, perhaps, that you have started to weave a few webs yourself." A pause. "I would not have expected it of you."

Oh, thank the Six. Prompto actually recognizes what this is. He's been stuck sitting next to Ignis often enough to know it when he sees it.

This is a negotiation.

"I've learned a lot since the last time we spoke," Prompto says. "Including the necessity of being – circumspect."

Ardyn looks pleased, in that existentially bored snakeoil salesman way that he has . "That is indeed a virtue," he drawls. "One I feared your little group would never learn."

"We're loosely affiliated," Prompto says. "Or have you seen me anywhere near Lestallum these last few months?"

It's a bluff, and a weak one at that, but Ardyn seems to accept it as a polite fiction. Or possibly a clever feint.

Prompto's going to go with 'clever feint' and not 'desperately trying to remember how this part goes'.

"So you've outgrown your fellows," Ardyn says. "And gathered yourself a little group of MTs and mercenaries – how splendid. You move so slowly through the capital, one might think you were looking for something."

"One might," Prompto agrees. "Of course, if I was looking for something, I wouldn't be so stupid as to tell you about it – I've seen the price of your help."

He waits until Ardyn has appropriately rearranged his face into an expression of hurt – it takes a few minutes, like the darkness has brought out the least human aspects of Ardyn to simmer beneath the surface, and he’s unable to pretend to be normal as well as he used to – and then Prompto adds, "Though I might be inclined to consider your word – with appropriate reassurances."

He has no idea what that means, but Ignis uses the phase often to great effect.

Ardyn looks delighted. "Oh, well done, my dear," he says. "Webs indeed; we have a budding spider. But come now, I'm sure you have other ways to spend the evening –" He smirks at Tifor. "- and I will cut to the chase. Is what you seek in the Citadel?"

Prompto considers him, but Ardyn seems in earnest, or as much as he can be.

"No," he says. "It's not. Or at least – it wouldn't be so difficult to forget to search that building, or to do it so shoddily that we would be gone before an hour's out."

"A touch of forgetfulness is often a balm between friends, and aids much in recovery," Ardyn replies. "Wouldn't you say?"

He really could've just said 'I prefer the first one', but no, he has to go with the most pretentious possible way.

"I say that I'm tired of speaking in riddles," Prompto says, and stands. "I have mercenaries to return to, and to which I am accountable. I will order no search of the Citadel, but you will refrain from interfering with my soldiers."

"Of course," Ardyn says. "It's only right between old friends such as us. Mind you, if we're joined by any other old friends –"

"Obviously if Noct comes back, all bets are off," Prompto agrees. "Deal?"

"Deal," Ardyn says. "Don't go away too soon, Prompto; you've grown wiser than I thought. I might even learn to enjoy your company."

“Sorry that it’s not mutual,” Prompto says. “But I’m sure you understand.”

With that, Prompto stands, Tifor echoing his movement, and walks away. He leaves his back open.

Ardyn does nothing but fade into the darkness.

I kicked his ass, Prompto says gleefully. I totally won that negotiation!

Yes, General, Tifor says, smile in her mental voice. You did indeed. But a better question is – why does he care about the Citadel?

It's the final boss battle, Prompto says.

What?

In video games – which, to be fair, you guys aren't familiar with because we haven't moved the hydroelectric plant into full operation yet and therefore we can't use electricity for such 'spontaneous' purposes. But basically, when the hero and the villain meet at the end, they have a battle – a larger battle than all the rest.

Why would Ardyn care?

Because that's the whole point of all of this, Prompto says, covering his mouth with his hand so he can send with greater ease, his lips forming the words under his palm. He was helping us the whole way because fighting Noct before Noct obtained the power of the Crystal wouldn't be satisfying to him. So he's setting up for that.

You mean that he's tilting the battlefield to be advantageous to him?

Not any real advantage, I don’t think. He just wants to use the grounds as a psychological advantage. Our job will be not to let him.

How?

Prompto sighs. That part is going to be mostly Noct, he says. The Citadel used to be his home, after all – and I suspect the old king, his father, may not have been finally buried –

He will do well, an unfamiliar voice says, hissing with static characteristic to regular-born MTs. He's the King, after all.

There are murmurs of agreement.

Prompto can't help but grin.

Looks like the MTs have finally picked up on patriotism.

There’s also some murmurs about ‘mercenaries’ that aren’t particularly friendly – probably the hunters, but Prompto’s sure that the annoyance is going to spread into the rest of the ranks soon enough. That’ll get them even more pumped up to fight against Ardyn, should it ever come to that.

In the meantime, though –

Tifor, Jiten, Lieutenants, I want the squads to keep their eyes peeled – and I do mean peeled, I want eyes on everything – for the next few days. If it looks like Ardyn's retreat to the Citadel is correct, I want to rotate the squads in and out to make it look like there are fewer squads – no need to let Ardyn know the size of our army – and I want to strip as much of this place as I can.

Understood, his subordinate links all chorus.

"There's only one question I have," Tifor says aloud.

"What's that?"

Tifor looks at Prompto, very seriously. "General, when you were negotiating with him – how did the background music sound?"

"Tif!"

"Orchestral, maybe? Wailing strings? Mournful off-beat tuba sounds?"

"Oh, shut up."

"Maybe a large choir all singing in falsetto..."

"Yeah, yeah, yuck it up, I was right this time!"

"And what about all the other times?"

"Shut up !"

——————————————————————————————

SIXTH YEAR

"Commander Ignis," Curvo says. "Your schedule –"

"I told you, I'll get to it," Ignis says, running his fingers over the latest farmland report at the same time as he listens to Monica detail all the latest complaints from the Laborers' Guild. Best idea he's ever had, putting Dustin in charge of a single entity through which all the different working groups – farm workers, service workers, department workers, construction workers, and so forth – communicated their thoughts because it means that all of these complaints have to go through a rigorous process before they ever reach Ignis' ears.

