Kingdom Hearts (Cloud/Leon)
Jul. 10th, 2007 10:37 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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kinkfestTitle: Calling All Avenging Angels
Author: Lucifer Hisaki (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mercy_slays/luciferhisaki)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1100
Summary: You stare at the battlefield before you...
Notes: Post-Kingdom Hearts 2. Character Death.
Calling All Avenging Angels
You stare at the battlefield before you, wondering why and how you could have let yourself be blind. Your home—their home, it was never really yours, was it?—is destroyed. Heartless, they say. It was the Heartless, but you cannot bring yourself to believe that. You knew that the Keyblade Master had stopped the Heartless once again. There was no reason for them to cause another uprising.
It had been a little over a year since you had last been here.
Sephiroth was the reason you left, why you didn’t look back. You jumped into the air and followed him—to the end of the universe and then some. You thought that everything would be all right once you came back, that nothing would change but it has. The castle is gone once again. It had crumbled, the remains burning and scorching against the crystal landscape. You don’t think there are any survivors other than the ones still fighting.
Heartless, they are everywhere.
The sword in your hand feels heavier than before. It’s not only guilt that makes you strain. It is regret. Regret that you chose to fight your darkness—a struggle you could easily delay and refuse—than stay behind and protect the ones you love. Like the man slumped against the cliff wall. His eyes are open and empty.
Whatever luster there was in those grey eyes were gone. His right arm (sword arm) is missing. The blade he uses to wield is embedded hard against his body, pressed up against his left side. You think he collapsed there, probably after receiving a hit to the chest. The skin you once explored with your lips is black with burns, riddled with cuts; dark blood is drying brown like the dirt underneath your feet. You don’t know what to think.
He probably stumbled and tried to stand up again with his left hand (it lies palm up on the ground next to him) holding the hilt of his gunblade tight until the severity of his injuries made him fall again. Never to stand up.
This was the first sight you saw upon coming back here.
Moisture prickles at the corner of your eyelids now. You want nothing more to find the thing that dealt your forgotten lover his dying blow. Of everyone, you imagined at least he would be the one to survive a battle. He was strong, fierce. Not quite invincible but he had his ways. You couldn’t defeat him unless you did something he couldn’t predict, something different each time. He was tricky, crafty, smart.
Unlike you.
Growling deep in your throat, you snarl in self-hatred and brandish your sword above your head, allowing it to split into two. You want vengeance. You want it now. Death means nothing to you when life—your very existence other than your self-imposed journey—is gone. Nothing can bring back the dead.
You’re only comfort is that he didn’t turn into the enemy.
The blood on your hands from killing him again would feel more wrong than you leaving him in the first place. You didn’t even say a goodbye to him then. So blind. You were so blind. But there is a time for contemplation and guilty regrets. Not now, not when your home is crumbling even more around you.
He would have wanted you to save them, to lead them. Just like he lead them before until his demise. You are strong, he told you once—an eternity ago—you had returned to Traverse Town, escaping Hell. You need to be stronger still if you want to keep his dream—his legacy—alive. These people he loved and cared for so much needed protection, but most of all they needed a leader. You doubt you would be a good one but you knew him. Knew him enough to know what they needed.
Walking up to his corpse, you kneel down before him, holding his head in your hands. You want nothing more than to see him blink and smile that half-grin at you. To hear those three words fall form his lips. He is cold and still. He was dead long before you came here but that doesn’t deter you. No, you lean closer instead, staring into those grey dead eyes. Your swords are set next to you, well in reach in case of an attack but right now there is none and you like it that way.
You press your lips against his and breathe into him, hoping against logic that it would be enough.
It is not.
Pulling away, you use your left hand thumb and forefinger tips to close his eyes. You pick up both your swords in one hand and grasp his gunblade with the other. Clenching tightly around it, you hang his sword on your waist. You can’t use it but at least he would always be at your side. Then you slowly remove his pendant off his neck and hang it around your own, tucking it underneath your shirt. It’s cool against your flesh but you don’t care. His beloved silver pendant is now yours like he would have wanted it to.
Turning your back on his corpse, you hold both of your swords in your hands, knuckles white underneath your black gloves. With a snarl on your face, you stare toward the nearest fight and run toward it, hoping you’re not too late to save a life.
They need you now, more than ever. More than what your heart says—stay with him, guard his body, he’s more important than them--but you are to be their new leader.
Don’t follow, lead. Don’t stand, protect.
Don’t just fight, avenge.
Become more than just a wanderer, become someone who is your lover’s equal. You have the strength and the will. You just need to harness it in the same way he did. Become someone they would look up to, someone they would respect and care about; someone they would be willing to follow to the ends of the earth.
He always called you his equal and now you can prove it. You can prove you can do this. You will because it’s just not a fight for survival. It’s a fight for the preservation of a memory, a legacy—a will.
Avenging him just happens to be at the foremost of your mind.
But he should understand that.
You hope he will.
Spreading your wings, you begin your new journey, flying toward the people you swore on his dead body you would look after and lead. The time is now.
