FFVersusXIII: Saevio
Title: Saevio
Fandom: Final Fantasy Versus XIII
Characters: Noctis/Stella
Prompt: #22 Violence ( Lammybug's Prompt List)
Word Count: 2,390
Rating: T
Summary: Through the eyes of a warrior Prince.
Disclaimer: For entertainmemt purposes only.
Notes: This is a stand alone.
Additional Notes: Saevio is Latin for "to rage, to be furious, take violent action".
click banner for links to all my stories.
Saevio
It was an all too familiar sound. The wet, almost splashy sound of his sword slicing through flesh and the responding burst of red liquid gushing forth. Sometimes he could feel the crunch of bones when he was feeling particularly vindictive towards his opponent. A spine was a tricky thing to severe. One not only had to hit a certain spot, they had to twist just right. He has had ample opportunity to master this skill. Then the silence that follows when one's enemy has finally fallen. The adrenaline continues the erratic breathing of his heart and the only sounds on the battlefield are the exhalations of his breathe. At his feet lies another broken body that is the result of his direct actions. He had done this. He has done this countless times before. Killing another living being in order to fight another day. Just another amongst a sea of bodies that he has had to extinguish like an insect. Doomed to do nothing else but wait until the next comes along to challenge him again. When did he become this killer? What did that make him? Why did this fate befall him?
To live a violent life, one will die just as violently. He accepts this because he does not deserve to die peacefully. There could never be a painless death into the oblivion for him. Painless was not how he had lived his life and he does not expect to end it without it. It is hard to believe that there was a time he almost thought this was fun. This life of violence that he has been born into. It had not even bothered him when he had taken a life before. That was when he had been younger. Now, with so many fallen at his sword, he thinks with more clarity. There was no glory in the death of another. To watch someone's life drain from their eyes was not a triumph. Such a thing was a loss. It was a loss that could never be regained. There was no such thing as redemption for a killer. Which was exactly what he was, a killer.
He expects one day that it will be him that feels the edge of someone else's sword thrust into his body instead. Sometimes he almost relishes it because he can see the ones that he has done the same thing to. When he closes his eyes at night, he can see their faces. If he could accumulate them all into one place, it would be a disgusting monument of rotten corpses. One so high that he would not be able to see over the top of it. Blood would flow like a river around him and the stench of it would repel even vultures. He is sure that at one point in time there was a purpose for all this death. There was a reason, a cause for such vile things but he cannot really remember now. It must have been something noble enough to fight for. He has lost his focus so long ago that it does not seem to matter what it was anymore. There was not much else to his life except constant death. Death delivered by his own, stained hands that can never be cleaned now. All he had left was to find that one he would gladly allow to deal his deathly blow.
As an answer to his thoughts, he can feel them as they approach at his back. A melancholic smile teases his lips as he turns his head slightly to catch a glimpse of them in his peripheral vision and he feels unexpectedly mournful.
"I am glad it is you," he says, before turning his eyes to regard them fondly.
She is a vision of luminescence in the dark, bleak world that is his life. All white and pale with skin so soft and so delicate that she was nothing but a ray of purity and grace. Such a contrast to his own presence. While he brought gloom and cloudy skies, she brought shining beacons that refused to be ignored in the night sky. His perfect opposite in every way. Even the expression on her face is a contrast of what must be on his. He knows he looks at her with grim satisfaction while she stares back with hopeful contemplation.
"Who are you?" she asks in that voice of hers that makes him think of lazy days in cloudless blue skies. It is an unexpected question, but he finds he thinks of an answer very quickly.
"I am the god of war," he answers. "Violence is my creed and my law."
He expects her to be angry. Something close to it at least. Perhaps even disappointment to make it easier for her. He certainly does not expect her to look sad.
"I am not some avenger come to exact revenge upon you," she says with a slight shake of her head.
He notes that though her sword is drawn, it's not pointed at him but at the ground at her feet. She is prepared for a defensive attack instead of an offensive. Clever girl. She was giving him the choice while always on her guard.
"Maybe you should be," he tells her and he turns his body to face her fully. He has his own sword in hand but like her, his is not positioned in challenge either.