On the other hand, it means he has to actually listen whenever said complaints do reach his level.

"But Commander!" Curvo says again, which is somewhat unusual. A good-natured boy, very good with detailed tasks and very bad with people and eye-contact, Curvo is the newest employee in The Office, as people call Ignis' administrative center; he's been working as Ignis' primary scheduler for the last three months and it's been going very well. Admittedly, anything would be an improvement over the last few schedulers Ignis was assigned – they didn't really enjoy the fast pace Ignis set for things, or the way his manner could become brusque when he was in the middle of something, which was often.

Curvo enjoys puzzles and doesn't even notice the occasional snapping, but he rarely interrupts, and never twice.

"Yes, Curvo?" Ignis asks, holding up a hand to forestall Monica's recitation. "What is it?"

"We have only three days before Sixth Year," Curvo says. "You said to remind you, above all else. I can't fit in anything to your schedule because it's already blocked out."

"Ah," Ignis says. "Yes."

He very nearly forgot. At the beginning, the nexus points were near to each other – one day, one week, one month, six months, a year. But when the year mark passed without any sign of Noctis, they had to move on, and then it was two years until the third anniversary – two extremely busy years – and when even that didn’t result in anything…

It’s been three more years.

Where did the time go?

"Keep my schedule free," Ignis instructs. "Everything can wait until afterwards, or be delegated if it's urgent."

Curvo nods and turns back to his work. He never much bothers with social niceties, which Ignis appreciates.

"I'll come back later," Monica says, which isn't necessary, but Ignis still finds himself watching her go, bemused.

Six years, he thinks. Marvels. How can it be six years already?

They were so disappointed the first few times, waiting, and after Ardyn attempted to steal the Crystal a few months after his division of Insomnia with Prompto – Prompto had figured out the madman's game quite well, and had warned Ignis in time – they ended up moving it far away. And then moving it again, and again, and again, as Ardyn rallied the daemons to search for the now-inert rock.

Eventually, Cor suggested somewhere so obscure even the daemons hadn't gone there.

Angelgard.

"You want to risk Noct returning in a prison?" Ignis asked, aghast.

"Better than at Ardyn's side," Cor replied, and that was the end of that.

They left Umbra there, with plenty to eat and a note suggesting that Noct meet them in Hammerhead. Umbra seemed pleased by the arrangement, as much as a not-entirely-corporeal dog-messenger of the Astrals, or at least of the Oracle, could be.

Prompto asked why not Lestallum, when Ignis first wrote the note.

Hammerhead was familiar, Ignis reasoned, and Noct would need familiar.

Lestallum no longer looks familiar.

It's grown, for one thing – as the refugees had stream in, they imported more and more building materials from the laboratories and factories of Niflheim, and as their city grew, they attracted more refugees in a seemingly never-ending cycle. And, of course, more refugees meant they needed more food, and more food meant more lamps and farmland, and more farmland meant more manpower needed to grow and harvest.

They started building the second power plant as soon as they'd thought about it, the hydroelectric dam by the Plunge, and by now it had been completed, giving them a massive new source of power. Lestallum now stretches all the way down there, a giant urban center the size of old Insomnia, all the roads in the narrow areas peppered throughout with regular check-in stops manned by the new Crownsguard – now enlisting both regular and MT volunteers, anyone who doesn't want to sign up for the Hunter Division or the Army of Night.

Ignis is still mildly annoyed at Gladio every time he has to hear about the "Army of Night", which had originally been the much more formal "Army of King Noctis" until Gladio explained to a small child on one of his broadcasted talks that Noctis meant night, and, in fact, that Caelum meant sky and Lucis, of course, meant light.

Said small child asked if the legions of the army of the night were like the stars in the night sky, and now the army is officially called the Army of Night and each squad is named after a different constellation, and there is a whole theme going on that Prompto and Gladio are ridiculously into.

The old army was the Army of Lucis, or Light, and honestly Ignis still thinks that's more appropriate because "Army of Night" sounds like some sort of bad book supervillain's forces, right beside the armies of darkness and whanot. But no, everyone went in with almost a macabre sort of glee at the idea of being the Army of Night.

The Long Night has inspired a lot of dark humor.

Ignis honestly cracks himself up sometimes.

Prompto likes the new name, of course, but he likes anything that seems to honor Noctis in particular, rather than simply the royal family or the empty title of King in Exile.

Ignis wonders what Noct would make of all of this.

But no, he can't let himself think of that; he's learned over the years that dwelling too much on what Noctis might approve or disapprove or question is not only useless but ultimately destructive and paralyzing.

Ignis lets his head fall into his hands.

Would Noct approve of the way the food distribution has remained collective, despite the standardization of the agricultural division into day and night shifts? The communal dinners with their shifting schedule are extremely popular, yes, and Ignis firmly believes that they are in large part to thank for the continued peace between the regulars, MTs, and rehabilitateds, but the diminuation in the rights of private property that had once been enshrined in Lucis’ constitution – he doesn't know.

Or the hospitals – basic first-aid competence is now mandatory for all citizens, with regular training courses alongside the mandatory weapons lessons, but the hospitals are located near the outskirts of the city for the simple, if ruthless reason that dead bodies are immediately taken for burial. They can't afford to risk infection by permitting traditional funerals. They now conduct funerals seperately from burials, mostly ceremonies held in memorium; they hold them, when possible, in the town center.

