Tiny Terror (locked to the_earths_salt)
Dec. 6th, 2015 05:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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.
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.