"Why me?" she asks apprehensively.
"Because I choose you."
"That is not an answer and you know it," she points out, giving him a challenging look.
He smiles and he knows it must look bitter because he feels a bitterness inside him now. Smiles did not come naturally to someone like him.
"A god of war to be conquered by a goddess of love," he explains. His voice is factual.
It is not meant to be a flattering flowery declaration. He was neither a flatterer nor a flowery sort of man. It was an accurate analogy in his mind. He was Hades and she Venus. He lifts up his sword to engage her to fight but she does not follow his gesture. Instead, she takes a step closer and as unbelievable as it seems, he feels the urge to move back. Not specifically out of fear, but from the feelings he sees reflected in her eyes.
"If you want a means to end your life, you have chosen the wrong person," she says taking another small step closer.
He watches the steady determination on her face a moment and he wonders how someone can look so stubborn and yet so yielding at the same time. They were two expressions that were so contradictory and yet they were both evident in her features. Of all the women he had known in his life, she has always had the power to keep him endlessly enthralled.
"It is fitting," he tells her, getting his emotions under control. This time he makes himself take a step closer to her. "You can and you will."
In this he is confident. Her lovely face looks uncertain a moment and his smile turns bittersweet.
"You will because you have to. You know this," he urges her.
"You give me a set destiny when you resent fate yourself," she accuses, but there is no malice in her tone. His kind goddess has tears in her eyes for him and he feels humbled by her affection.
It was more than he deserved and he is wicked enough to savor this rare commodity of having someone care. For having her care.
"This has nothing to do with a preset destiny," he says because he needs her to understand. He steps closer until there is only a foot between their bodies. Slowly and pointedly he raises the thin edge of her sword to his chest and presses the shape point against his heart. "I choose you to do this because you are the only one that can."
"Why do you want this so much?" she pleads. Seeing the tears so closely now creates an unfamiliar ache in his chest. The grip on her hilt is disappointingly weak. It is her show of rebelliousness against him and he wants to smile again.
"This is justice," he answers. "I cannot be stopped and this war cannot be won if you refuse to do this."
They both knew this was true. Neither side would be the victor unless one of them killed the other. That was the only way to end their war. It was why it had been going on for so long. He could not kill her no matter how desperate he was for it to end. He could not ever kill her and she did not deserve to die. Between the two it should be him and he would only allow her to do it. She who has conquered him already. Why not make her triumph complete?
"So you forfeit so easily?" she says with a frown. "After all that has happened. The things that we have both done, you just give up?"
"Do you remember why we are even fighting?"
She hesitates because even she has not remembered as he had trouble remembering.
"The Crystal," she says, but it takes her so long to recall this, that it pains him that even she needed reminding of it. His conviction is strengthened that this is right.
"I do not remember so readily either," he confesses. "The war will continue until there is nothing on our planet to win."
"But even then there will be something," she replies and she has a look of urgency on her face now that puzzles him. "You cannot see it because you cannot see anything beyond the violence. You are too afraid to."
"Afraid?" he repeats with a frown. No, he did not see what she means but even as he thinks this, in his heart he knows that, that is a lie. He does see what she means. Only, he does not want to think of what that could mean.
"You have given me the power of you life," she reiterates.
He nods.
"And it is your life that I choose to keep," she tells him determinedly.
"There is no justice in allowing me to live when I have done nothing but bring violence," he reminds her in a tone deliberately sounding impatient. Perhaps if he feigned anger, she would change her mind. She also cannot refute this logic. It would be an injustice to keep him alive as she wanted. She had to accept this.
She merely shakes her head in that endearingly stubborn way again and he resists the urge to kiss her. When a smile reaches her lips, he feels the heaviness in his chest lighten and he actually does feel a little afraid at this new feeling that she gives him. The feeling that she has always secretly given him.
"I am not the goddess of justice," she says and drops her sword to the ground. It lands with a loud clang between them. "You said I am the goddess of love. So justice can shove off because as much as you may deserve it, love grants you another opportunity to achieve redemption."