Jobs are assigned primarily where people have skills – Cindy runs engineering at Hammerhead, where they send all of their engineers for on-the-job training before they're qualified to help with repairs outside the city; service workers and farmers and anyone who's ever so much as successfully raised a plant manage the food; they have people for sewage work, hospital work, defense. Academics help out with Gladio's school, while office workers or anyone with government experience works in one of the numerous government branches. There's even an informal barter system for service work – trading extra food for chores to be done, child care for pretty but useless toys, things like that. Ignis is hoping for formalize it soon, possibly with a centralized link platform through the now ubiquitous MT helmet-links. Luckily those no longer need a full helmet to be effective once people had adjusted to the original helmet-link, or else Lestallum would look even more different than it already did.

But how would Noctis view it?

Ignis doesn't know.

He wishes he did.

Ignis sighs. No. It's time to stop thinking about it, because –

"Heeeeeey, Iggy!" Prompto chirps, rapping at the door. "It's time to go to Angelsgard!"

"We've already packed your bags!" Gladio bellows. "Aranea's here with a drop ship and we've forced your staff to tell us that they'd alerted you!"

Yes, that.

The two of them seem convinced that Ignis works too hard, which is of course absurd. Everyone works hard. It isn’t just him.

Ignis sighs again and goes to the door.

"I have to finish up a few loose ends –" he starts.

"Nope! They can handle it!" they chorus, and hustle him to the drop ship so they can go to Angelgard.

By the time they arrive at Angelgard, Ignis has been reduced to making faces at Prompto and Gladio. Don't they understand that he has duties, some even more expansive than their own?

Don't they understand that if Noctis is coming back tomorrow, Ignis needs to be ready to explain everything he's done?

"I don't think it'll be this time, anyway," Gladio says gloomily.

"That's just because you're a dope that bet on it being ten years," Prompto says dismissively. "Iggy, your staff can handle running things for a week, and Noct will think everything you've done is awesome. Stop worrying!"

"He says as we travel to Angelgard, the most depressing place on Eos."

"I'm pretty sure some of the garula that currently live in Wix's old outpost instead of Chocobos disagree with you," Prompto points out.

"You own a successful Chocobo farm," Gladio says. "How are you still this bitter?"

"That place is – was – Chocobo heaven!"

"You. Run. A. Farm. Don't they get massaged on a daily basis?"

"It helps their constitutions."

"Constitutions my ass. It'd help my constitution to get daily massages, and I do a lot more than they do; why don't I get some?"

"Grow some feathers first, dumbass."

“Chocobo butt.”

“Why you little –”

Ignis rolls his eyes and unsuccessfully tries to hide a smile as they bicker cheerfully onwards.

It certainly does relieve the tedium of the journey.

Travel to Angelgard is about a day’s travel no matter which way you go, by boat and road or by air; by drop ship (more of a jump ship, really – a small pod seating no more than six, typically used to travel to and from drop ships, since they didn’t want to spare a larger ship when it was just the three of them), it is at least not unpleasant.

Angelgard is, however, an absolutely desolate place.

In the days of Kings Mors and Regis, it was a prison, located on an island on a rock in the middle of the sea; few guards were needed, because even if the prisoners got out, it was impossible to make it back to shore without a boat.

There is a boat there now, in case Noctis comes back unexpectedly, but that's fine – there hasn’t been an actual prisoner in that stone jail for years now. Regis disapproved of it on moral grounds, and at any rate Insomnia didn’t want to spare the soldiers for such a distant locale.

But no humans meant no daemons, and Angelgard was an invention of King Mors’ father; as a result, it's likely unknown to Ardyn, and thus a safe place for the Crystal.

If nothing else.

Stone ruins on a rocky offshoot surrounded by ice-cold water, with dead grass still lying shriveled everywhere - not even mushrooms found this a worthwhile place to grow, and mushrooms are very nearly everywhere nowadays.

Ignis has grown very creative with incorporating mushrooms into dishes.

"I'll set up camp," Ignis says, stepping into the remaining structure of the prison – the Crystal is hidden in a chamber below, but this will do perfectly well as a shelter – and feeling around with his cane to make sure nothing else is on the floor that will trip him up. His glasses are helpful in identifying heat signatures and magical emissions, but he prefers to keep in practice of not using them. Technology, he has learned to his great regret, has a tendency to fail when it's needed most.

The Daemon Invasion of Year Four, for instance, when the main power plant went down for needed renovations and the backup generators failed right in the midst of a massive daemon attack. The daemons were ultimately repelled, of course, and Lestallum’s perimeter maintained, but it was a much closer call than Ignis would have liked.

"I'll take the Eastern patrol," Gladio says, reaching down and scratching Umbra under the chin. The dog came to visit them every time they came by, and (according to Gladio) looks as hale and hearty and not a single gray whisker older than he looked all those years ago. "Prompto – the West? And get us some seafood?"

"Sounds good," Prompto agrees. They don't work together often, the three of them; their duties rarely permit them the time. But they enjoy it immensely whenever they do, and they have developed a set approach: when they're near water, Gladio takes the longer patrol and Prompto the shorter, with Prompto casting nets for some dinner; when they're inland, Prompto takes the longer patrol and Gladio the shorter one with diversions to track down some meat for them. Ignis invariably prepares the camp and the first night's dinner, which is typically made from existing provisions with any catch being prepared for the next night's meal.

Ignis doesn't object to this arrangement – he's done enough hunting on his own to be quite steady in his self-esteem, being more accustomed to the dark than either of the other two, and he has the satisfaction of knowing that Gladio and Prompto are not acting out of pity.

Honestly, if Ignis wasn't blind, they would have seized on another reason to avoid being the one responsible for setting up camp, the lazy bastards.

He tracks their departure on his infrared, noting the small shape that represents Umbra following the two of them out of the prison.

Angelgard isn't large, but it is rocky and treacherous to scout, so Ignis can expect a few hours of blissful solitude.

If only Gladio hadn't hidden his paperwork..!

