Tiny Terror (locked to the_earths_salt)

[throwingthebook]

Zexion was rarely seen outside the company of the other four Nobodies. He knew his limits. He had the power to cast magic that he would never have been able to command as a human, but his tiny, frail body was no match for physical blows. He was still a child, which often gave the residents of the worlds they attempted to hide on pause. Not so here, it seemed. Here, they had been watching a long time. Here they had little empathy for an empty child.

They had been waiting for him when he came to drink in a reserve of magic from a natural reserve, a small fissure in the ground that glowed bright, shimmering blue. Seven of them came at him before he could even dip his toes in. Unfortunately for them, he never went anywhere without his Lexicon. The size of the book was no issue when he could simply hold it aloft with his mind, wearing them down and imprisoning them in the realm of their own fears one by one. One by one, they died with terror in their eyes. Zexion didn't give them a second thought. His gaze was on the old man, their leader, placidly waiting. For what? For death? Why didn't he fight back?

"You knew you couldn't win," he said quietly. He maintained a safe distance, the Lexicon hovering in front of him. "Why did you even try?"

The old man looked at him without fear. That would change soon enough. "Sometimes...one must destroy things that are not meant to exist. Things like you...and the others like you. Even at the cost of one's own life."

Zexion scowled. "That's stupid."

He was too low on magic to destroy this one with an illusion. The Fira spell was bad enough. He paid no mind to the smoldering husk, taking one step towards the fissure. The world spun, and he was on his knees in the grass, a small sound escaping his throat at the dizziness. It faded slowly...giving him time to look up at the three other men that had been hiding in the bushes. Waiting? While the others died? Just to kill him? One had his sword drawn, that seemed intent enough.

Slowly the man raised it. The blade gleamed in the moonlight. "This gives me no pleasure," he murmured. As if he were speaking to a real child. "But it must be done."

Zexion's gaze lingered on the blade, went to the man's face. Or more accurately, the familiar face towering behind the three of them. And he smiled.

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[the_earths_salt]

As always, Lexaeus watched.

He always watched, though he didn't always act; losing his heart had chilled him through and through, like permafrost turning fertile soil into unbreakable and inhospitable ground that yielded nothing but bleak starvation and despair. Nothing grew there, not on earth locked deep within a heart of ice, not on barren and desolate windswept stone. And yet..... what had once been nurtured, what had once been given life, was bound to remain. Roots pushing deep into the earth were only anchored all the more firmly, when clung to with an icy iron grip. Nothing could tear them from the earth's grasp, if they had already been claimed.

Perhaps Zexion didn't always see him, the shadow so often at his back, but he was there far more often than the young Nobody might have suspected, when he otherwise thought he must be alone--it wasn't safe, to have their numbers divided, or to leave their most vulnerable member unguarded. Everyone needed to learn and grow to become strong, by virtue of experience; what Zexion could do alone, he was allowed to, and Lexaeus only observed his comings and goings in silence and secrecy. But when the unexpected happened, and things stopped going according to plan? When he got in over his head, and the odds were stacked far too far against him?

Lexaeus was there, just as he always had been, just as he always would be.

Lexaeus was there among the the fallen corpses, able to move so easily on obliging earth and stone that--for him--his footsteps refused to even make a sound. For him, the magic that pulsed through the heart of the earth in this world willingly masked his presence, and the subtle flare of energy that summoning Skysplitter demanded. As the swordsman raised his blade, Lexaeus raised his own, as well; the only warning his victim had of his fate was a quiet murmur, right as the tomahawk came crashing down on his head. "Indeed."

There wasn't even a chance for the man to scream. Skysplitter was fast, strong, and true--his skull split like an overripe melon, and his body crumpled under the sheer weight of the weapon, to say nothing of the force behind the blow. There was a sickening crack and crunch as his spine broke, and he collapsed like a marionette with his strings cut as the follow-through forced him brutally into the ground. He did look nothing like a puppet, crushed under Skysplitter's blade--a worthless, broken puppet, a piece of trash rather than a human or even a corpse. Back bent at an unnatural, impossible angle, chest sagging in as crushed ribs failed to hold a human shape, shattered and shapeless skull lacking even an intact face to recognize..... nothing but a heap of fresh, bloody meat for the creatures of this world to feast on, and the earth to finally claim, as the people of this world forgot him.

A single strike, nothing more. It was over in an instant, sword clattering down before it could even be used; Lexaeus didn't bother to wait for his other opponents to arm themselves. He didn't even pause to regard the man he'd just killed, beyond seeing that he was dead--they would be slaughtered in moments, too, just as helplessly and mercilessly as they would have done to Zexion. It was only just, wasn't it? Nobody should be willing to embark on a quest they weren't willing to face the consequences of.

[throwingthebook]

Zexion stood and watched as the other two men were demolished by Skysplitter. The axe's blade cut through one's head, and then like liquid crossed to bury itself in the other's chest. But it was the man whose spine had been crushed who held the most interest. Lexaeus was strong--very strong, even stronger than the Superior. But strong enough to shatter the humanity from a human? This he had to see. As soon as the other two are dead he manages to get to his feet, still unsteady from being drained of magic, and came closer, avoiding the spreading pool of blood to have a look.

He kind of looked more like a broken toy than a person. Losing a heart was one thing. But having a body that was broken beyond all repair--that's what fascinated Zexion. Not even a strong Firaga spell could destroy someone like that. A burned corpse was still recognizable. This was nothing like that. Skysplitter had pieces of his brain across its blade. Pieces of heart and lung from the last man, too. Zexion stepped back, reluctant to have his boots get covered in blood. Or tired as he was, go down in the middle of the mess. "Thank you. ...We need to move again." He turned, taking his time in getting closer to the magic spring that he had left the camp for. Lexaeus would follow, he was sure. The big man always did. "They're not the only ones who know about us."

Zexion pulled off one of his gloves as he crouched down next to the spring, closing his eyes as he reached in and let the magic flood into his body. "Do you know what I think? I think we should find a world that's just ours. No one else's. It's so annoying how they attack us."