He thinks over all this implies and wants to argue. She accuses him of being afraid to live and face the consequences of the violence he has wrought all his life. Maybe it was the coward's way out, but how did one change his nature? How many families were out there, mourning their dead because of him?
"You have already changed," she tells him as if she has read his thoughts. "People will see."
"I fail to see the change," he says.
"Because death cannot see what love can," she say patiently, then reaching up to touch his face. "Love suffers long and is kind. It hopes and endures all things."
"Even this?" he asks, pointing towards himself.
"All things," she emphasizes. "But I no longer have to hope."
"Why?" he asks, bringing his face down to be closer to hers.
"Because you do love me back," she says. "And death and violence leave no place for love."
He looks away from her as he tries to grasp this thought but he does not move his face away. It was not exactly logical but there was truth in it.
"That was why you would only allow me to be the one to kill you," she whispers, circling his face with both her small hands and forcing his eyes back to hers.
His eyes look into hers and he suddenly feels very vulnerable that she had read through him so vividly. Within the haze of his dark eyes, she had seen inside with perfect clarity the why that he could not have told her verbally.
"Join with me," she invites. "We can turn this all around. We can leave Rage and Fury behind."
"What if I cannot?" he asks grimly. There was no guarantee. It all seemed like hopeful delusions of things that cannot be.
"Then we will both meet violent ends together," she vows.
"Not you," he growls quickly, clutching her waist with his hands. "Not you."
"Why not me?" she insists. "I have done as much killing as you."
"For the world to lose something so…," he finds himself at a loss to which word he wants because he wants to use so many at once. He clutches her face and lightly bumps their foreheads together in his haste. "The world cannot lose something so precious."
"That is how I feel about you," she says, tilting her face to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Shall we try to redeem ourselves together?"
This leaves him torn because he does not agree with her. He was not precious. He was not redeemable. There was no hope for him. But he can see that she does not feel that way and that she meant what she said about meeting a violent means with him. She was hitting him at his weakest. His weakest being her. She knew he would not sacrifice her. He would not risk her. So he does not have any other choice.
"Yes," he says, closing his eyes and praying that he can keep this promise. "I will try."
Fandom: Final Fantasy Versus XIII
Characters: Noctis/Stella
Prompt: #22 Violence ( Lammybug's Prompt List)
Word Count: 2,390
Rating: T
Summary: Through the eyes of a warrior Prince.
Disclaimer: For entertainmemt purposes only.
Notes: This is a stand alone.
Additional Notes: Saevio is Latin for "to rage, to be furious, take violent action".
click banner for links to all my stories.
Saevio
It was an all too familiar sound. The wet, almost splashy sound of his sword slicing through flesh and the responding burst of red liquid gushing forth. Sometimes he could feel the crunch of bones when he was feeling particularly vindictive towards his opponent. A spine was a tricky thing to severe. One not only had to hit a certain spot, they had to twist just right. He has had ample opportunity to master this skill. Then the silence that follows when one's enemy has finally fallen. The adrenaline continues the erratic breathing of his heart and the only sounds on the battlefield are the exhalations of his breathe. At his feet lies another broken body that is the result of his direct actions. He had done this. He has done this countless times before. Killing another living being in order to fight another day. Just another amongst a sea of bodies that he has had to extinguish like an insect. Doomed to do nothing else but wait until the next comes along to challenge him again. When did he become this killer? What did that make him? Why did this fate befall him?
To live a violent life, one will die just as violently. He accepts this because he does not deserve to die peacefully. There could never be a painless death into the oblivion for him. Painless was not how he had lived his life and he does not expect to end it without it. It is hard to believe that there was a time he almost thought this was fun. This life of violence that he has been born into. It had not even bothered him when he had taken a life before. That was when he had been younger. Now, with so many fallen at his sword, he thinks with more clarity. There was no glory in the death of another. To watch someone's life drain from their eyes was not a triumph. Such a thing was a loss. It was a loss that could never be regained. There was no such thing as redemption for a killer. Which was exactly what he was, a killer.