Ignis has set up a fire and a circle of warding marks their scholars have recorded from the Havens – the latter less certain in their efficacy, but hunters are a superstitious lot, willing to try anything, and Ignis might be an administrator but he's also a hunter.

Unfortunately, Ignis is far too accustomed to setting up camp efficiently. It's only been a half-hour in and Ignis has already reached the point of boredom – he's set everything up, checked it twice, and put the stew to simmer (he's dragged out the chopping and butchering process as long as possible, using the fanciest and most elaborate recipe he knows, but eventually human interaction must bow out in favor of the flame), and, worst of all, he still can't find his paperwork.

Blissful solitude is all well and good, but he's found in recent years that he's developed less and less of a tolerance for it.

He's just starting to wish he'd brought a book to read – Curvo had several of the typists working on transcribing fiction into blind-lettering, which was widely appreciated by all those in camp with difficulty seeing or a desire to reduce their late night light usage – when there's a noise at the entrance-way to the prison.

Ignis expands his infrared and sees a cluster of figures – definitely more than two, and that means it’s not Prompto and Gladio back early.

Ignis lets one hand fall to his belt where he keeps his daggers, and the other brace itself casually on his blind man's cane, which looks innocuous but contains three tiny vials of spell-casts in the handle.

If these are raiders, they will not find him the easy target they might expect.

"Prudens, you old fart, what do you know?" one of them, a middle-aged man by the sound of it, is saying.

"More than you, Militus," another one, sounding older, shoots back.

"Pah, I'll wager Angelgard didn't even exist back in the eldest days, old man –"

"It didn't," a third one, younger and with a strange curl to his voice, says. "It was formed by a movement of the lands which caused an eruption of rock from the seas; it was a cataclysm of some note."

"You always have to know everything, Peregrinus," a female voice teases, warm and pleasant. "My curious friend."

"My attention is fleeting," the third one – Peregrinus – replies. "Much like yours, my dear Furs."

Furs laughs.

"At least Furs and Peregrinus don't pretend to wisdom, eh, Prudens?" Militus says. "Say, Callidus, what do you think?"

"That I'm too smart to enter into an argument this foolish," another man's voice, with an accent not unlike Ignis', says dryly.

"The precise formation of Angelgard aside," Prudens says, "it is still possible to compare it to other isles of the same sort, and thus conclude that –"

"Oh, come off it," a new voice says. "It's hardly worth arguing about; the place is here, and that is enough."

"Shut up, Pius," the others chorus.

Pius snorts, clearly not offended.

"You ought to listen to Pius," another man says.

"Magus, you always take his side," another one complains. This one sounds like a big man, his voice deep and carrying. "You, Pius, and Aspicio, always together, always nattering on about the will of the Six –"

"Longus, that is uncalled for," another female voice says, this one as cool and unemotional as the first one was warm. "Be fair –"

"I'll leave fairness to you, Aequitas, my dear," Longus says. "I'll be gross and biased, just like Ferus."

"Don't get me involved in this," a new voice, another man, raspy like a veteran with a smoke-damaged throat, says, but the tone is amused. "Supero, what do you think?"

"I think we have been beaten here by company," a man with clipped tones says. "And that we are being most rude by continuing to natter on like gnats without greeting him."

"You're right," the second voice, Prudens, says. "Friend and fellow-traveler, well-met and easy journeys. May we approach your fire?"

Ignis hasn't heard that greeting before, but he has his manners. "You are welcome," he says politely. "Provided, of course, that you come in peace."

Several of the company burst into gales of laughter. Ignis has counted twelve names so far, though he has detected thirteen heat-signatures: Prudens, Supero, Callidus, Peregrinus, Magus, Aspicio, Furs, Longus, Aequitas, Ferus, Pius, Militus, and one who has yet to speak his name.

"Certainly we come in peace," the one called Magus says. "We will not disturb you for long – we have a ways yet to go, to-night."

"Besides, it would be contrary to the rules of hospitality," Pius says.

"Hospitality is all well and good," Militus says. "And rather useless when someone is inclined to break them. Let the boy be cautious! I think it wise of him."

"When one is travelling, it is often wise to be cautious," Peregrinus agrees.

"You never know what lingers in the shadows," Furs adds. "Particularly in this darkness."

"I think our new friend's darkness is more complete than ours," a new voice says. This must be either Aspicio or the nameless ones, neither of whom had yet spoken. It's a curiously neutral voice, neither male nor female. "You are blind, are you not?"

"I am," Ignis says honestly.

"I am Aspicio," the new voice says. "And we are thirteen in number – Supero has seated himself by your fire without invitation, as is his wont; Callidus has joined beside him. Prudens stands to my left, Peregrinus to my right, and the mountain standing behind me is Longus –"

"Hey," Longus protests mildly.

"Militus, Feus, and Aequitas now stand beyond your fire," Aspicio continues, "Furs is – where did she go?"

"I'm right here," Furs chuckles. Ignis stiffens; she's standing right behind him.

"Stop playing games," Aspicio says. "Magus and Pius stand further beyond, accompanied by the latest member of our company, Atavus; he has yet to speak."

"Nor will he, I suspect," Prudens says. "He suffers still from an old and grievous blow, which has yet to cease bleeding."

"He's injured?" Ignis asks, already conducting inventory of what palliatives and potions they brought with them. "We have medicines..."

"Only in his heart," Pius says. "But you are a good host to think to offer."

"My name is Ignis," Ignis says, realizing he has failed to introduce himself. "And since you come in peace, you are welcome; would you like something to eat?"

"We won't take what little you've made for you and your friends," Supero says.

"We still have a ways to go," Pereginus says.

"Where are you going, that you stop at Angelgard?" Ignis asks, unable to keep his curiosity at bay. "It's not exactly a main route."

