Love Her and Despair Remaster [41]
Sep. 28th, 2019 07:04 pmTitle: Love Her and Despair
Chapter 41: "No Matter How Dark the Night"
Final Fantasy X/X-2
Characters: Auron/Lulu, Rikku, Elma, Isaaru, Pacce.
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Word Count: 3600
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The Story So Far: Thirteen years after Yuna falls in the Final Summoning, Auron and friends have brought down the Final Aeon. Yu Yevon pounces Auron as a last-ditch substitute.
Illustration by author
The Farplane promised longed-for release. Auron was so tired, a husk of secondhand pyreflies glued together by phoenix down and scars. Rest, sang the sky beyond all skies. Your journey is at an end. Yu Yevon promised nothing, but its dissonant, teeth-cracking whine turned every thought to despair, to the frenzied attack of the maddened hive. Defend, defend, defend, destroy, came the mantra, and he wanted to lash out at something, at anything, as if the violence he had just committed on Lulu's body had unleashed the ravening fiend within. All that held him back was pain, the pangs of childbirth magnified a hundredfold. Why was Erinyes screaming into his mind?
A pressure on his hand, light as the swish of a braid on bare skin, was proof against chaos. Choose, Auron. Choose. This is your story.
A fiend was still a man, as long as he remembered his name.
Auron jammed himself back into his body like an ill-fitting shoe. Rikku, shaking him frantically, gave an indignant, "Hey!" as he elbowed her aside and stood, feeling the weight of sword against callouses.
Lulu's garden was lost. In its place, brackish waters lapped from horizon to horizon, flooding the ruins of a ghost city under a bruise-purple sky. Jumbled stone blocks were scattered, patternless, a puzzle that could never have formed a coherent whole. Bolted to them were rusted pylons and transformers, a maze of drooping cables and catwalks leading nowhere. Bleached, coralline huts teetered on rotting piers, side by side with soulless skyscraper façades. A few dying Macalania trees glowed pale and dim in the shallows. Over the dome of Baaj Temple, carrion birds wheeled in an endless gyre.
No, not Baaj. Erinyes.
Seymour's aeon had sprouted from the temple foundations like an unholy mushroom, its flesh stained and gangrenous, its reflection mirrored on stagnant water. Around it orbited a pair of misshapen monoliths, last remnants, perhaps, of Lightning Mushroom Rock. At the aeon's foot stood a small figure in an old red coat.
Auron began to run. ( Read more... )