He expects one day that it will be him that feels the edge of someone else's sword thrust into his body instead. Sometimes he almost relishes it because he can see the ones that he has done the same thing to. When he closes his eyes at night, he can see their faces. If he could accumulate them all into one place, it would be a disgusting monument of rotten corpses. One so high that he would not be able to see over the top of it. Blood would flow like a river around him and the stench of it would repel even vultures. He is sure that at one point in time there was a purpose for all this death. There was a reason, a cause for such vile things but he cannot really remember now. It must have been something noble enough to fight for. He has lost his focus so long ago that it does not seem to matter what it was anymore. There was not much else to his life except constant death. Death delivered by his own, stained hands that can never be cleaned now. All he had left was to find that one he would gladly allow to deal his deathly blow.
As an answer to his thoughts, he can feel them as they approach at his back. A melancholic smile teases his lips as he turns his head slightly to catch a glimpse of them in his peripheral vision and he feels unexpectedly mournful.
"I am glad it is you," he says, before turning his eyes to regard them fondly.
She is a vision of luminescence in the dark, bleak world that is his life. All white and pale with skin so soft and so delicate that she was nothing but a ray of purity and grace. Such a contrast to his own presence. While he brought gloom and cloudy skies, she brought shining beacons that refused to be ignored in the night sky. His perfect opposite in every way. Even the expression on her face is a contrast of what must be on his. He knows he looks at her with grim satisfaction while she stares back with hopeful contemplation.
"Who are you?" she asks in that voice of hers that makes him think of lazy days in cloudless blue skies. It is an unexpected question, but he finds he thinks of an answer very quickly.
"I am the god of war," he answers. "Violence is my creed and my law."
He expects her to be angry. Something close to it at least. Perhaps even disappointment to make it easier for her. He certainly does not expect her to look sad.
"I am not some avenger come to exact revenge upon you," she says with a slight shake of her head.
He notes that though her sword is drawn, it's not pointed at him but at the ground at her feet. She is prepared for a defensive attack instead of an offensive. Clever girl. She was giving him the choice while always on her guard.
"Maybe you should be," he tells her and he turns his body to face her fully. He has his own sword in hand but like her, his is not positioned in challenge either.
"Why me?" she asks apprehensively.
"Because I choose you."
"That is not an answer and you know it," she points out, giving him a challenging look.
He smiles and he knows it must look bitter because he feels a bitterness inside him now. Smiles did not come naturally to someone like him.
"A god of war to be conquered by a goddess of love," he explains. His voice is factual.
It is not meant to be a flattering flowery declaration. He was neither a flatterer nor a flowery sort of man. It was an accurate analogy in his mind. He was Hades and she Venus. He lifts up his sword to engage her to fight but she does not follow his gesture. Instead, she takes a step closer and as unbelievable as it seems, he feels the urge to move back. Not specifically out of fear, but from the feelings he sees reflected in her eyes.
"If you want a means to end your life, you have chosen the wrong person," she says taking another small step closer.
He watches the steady determination on her face a moment and he wonders how someone can look so stubborn and yet so yielding at the same time. They were two expressions that were so contradictory and yet they were both evident in her features. Of all the women he had known in his life, she has always had the power to keep him endlessly enthralled.
"It is fitting," he tells her, getting his emotions under control. This time he makes himself take a step closer to her. "You can and you will."
In this he is confident. Her lovely face looks uncertain a moment and his smile turns bittersweet.
"You will because you have to. You know this," he urges her.
"You give me a set destiny when you resent fate yourself," she accuses, but there is no malice in her tone. His kind goddess has tears in her eyes for him and he feels humbled by her affection.
It was more than he deserved and he is wicked enough to savor this rare commodity of having someone care. For having her care.
"This has nothing to do with a preset destiny," he says because he needs her to understand. He steps closer until there is only a foot between their bodies. Slowly and pointedly he raises the thin edge of her sword to his chest and presses the shape point against his heart. "I choose you to do this because you are the only one that can."
"Why do you want this so much?" she pleads. Seeing the tears so closely now creates an unfamiliar ache in his chest. The grip on her hilt is disappointingly weak. It is her show of rebelliousness against him and he wants to smile again.
"This is justice," he answers. "I cannot be stopped and this war cannot be won if you refuse to do this."