It occurs to him a second later that these might be pirates, which would explain the strange accents and the travel to an remote island. But they have not demonstrated any inclination to attack him, and Ignis will be a good host until they do. Pirates or not, there is room around his fire for people who come in peace, which is of utmost importance in the Long Night.

"We travel a strange road," Magus says. "But it is a long one, and a harsh one, and we are glad to warm ourselves by a fire."

They clearly aren't planning on sharing more than that, which Ignis can understand: he wouldn't trust a stranger with all the information at once, either, for all that they vastly outnumber him.

"What were you discussing?" he asks instead. "About Angelgard?"

"The qualities of the ore that might be found around here," Furs says. She's on the other side of the fire, now; Ignis didn't hear her move, and he has very good hearing. She must be remarkably light-footed. "There is the question of whether an island raised by the sea would have any star-metal, which can be found from above or below."

"Star-metal?" Ignis asks.

"From falling stars," Magus says.

"From meteorites," Ferus corrects. "Six, but you're a pretentious lot; that's all it means, star-metal. Meteorites have it, and the inside of the earth, too – volcanoes and deep caves and such like that. Since Angelgard was formed during an eruption from the earth –"

"Out of an earthquake," Peregrinus says. "Not a volcano. Eruption might not be the word I'd use."

"Since Angelgard was formed in some way or another from the mantle, you pedantic ass, the question arose as to whether it would have a store of that ore."

"Are you searching for star-metal, then?" Ignis asks.

"Hardly," Supero says dryly. "We have more than enough of it; the question is entirely theoretical."

"Not quite theoretical," Prudens objects. "If there is more, that speaks well of the future."

"Regardless of whether or not there is more ore, all will be as the Six wish it to be," Pius says.

"Not all," Aspicio says, and says no more.

"The theoretical aspect of this conversation," Callidus says, clearly directing his voice to Ignis, "arises as a matter of superstition. You see, the royal arms of Lucis are each forged from star-metal."

"I hadn't known that," Ignis says, surprised; he'd known they were of some mystical material, light yet exceedingly strong, and of course capable of being wielded by the Kings of Lucis in their Armiger. "How did you learn that?"

"We've traveled very far," Peregrinus says.

"We read a lot of books, he means," Militus says. "In countries far beyond the borders of Lucis, where such information is not so secret."

"Regardless, the main issue of discussion isn't really about the ore," Aequitas says. "It is about the future. The Chosen King fights the darkness, bearing with him the royal arms, but the Accursed bears such arms as well and will match him on the field of battle."

Ignis nods. That is a matter to which he has given some serious concern – he would be surprised by their knowledge of such matters, but they are clearly well-traveled, and it is no secret in Lestallum that Noctis, the Chosen King, the King in Exile, will return to fight the Accused Ardyn. Nor is Ardyn's own history secret – Ignis considered it, but Gladio refused, making clear that he wouldn't risk even a single person falling for Ardyn's tricks and treachery because they didn't know who or what he was.

"What does the ore have to do with that?" Ignis asks.

"There are those of us who think that the Chosen King is notable enough to bear his own arm," Aspicio says. "And if there is ore, then why not?"

"His own – a royal arm for Noctis?" Ignis asks, entirely taken aback. "You mean, make a new royal arm?"

"Why not?" Militus says. "Every royal arm was once just a weapon."

"What makes them royal is being wielded by royalty," Ferus says. "The Chosen King is as royal as those who came before him."

"That might help balance the scales indeed," Ignis says, his mind already abuzz. An arm, made just for Noctis – Ignis knows Noct's preferences, of course; long after it was far from the strongest weapon he bore, he favored a short sword he had taken from Insomnia to protect them on their travels. If that sword were remade in star-metal, with proper designs drawn from the scholars' reports, then perhaps it could become a royal arm in truth, and tip the balance against Ardyn in the final battle. "We can hardly turn down any advantage – I thank you for the idea."

"Send us thanks once you've found the star-metal," Prudens says dryly. "It's rarer than mythril."

"Without the idea, we wouldn't have even looked," Ignis points out.

"The storm rises," Longus says, his voice a little distant. "We must be on our way."

"Thank you for your fire, friend," Magus says.

"You have kept us good company indeed," Furs says.

"I'm pleased," Ignis says, somewhat bewildered by such a short visit. "Fare well, and good luck on your journey."

"And you with yours," they say, and file out of the prison. Their steps are heavy, all but Furs'; they are clad in heavy armor.

Ignis' glasses tells him that they are all gone, all but one – the silent one, Atavus, who is still bleeding from the heart, and has not moved from where he sits by the door.

Ignis clears his throat. "Atavus," he says to that last remaining heat signature. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Atavus rises – a tall man, from the sound of him, listing to the left; he has a weak knee that causes him to stoop and limp, his feet heavy and dragging.

And then he speaks.

"Do not help me," he says, and his voice is like a crack of lightning lighting up a dark night, a sharp, sudden shock of recognition. "Help my son, as you have always done, and I will be satisfied."

And then he is gone.

King Regis, dead and unburied in his Citadel these six years and longer, is gone.

Gladio and Prompto come running into the prison a minute later. "Ignis!" Prompto cries. "We couldn't get in – we tried, but the way was blocked; it was glowing –"

"You're okay!" Gladio exclaims, sounding equally relieved. "We were afraid something had happened – what did happen?"

Thirteen, Ignis thinks, his mind fuzzy with shock; there were thirteen of them.

"I think," he says, very slowly, suddenly aware of the inhuman chill of the air around him – drained of life by his spectral guests, though his own warmth remained untouched, "that I just met the Thirteen."

"The Thirteen?"

"The Great Kings and Queens of Lucis," Ignis says. "The Thirteen. Those who bore the royal arms of Lucis, the ones whose tombs we visited by Noctis’ side."

