Asch drabble; Escape
...Hi. Don't mind me, it's not like I haven't updated this place for like two years or anything.
Little drabble I wrote today. The prompt was "escape" from One Word.
Title: Escape
Word Count: 767
Summary: Asch ponders his existence after Luke defeats him in Eldrant.
Warning/Pairing/Extra: Character death.
Notes: Spoiler for the end of the game.
Sometimes, against his will, Asch wondered if death would be an escape.
It wasn't that he was depressed, and far from suicidal; he had no time for that level of self-loathing, what with everything he had left to accomplish in his life. Despite his miserable attitude, he had a thirst for life that most everyday citizens of the world seemed to lack. He -wanted- to live. He just... couldn't.
Or wouldn't.
The thoughts were flitting though, vague and uncontrollable, as most of his thoughts tended to be. Was it peaceful to die, to stop suffering forever? Would he be with Lorelei, considering his nature, if the fonic sentience was freed in the end? Would he be happy? He hated those thoughts, but more than that he hated that he couldn't stop himself from thinking them. He had no desire to waste too much of the time he had left on annoying topics like his own inevitable death.
Perhaps it was being in Eldrant that made his thoughts fall back to that old, ugly topic once more. Watching the replica's back as he disappeared through the doorway of Sync's trap, leaving Asch to face the Oracle Knight replicas alone, one thought stood apart from all the others fighting for his attention: I'm going to die here. His body was already reaching its limit, and even he wasn't sure if he had one more battle left in him before the final step of his fonic separation began. Still, he wasn't going down without a fight.
He would go down with a name, though. -His- name. Luke fon Fabre, the man he was always meant to be.
The first replica fell from a crushing elbow's blow to the windpipe, and with a second swing, the man was down and Asch was armed with a sword once more. He turned swiftly, blade outstretched, getting a feel for how many of them were there and where they were moving. One, two, five, three more, fifteen now- there were more coming, too. He couldn't stop. He began a chant, a glyph forming around him, before the soldiers could gain the upper hand and overwhelm him; four went down with a bolt of lightning, two more mortally wounded while they were distracted by the deaths. They were replicas, mindless, obedient copies, not real Oracle Knights at all. There was no art to them, no skill or training, just strength of numbers and a lack of fear that only ignorance could breed. Killing them meant nothing.
Swords clashed, and another fell to his blade, then another; they were getting faster, watching his moves, seeking to overwhelm him before he lowered their numbers too much. Stronger, too- it was a strain to fight them off. One more, and his sword was already slick and dripping, his hand hurting from the force of the blows. Stupid replica. If he hadn't wasted all that time and energy fighting that dreck, he'd have handled these soldiers with no trouble at all. With a twist of the sword, he kicked the man away and backpedaled, breathing hard. If his arm went numb, it would be over at once.
He couldn't stop for long, though, and his determination won out; the last soldiers fell, and it at last felt like he would be able to breathe. The replica, had he made it? Was he on his way to Van? Someone had to finish the mission. I'm going to die here. But he couldn't die yet.
Just a few seconds, that was all he needed. All of his opponents were down and bleeding. It was alright. It was-
-Not alright, because quite suddenly a sword tore through his body. Then another. Then another.
I'm going to die-
He was dying; it was a certainty this time. He had no strength to run, no healing artes to fix the holes in his body. It didn't take long, though, and for some reason it didn't seem so bad. After a few moments, it stopped hurting, and in the quiet beauty of Hod's pure white halls, he felt at peace, something he hadn't experienced in a very, very long time. Maybe it really was an escape, a sort of freedom from everything he couldn't just let go of. And... the replica was there. Asch had always thought he would hate the dreck until the day he died, and that day had finally come. Maybe it was a good time to stop, even for just a moment. At the end of his life, at least he wasn't alone.
Stupid replica.
The rest is up to you...
---
Little drabble I wrote today. The prompt was "escape" from One Word.
Title: Escape
Word Count: 767
Summary: Asch ponders his existence after Luke defeats him in Eldrant.
Warning/Pairing/Extra: Character death.
Notes: Spoiler for the end of the game.
Sometimes, against his will, Asch wondered if death would be an escape.
It wasn't that he was depressed, and far from suicidal; he had no time for that level of self-loathing, what with everything he had left to accomplish in his life. Despite his miserable attitude, he had a thirst for life that most everyday citizens of the world seemed to lack. He -wanted- to live. He just... couldn't.
Or wouldn't.
The thoughts were flitting though, vague and uncontrollable, as most of his thoughts tended to be. Was it peaceful to die, to stop suffering forever? Would he be with Lorelei, considering his nature, if the fonic sentience was freed in the end? Would he be happy? He hated those thoughts, but more than that he hated that he couldn't stop himself from thinking them. He had no desire to waste too much of the time he had left on annoying topics like his own inevitable death.
Perhaps it was being in Eldrant that made his thoughts fall back to that old, ugly topic once more. Watching the replica's back as he disappeared through the doorway of Sync's trap, leaving Asch to face the Oracle Knight replicas alone, one thought stood apart from all the others fighting for his attention: I'm going to die here. His body was already reaching its limit, and even he wasn't sure if he had one more battle left in him before the final step of his fonic separation began. Still, he wasn't going down without a fight.
He would go down with a name, though. -His- name. Luke fon Fabre, the man he was always meant to be.
The first replica fell from a crushing elbow's blow to the windpipe, and with a second swing, the man was down and Asch was armed with a sword once more. He turned swiftly, blade outstretched, getting a feel for how many of them were there and where they were moving. One, two, five, three more, fifteen now- there were more coming, too. He couldn't stop. He began a chant, a glyph forming around him, before the soldiers could gain the upper hand and overwhelm him; four went down with a bolt of lightning, two more mortally wounded while they were distracted by the deaths. They were replicas, mindless, obedient copies, not real Oracle Knights at all. There was no art to them, no skill or training, just strength of numbers and a lack of fear that only ignorance could breed. Killing them meant nothing.
Swords clashed, and another fell to his blade, then another; they were getting faster, watching his moves, seeking to overwhelm him before he lowered their numbers too much. Stronger, too- it was a strain to fight them off. One more, and his sword was already slick and dripping, his hand hurting from the force of the blows. Stupid replica. If he hadn't wasted all that time and energy fighting that dreck, he'd have handled these soldiers with no trouble at all. With a twist of the sword, he kicked the man away and backpedaled, breathing hard. If his arm went numb, it would be over at once.
He couldn't stop for long, though, and his determination won out; the last soldiers fell, and it at last felt like he would be able to breathe. The replica, had he made it? Was he on his way to Van? Someone had to finish the mission. I'm going to die here. But he couldn't die yet.
Just a few seconds, that was all he needed. All of his opponents were down and bleeding. It was alright. It was-
-Not alright, because quite suddenly a sword tore through his body. Then another. Then another.
I'm going to die-
He was dying; it was a certainty this time. He had no strength to run, no healing artes to fix the holes in his body. It didn't take long, though, and for some reason it didn't seem so bad. After a few moments, it stopped hurting, and in the quiet beauty of Hod's pure white halls, he felt at peace, something he hadn't experienced in a very, very long time. Maybe it really was an escape, a sort of freedom from everything he couldn't just let go of. And... the replica was there. Asch had always thought he would hate the dreck until the day he died, and that day had finally come. Maybe it was a good time to stop, even for just a moment. At the end of his life, at least he wasn't alone.
Stupid replica.
The rest is up to you...
---