Voices from Heaven (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thespaceopera) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2015-10-20 11:18 am
thespaceopera) wrote in driftfleet2015-10-20 11:18 am
Entry tags:
- !event,
- ahsoka tano,
- coil lenn,
- margaret "peggy" carter,
- nami,
- natasha romanoff,
- nelkeila tarid,
- nyssa al ghul,
- octavia blake,
- one,
- phèdre nó delaunay de montrève,
- r. daneel olivaw,
- rapunzel,
- remy lebeau,
- riku,
- robin redbreast,
- rogue,
- santanico pandemonium,
- shawn hunter,
- sokka,
- stefan salvatore,
- steve rogers (ou),
- steven quartz universe,
- stiles stilinski,
- syeira,
- tadashi hamada,
- tekhetsio,
- the vision,
- vash the stampede,
- vima sunrider,
- wanda maximoff,
- wrath,
- yamanaka ino
...And also these.
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it's perfect!
And nothing else much happens, the fire crackles in its tiny circle in the coffee table and the candles on the mantel continue to burn.]
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Of course, if it opens he'll exit to the next room.]
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Fortunately for Vash, he's making enough of a ruckus that he wakes the fire up.]
If you want to leave, there are two ways that you can try ta go.
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Who...? Did the fire just speak to me? [He bends his head down trying to get a better look.] Ah, yeah? So how does one get out?
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You can touch the mirror or play the game.
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[Talking to a woman made of fire? He's just going to roll with it.]
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[A shrug. She didn't feel the need to introduce herself, really.]
I stay here, but ya don't have to. Go ahead, make your choice.
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You've made your choice. You've been killing and hiding and guarding the wounded in the one place that is sort of 'safe' for hours and hours after days upon days of this bloody, ruthless work. But things are not getting better, in fact, things are getting worse. No matter how many Cultists you kill, there are always more of them, and their rage and hatred is untiring. It's hard to see; the foliage is thick, the humidity makes movement even more difficult, and you have to move. It doesn't matter how dehydrated or exhausted or in pain you are. You have to move.
There comes a time when everything is stripped away and who you are shines through.
Out of ammo, drenched, bleeding from somewhere and facedown in the mud, now is that time for you. You don't know where your brother is, if he is dead or alive. You're not sure how long you've been defending the camp, or when - if - this will ever stop. The Third Party continues to rain down terror from above - and all you know is that if you're going out, you're not going to do so quietly. It's time to use what God, the devil, or evolution gave you, and you don't give a damn who sees.
Moving slowly so as not to attract attention, you slip off both your gloves. There's a Third Party member dying not five feet away. You crawl over, place her hand on his forehead, and help him on his way. Instinctively, you brace for a hostile pysche - but there's nothing. Only emptiness and strength. Power. The ability to fly. And this one controlled wind.
You hold on until the enemy stops breathing and then you grabs his abandoned battle axe, sight your next target in the sky, and begin to ascend. All you need to do is get close enough to touch one. See how they like fighting ten or twenty of themselves packed into one person.
You are not going out quietly.
You fight. You don't know for how long, but you're bursting with stolen strength and power but despite all that, there are too many of them and they are all strong and at some point you are driven out of the sky -- and this time, something snaps. You feel pain like you have never known before, and oh, you have known pain. Your wing. The fall broke your wing. You feel a moment's empathy for all the enemy you have killed by breaking off both of theirs, but only for a moment. The Cultist who did this to you is still in the sky, and you have to move, you have to take cover, but the seething and unnatural pain temporarily pins you to the ground. You hear the sound of running feet -- a friend? An enemy?
You lever yourself onto your elbows and look around, pull together enough concentration to command the mud around you to move and form a better cover with stolen power -- but the running feet do not belong to an enemy. They belong to a comrade, a fellow Lucetian, someone you even know -- Mia.
She barely knows you, and still she saves you -- does something to make the both of you invisible.
With her help, you manage to stand, despite the pain. She helps you to walk back to the camp you've been protecting, and later (when the pain is less), you'll be so glad that she came. If that Cultist hadn't finished you off, you aren't sure you'd have been able to stand up on your own, and you'd have drowned in the mud.
That would have just been embarrassing.]
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He's reeling and needs a moment.]