"Holy crap, Ignis" Prompto says. "You mean you saw ghosts?!"

"Heard," Ignis corrects. He suspects that his blindness was a great aid to him here – he doubts they were entirely corporeal, his guests.

"Heard, saw, whatever!" Prompto says. "Ghosts!"

"When we came up to the door, we saw a bunch of blue lights flying out," Gladio says, confirming Ignis’s suspicions that his guests were likely corporeal only as avatars of blue flame. "Like will-o-wisps, but not evil. That must have been them – what were they like?"

"They bickered a lot?" Ignis says helplessly, still rather in shock.

He should have guessed, he thinks – Prudens, meaning Wise; Supero, meaning Conqueror; Callidus the Clever; Peregrinus the Wanderer; Magus, meaning magic, the Mystic; Aspicio, the far-sighted Oracle; Furs, the thief or, more correctly, the Rogue; Longus the Tall; Aequitas the Just; Ferus the Fierce; Pius the Pious, Militus the Warrior...

Atavus, meaning ancestor.

King Regis, who bore the Sword of the Father.

"They must have been here for a reason," Gladio says. "What did they say?"

"Did they say Noct was coming back tomorrow?" Prompto asks eagerly.

"They were arguing," Ignis says, "about an ore – Gladio, Prompto; I don't think Noct is coming back tomorrow, but I know what we need to do."

"You do?" Prompto asks.

"We need to make a sword," Ignis says. "For Noctis. But to do that, we're going to need to find a substance called star-metal."

"I think you'd better explain," Gladio says.

"Of course," Ignis says, already trying to calculate how long a break he can take from his work as Commander before Lestallum needs him desperately again. He wants to be involved in the hunt for this ore – and aren't Gladio and Prompto always on his back that he ought to take a vacation?

They can go and find the ore together, the three of them, just like they used to.

For Noctis, they can do anything.

——————————————————————————————

TENTH YEAR

The entire Council of Lestallum gets the emergency alert, directed only to them and used only in the direst need; a signal sent via the MT link network directly to the minds of the Council members, it can travel faster than the quickest message, whether by phone or otherwise.

It has no words at first, merely a sense of unbearable excitement.

It’s Talcott.

Newly of age, finally able to join the truckers he loved to follow on his radio – why is he signaling?

And then the message comes.

Shock.

Disbelief.

Slowly, a growing belief, a hope, a feeling, excitement, joy, hope –

Ignis’ phone rings, and he answers, his lower lip already bitten in suspense.

“You’ll never guess who I have here, sir,” Talcott says, the joy in his voice spilling over. “It’s King Noctis. I’m bringing him to Hammerhead.”

“What does he have to say for himself?” Ignis asks, already rebroadcasting the conversation to Prompto and Gladio.

“He says he’ll tell you in person.”

At last.

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #prompto argentum #gladiolus amicitia #ignis scientia #magitek soldiers #my fic

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thomasroach · 6 years

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Devil May Cry 5 All Enemies Guide

The post Devil May Cry 5 All Enemies Guide appeared first on Fextralife.

All Enemies Guide for Devil May Cry 5, featuring the in-game model images and descriptions by Nico, as well as where to find the enemies and some tips on how to take them on. If you want to learn more about DMC5, see our Bosses and Weapons guides as well!

All Enemies in DMC 5

There are a total of 19 unique enemy types in the Devil May Cry 5, and each enemy has its own moveset, strengths, and weaknesses. Some enemies can block and deflect attacks, some enemies have special rage modes, and others can only attack on melee or range. Learning their attack types and weaknesses is key to success, so read on for a full list of all creatures found in game and the best way to deal with them.

Baphomet Behemoth Chaos Death Scissors Empusa Empusa Queen Fury Green Empusa Hell Antenora Hell Caina

Hell Judecca Hellbat Lusachia Nobody Proto Angelo Pyrobat Red Empusa Riot Scudo Angelo

Empusa

Found in all non-boss missions.

They aren’t a real threat my any means, and are grappable at all times.

Melee Attacks Only

“Seems you’ll be running into a lot of these ugly suckers— and I mean “suckers” literally!

The good folks of Red Grave have had their blood sucked dry by these lil’ worker ants. Once the creatures have a butt full of the red stuff, they carry it off to the Qliphoth.

Well, on the plus side, they are pretty dumb—they might even ignore you and keep working until you turn on the heat. Be careful, though. Worker ants don’t seem so weak when you’re being swarmed by ’em.”

Green Empusa

Found in the Prologue and subsequent missions (frequent in harder difficulties)

Does not attack the player

Should be a priority for defeat, can be grappled at all times.

“If you thought those other bugs were bad, you’re really gonna hate these guys.

The green stuff in their butt ain’t any kind of blood—it’s a healing nectar that’ll fix up other demons’ wounds in no time at all.

My recommendation: Kill these first, before they make themselves a nuisance.

Oh, and it looks like they spit some kinda poison juice too. So, uh, maybe bring an umbrella.”

Red Empusa

Drops large amounts of orbs

Found in most missions, special Red Empusa groups reward players with blue / purple / gold orbs. See Walkthrough for details.

Higher difficulty Red Empusa attack the player

Interrupt their escape with a high-impact combo

Grappable at all times

“Ooh mama, this is a rare ‘un.

Just goes to show the power o’ blood—this one’s sucked up so much of the red vino that it’s crystallized its body. You could probably knock some of the crystals off with a few hits, or take this guy down and get the whole lot.

Trouble is, from what I’ve seen, these shy lil’ monsters are mighty skittish. First sign o’ danger and they’re outta there. Better work quickly if you want the big payoff.”