End
I live off your reviews. Really. So please feed me?
Author: Lucifer Hisaki (
mercy_slays/luciferhisaki)Rating: PG
Word Count: 1100
Summary: You stare at the battlefield before you...
Notes: Post-Kingdom Hearts 2. Character Death.
You stare at the battlefield before you, wondering why and how you could have let yourself be blind. Your home—their home, it was never really yours, was it?—is destroyed. Heartless, they say. It was the Heartless, but you cannot bring yourself to believe that. You knew that the Keyblade Master had stopped the Heartless once again. There was no reason for them to cause another uprising.
It had been a little over a year since you had last been here.
Sephiroth was the reason you left, why you didn’t look back. You jumped into the air and followed him—to the end of the universe and then some. You thought that everything would be all right once you came back, that nothing would change but it has. The castle is gone once again. It had crumbled, the remains burning and scorching against the crystal landscape. You don’t think there are any survivors other than the ones still fighting.
Heartless, they are everywhere.
The sword in your hand feels heavier than before. It’s not only guilt that makes you strain. It is regret. Regret that you chose to fight your darkness—a struggle you could easily delay and refuse—than stay behind and protect the ones you love. Like the man slumped against the cliff wall. His eyes are open and empty.
Whatever luster there was in those grey eyes were gone. His right arm (sword arm) is missing. The blade he uses to wield is embedded hard against his body, pressed up against his left side. You think he collapsed there, probably after receiving a hit to the chest. The skin you once explored with your lips is black with burns, riddled with cuts; dark blood is drying brown like the dirt underneath your feet. You don’t know what to think.
He probably stumbled and tried to stand up again with his left hand (it lies palm up on the ground next to him) holding the hilt of his gunblade tight until the severity of his injuries made him fall again. Never to stand up.
This was the first sight you saw upon coming back here.
Moisture prickles at the corner of your eyelids now. You want nothing more to find the thing that dealt your forgotten lover his dying blow. Of everyone, you imagined at least he would be the one to survive a battle. He was strong, fierce. Not quite invincible but he had his ways. You couldn’t defeat him unless you did something he couldn’t predict, something different each time. He was tricky, crafty, smart.
Unlike you.
Growling deep in your throat, you snarl in self-hatred and brandish your sword above your head, allowing it to split into two. You want vengeance. You want it now. Death means nothing to you when life—your very existence other than your self-imposed journey—is gone. Nothing can bring back the dead.
You’re only comfort is that he didn’t turn into the enemy.
The blood on your hands from killing him again would feel more wrong than you leaving him in the first place. You didn’t even say a goodbye to him then. So blind. You were so blind. But there is a time for contemplation and guilty regrets. Not now, not when your home is crumbling even more around you.
He would have wanted you to save them, to lead them. Just like he lead them before until his demise. You are strong, he told you once—an eternity ago—you had returned to Traverse Town, escaping Hell. You need to be stronger still if you want to keep his dream—his legacy—alive. These people he loved and cared for so much needed protection, but most of all they needed a leader. You doubt you would be a good one but you knew him. Knew him enough to know what they needed.
Walking up to his corpse, you kneel down before him, holding his head in your hands. You want nothing more than to see him blink and smile that half-grin at you. To hear those three words fall form his lips. He is cold and still. He was dead long before you came here but that doesn’t deter you. No, you lean closer instead, staring into those grey dead eyes. Your swords are set next to you, well in reach in case of an attack but right now there is none and you like it that way.
You press your lips against his and breathe into him, hoping against logic that it would be enough.
It is not.
Pulling away, you use your left hand thumb and forefinger tips to close his eyes. You pick up both your swords in one hand and grasp his gunblade with the other. Clenching tightly around it, you hang his sword on your waist. You can’t use it but at least he would always be at your side. Then you slowly remove his pendant off his neck and hang it around your own, tucking it underneath your shirt. It’s cool against your flesh but you don’t care. His beloved silver pendant is now yours like he would have wanted it to.
Turning your back on his corpse, you hold both of your swords in your hands, knuckles white underneath your black gloves. With a snarl on your face, you stare toward the nearest fight and run toward it, hoping you’re not too late to save a life.
They need you now, more than ever. More than what your heart says—stay with him, guard his body, he’s more important than them--but you are to be their new leader.
Don’t follow, lead. Don’t stand, protect.
Don’t just fight, avenge.
Become more than just a wanderer, become someone who is your lover’s equal. You have the strength and the will. You just need to harness it in the same way he did. Become someone they would look up to, someone they would respect and care about; someone they would be willing to follow to the ends of the earth.
He always called you his equal and now you can prove it. You can prove you can do this. You will because it’s just not a fight for survival. It’s a fight for the preservation of a memory, a legacy—a will.
Avenging him just happens to be at the foremost of your mind.
But he should understand that.
You hope he will.
Spreading your wings, you begin your new journey, flying toward the people you swore on his dead body you would look after and lead. The time is now.
I live off your reviews. Really. So please feed me?
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