They both knew this was true. Neither side would be the victor unless one of them killed the other. That was the only way to end their war. It was why it had been going on for so long. He could not kill her no matter how desperate he was for it to end. He could not ever kill her and she did not deserve to die. Between the two it should be him and he would only allow her to do it. She who has conquered him already. Why not make her triumph complete?
"So you forfeit so easily?" she says with a frown. "After all that has happened. The things that we have both done, you just give up?"
"Do you remember why we are even fighting?"
She hesitates because even she has not remembered as he had trouble remembering.
"The Crystal," she says, but it takes her so long to recall this, that it pains him that even she needed reminding of it. His conviction is strengthened that this is right.
"I do not remember so readily either," he confesses. "The war will continue until there is nothing on our planet to win."
"But even then there will be something," she replies and she has a look of urgency on her face now that puzzles him. "You cannot see it because you cannot see anything beyond the violence. You are too afraid to."
"Afraid?" he repeats with a frown. No, he did not see what she means but even as he thinks this, in his heart he knows that, that is a lie. He does see what she means. Only, he does not want to think of what that could mean.
"You have given me the power of you life," she reiterates.
He nods.
"And it is your life that I choose to keep," she tells him determinedly.
"There is no justice in allowing me to live when I have done nothing but bring violence," he reminds her in a tone deliberately sounding impatient. Perhaps if he feigned anger, she would change her mind. She also cannot refute this logic. It would be an injustice to keep him alive as she wanted. She had to accept this.
She merely shakes her head in that endearingly stubborn way again and he resists the urge to kiss her. When a smile reaches her lips, he feels the heaviness in his chest lighten and he actually does feel a little afraid at this new feeling that she gives him. The feeling that she has always secretly given him.
"I am not the goddess of justice," she says and drops her sword to the ground. It lands with a loud clang between them. "You said I am the goddess of love. So justice can shove off because as much as you may deserve it, love grants you another opportunity to achieve redemption."
He thinks over all this implies and wants to argue. She accuses him of being afraid to live and face the consequences of the violence he has wrought all his life. Maybe it was the coward's way out, but how did one change his nature? How many families were out there, mourning their dead because of him?
"You have already changed," she tells him as if she has read his thoughts. "People will see."
"I fail to see the change," he says.
"Because death cannot see what love can," she say patiently, then reaching up to touch his face. "Love suffers long and is kind. It hopes and endures all things."
"Even this?" he asks, pointing towards himself.
"All things," she emphasizes. "But I no longer have to hope."
"Why?" he asks, bringing his face down to be closer to hers.
"Because you do love me back," she says. "And death and violence leave no place for love."
He looks away from her as he tries to grasp this thought but he does not move his face away. It was not exactly logical but there was truth in it.
"That was why you would only allow me to be the one to kill you," she whispers, circling his face with both her small hands and forcing his eyes back to hers.
His eyes look into hers and he suddenly feels very vulnerable that she had read through him so vividly. Within the haze of his dark eyes, she had seen inside with perfect clarity the why that he could not have told her verbally.
"Join with me," she invites. "We can turn this all around. We can leave Rage and Fury behind."
"What if I cannot?" he asks grimly. There was no guarantee. It all seemed like hopeful delusions of things that cannot be.
"Then we will both meet violent ends together," she vows.
"Not you," he growls quickly, clutching her waist with his hands. "Not you."
"Why not me?" she insists. "I have done as much killing as you."
"For the world to lose something so…," he finds himself at a loss to which word he wants because he wants to use so many at once. He clutches her face and lightly bumps their foreheads together in his haste. "The world cannot lose something so precious."
"That is how I feel about you," she says, tilting her face to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Shall we try to redeem ourselves together?"
This leaves him torn because he does not agree with her. He was not precious. He was not redeemable. There was no hope for him. But he can see that she does not feel that way and that she meant what she said about meeting a violent means with him. She was hitting him at his weakest. His weakest being her. She knew he would not sacrifice her. He would not risk her. So he does not have any other choice.
"Yes," he says, closing his eyes and praying that he can keep this promise. "I will try."