Empusa Queen

First found in Mission 05 (V). Appears from Prologue in harder difficulties

Can enrage (become red), dealing more damage and doing chained combos

Cannot be grappled

Can summon Red Empusa

Attack from the back to minimize the chances you take damage, if it grabs you use Devil Trigger or Arms to break free

“I knew it! Where there’s worker ants, there’s gotta be a queen too.

This big gal’s got the armor to take a beating and the tools to dish one out. And when she’s angry, she ain’t picky about her targets—she’ll scythe through her own demon buddies to get to you.

If that ain’t enough, she’ll get fired up if she sucks enough blood. Watch out if her body turns red—that’s your sign that it’s go time.”

Hell Caina

Melee Attacks with Scythe only

Easily Grappable

Their “charge” attack makes them immune to staggers

Easy to dispatch

“These shambling meatsticks are residents o’ the underworld, foot soldiers straight from the legions of Hell.

Time was, these things only appeared on the mortal plane by possessing a wooden doll, lump of clay, or something similar.

Now? Those creeps walkin’ around Red Grave are the genuine article. It’s a sign that the barriers between the demon world and the human world are breaking down.”

Hell Antenora

Appears first on Mission 02, consistently shows up afterwards

These guys can be grappled once, but after any combo they will enrage (glow purple) and charge at you. Their charge is ungrappable and prevents them from staggering from your damage.

They only have melee attacks, so charged ranged attacks can work well. Easy to separate them from others

Their charge will hit you from off-screen if it started on-screen

“Take a Hell Caina, torture it till it goes mad, throw weapons in its hands, and this is what you get.

Their hatchets are real nasty, and they’re nimbler than they look. Expect quick attacks when they go into a frenzy.

Judging by the samples we got, these things are extremely susceptible to pain—so you better believe they won’t take any punishment lying down.

Knock ’em down, but keep your guard up. Next thing you know it’ll be back swinging like a madman on fire.”

Hell Judecca

Appears first on Dante’s mission

Annoying escape-prone enemy, use trickster / stinger / grapple to get to it.

It can inflict ranged and melee damage, but its attacks are slow.

It is best to lure other enemies away from this one to thing out crowds on higher difficulties.

Using your devil trigger to deal with them is advised only in close quarters as they will otherwise teleport away.

Does not attack from off-screen, but be mindful of getting caught up in an “almost” off-screen attack

“A high priest in the choirs o’ Hell. Ain’t that somethin’?

These fellas tend to leave close-quarters fighting to the grunts, which they can summon in to take the heat off themselves. Meanwhile, they attack from long range by extending those snakey tentacle arms.

They’ll try to keep their distance and dodge gunfire when they can. You’ll just have to show these slitherin’ scumbags you got the smarts to get past their defenses and send ’em screaming back to the pit.”

Pyrobat

Staple enemy, ranged attacks only

Can be grappled at any time

Can be knocked off the air with Griffon’s dive ability

Best to deal with them first in a fight, or use them to trickster / grapple away from battle

If let unattended, they will eventually break your combo with one attack or other

“Ever heard the phrase “like a bat outta Hell”? Well, this is it.

These leathery lir pests have got some kinda combustion chamber built into their biology. Meaning? Well, they breathe fire.

On their own, these critters ain’t gonna burn your ass up too bad. Just watch your back when a whole swarm tries to crash the party.”

Hellbat

Regular on several missions

Incredibly annoying ranged attacks

Deal with this enemies as soon as possible by knocking them off the air and unleashing.

Trickster or Jump away when they die, as they trigger a large explosion on defeat

Can be grappled at any time

“Y’know, we see a lotta weird things coming up out of the hot place, but this one’s really somethin’ special.

See how the combustion chamber is mounted on its spine, so when it spits flame it sets itself on fire? That’s the kinda design I can get behind.

Not that I’ll object if you smash these little assholes to kingdom come. Try aiming for the combustion chamber on its back—should take the fire out the critter and make for easy pickings.”

Death Scissors

First seen in Mission 4, regular in several missions and common in high difficulties

The scissors provide blocking for this enemy, making it difficult to deal with

You can break their block with the right combo or powerful charged blasts, but it is risky to wait out the charge time

Pro Tip: Wait for it to attack then attack at the same time, this will “parry” the attack – now shoot them in the face for a 1HKO (the one you need for Secret Mission 7)

You should practice breaking their defense in The Void to learn what combo works best for you

Cannot be grappled

Attacks from off-screen as it teleports to you and attacks from underneath or a side

“Now a master engineer like me’s gotta have a profound respect for the laws o’ physics. So when these creepy specters come drifting through walls with their shears a-choppin’, it kinda gets on my nerves.

But they’ve gotta be solid sometime—otherwise they couldn’t block your attacks with them shears.

Near as I can tell, that noggin controls the whole shebang. Look for some cue from the head, and aim your attacks there. Might go down easier’n you think.”

Riot

Common Enemy

Its attacks can be stopped by heavy blows, particularly susceptible to Dante’s motorcycle attacks

Can be grappled

Melee attacks only

Easily separated from groups

Has a long downtime when knocked which can be used to deal further damage

“The pits of Hell spew up all kinds o’ reptilian nasties, and this is one of them.

I studied their cell samples and let me tell ya, their muscle tissue is something else. Each limb has power like a hydraulic cylinder. That’s how they jump so dang far.

And I ain’t exaggeratin’ when I say their retractable claws are razor sharp. I tried one on some sheet metal—zzzzip! cut right through. Weak to impacts though. Think you can break ’em off?”

Chaos

Appears in later missions

Very annoying spin attacks can come at you from off-camera

Can be stunned with heavy artillery, but the charge time has to be properly planned for

Can be grappled when not spinning

Best to launch them into the air to toy with them without the danger of being on the ground

“Another big lizard that’s crawled outta some deep dark hole in the underworld.

Each one of those spikes on its back is like a giant saw tooth, and it’s not afraid to get ’em spinning!

They’re sharp but brittle, so try snapping ’em off in between dodging its attack runs.

Oh, and it’s got these nasty little neurotoxin sacs inside its chest. Step aside when it starts hackin’ something up —that stuff is lethal!”

Fury

Extremely fast and deadly enemy

First appears in late missions, but is recurrent on higher difficulties

It teleports a lot, so using trickster is a must to stay ahead of it

It is very difficult to grapple it or land consistant combos

Stinger and such are good moves to get some damage in fast

“I got this theory that demons mutate based on their deepest, darkest desires.

So take this big lizard. It wants to hunt, right? It wants to go faster. Wants to kill faster. Day in, day out, all it can think of is speed.

A few generations of that twisted killer instinct, and you get a freak so fast it ain’t even moving under its own power no more. This sucker uses raw demonic power to do little space-time jumps. It’ll warp right next to you and bite your face off before you can blink! Hope you got quick reflexes.”

Scudo Angelo

Appears first as a mini-boss of a coop mission

Only deals melee damage, but can charge at you

The shield can be destroyed with sufficient damage

Jump behind them to get easy hits

Can be grappled if not shielded

Can be launched into the air for combos and grab.

Deal with them before taking on Proto Angelo

“In his journals, my daddy sometimes mentions the Black Angel—some kind of powerful demon that used to inhabit the underworld.

Daddy had a theory that it was created by transubstantiating an unwilling human victim into demonic flesh.

If that theory was right, then these dead-eyed creeps are like a mass-produced version of the Black Angel.

Their shields? Hella tough. If you wanna get around ’em, you’re gonna have to use your head. Good luck with that.”

Proto Angelo

Appears first as a mini boss on a coop mission

Deals large AOE attacks and has powerful charges

Can poise through combos

Cannot be grappled unless staggered

It is best to attack from behind

“Check out the armor and weapon on this demon. I’m seein’ clear similarities to the Black Angel.

My guess is these are some kinda prototype, or maybe modified version of the Black Angel.

We’ve seen these weirdos speaking to the mass-produced types, giving them orders like they’re in command. Seems they’re smarter than your average hell-beast.

And hey, I know you think you’re invincible, but that sword’ll give you more than a close shave. But, if you can parry it, I reckon you’ll have a pretty big opening to do your stuff.”

Baphomet

Appears in later missions

Summons ranged ice daggers that follow you

Summons ice spikes under you

Best to get up and close via trickster / grapple as soon as possible and knock them to the ground

Can be grappled

Deal with them first when multiple enemies are there

Does not attack from off screen

“Your average demon don’t have the smarts to actually wield their power as magic.

This fella breaks the mold, though—he may only have ice tricks up his sleeve, but that’s still enough to kill you if you don’t watch your ass.

Just look at those freaky, stick-thin limbs. Physically speaking it’s weak, and it knows it, too. It’ll try to keep its distance and throw up a magic shield to block your shots. You’ll have to get in its face, or wait for your chance to shoot past the shield.

Hey, nobody said this business was easy.”

Lusachia

Appears in later missions

A very powerful ranged mage

Puts an aura around you that deals large damage, stay on the move!

Trickster or grapple to it and melee it into the ground as soon as possible

Deal with them first in a multiple enemy scenario

“Sure was interesting dissectin’ this demon.

This thing bears out my theory on demon evolution. Can’t do magic incantations without a

mouth, right? So after a few generations of demons obsessed with arcane chants, you get something that’s all mouths, with its muscles so atrophied it can hardly move its limbs.

And more mouths means more power. My guess is this thing could kill you dead with a single spell if you let it get the chant out. If you see it startin’ something real ominous-looking, you better shot it down real quick.”

Behemoth

The enemy has a caged state where it does little damage, you can ignore it while in this form

When you break its bonds, it will hit for a lot of HP if it connects, so stay on the move

Can be grappled in devil trigger

Moves very fast, dodge its charges and avoid being near its head

“Every now and again you get a demon so absorbed with gluttony and power that it starts cannibalizin’ its own demon kin.

See how other demons have chained up this thing’s mouth? It’s good to know that even the demons are afraid of becoming chow.

With the restraints in place, this big boy’ll just stumble around lookin’ sorry for hisself. Not too dangerous.

Bust the chains off, though, and it’ll go hog wild, eatin’ everything in sight. If it chomps a few bad guys, all the better. Just don’t come cryin’ to me when it nips your buns.”

Nobody

Appears in later missions

Damage sponges, separate them and isolate them to focus fire

Deals melee damage but can fire eye balls at you that explode for AOE damage

They can be grappled if stunned

It is best to leave them for last in a group as they have high HP

“At first glance, these uglies seem half-formed, like they broke outta the egg too early. I gotta admit, there’s still a lot I can’t figure out about lem.

Half-baked or not, theylll tear you a new one if you don’t watch out. They got more strength in those spindly arms than your three average demons combined.

And what else is on the menu? Magic powers. When you see ’em kinda dancing around, they’re absorbing demonic power right outta the atmosphere.

What really bugs me is those masks they wear. The masks are important to ‘em somehow…Just wish I could figure out how.”

If you’re enjoying DMC5, make sure to check out our Devil May Cry 5 Review, the DMC5 Walkthrough, and our other DMC5 Guides: 10 Things you Should know, Skills List, All DMC5 Weapons Guide, All Secret Mission Guide, All Blue Orb Locations, All Gold Orb Locations, All Purple Orb Locations and All DMC5 Enemies, All DMC5 Bosses.

The post Devil May Cry 5 All Enemies Guide appeared first on Fextralife.

Devil May Cry 5 All Enemies Guide published first on https://juanaframi.tumblr.com/

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classycollectorartisanposts-blog · 6 years

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