Title: In Remembrance
Genre: Drama/Tragedy
Rating: M
Warnings: Major character death. Graphic depictions of blood and violence. Adult situations. Occasional coarse language. Grim subject matter and truckloads of angst, especially of the existential variety. Not a lighthearted read.
Plot summary: Death. It had claimed Hope countless times throughout history, and she'd witnessed every heart-shattering instance. With Etro's help, Lightning finally steps in, preventing his murder in Augusta Tower 13AF. But can divine intervention change that which is meant to be? In-game AU. AlternateTimeline!Hope/Lightning.
A/N: I'll be taking a break from Efflorescence to write out this fascinating, if tragic plot bunny that suddenly popped into my head while scouring the archives for old HopeRai fics. In FFXIII-2, there is one overarching moral dilemma: the sacrifice of countless timelines for the sake of the true future. Everybody in one of those dead-end timelines is doomed to either death or oblivion. The former especially applies to our beloved Hope, whose importance has made him a target for at least two known assassination attempts.
Which begs the question: how many alternate Hopes have died throughout the course of those five hundred years? What if Lightning were to try and save one of him? Thus this story was born.
Set during the events of FFXIII-2, before Serah and Noel enter Academia 400AF and correct the paradox where proto-fal'Cie Adam goes back in time to kill Hope and instigate his own creation.
Special thanks to my betas, TheNotSoTalentedPoet and Monty Mason.
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Chapter 1 – Hero's Charge
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The first time she watched him die, Lightning's heart stopped.
Like a marionette with its strings cut, Hope crumples to the ground beside his fallen colleagues. A horrible, gurgling noise escapes him as he reaches out with bloodstained fingers towards the boomerang that lies only inches away – his last ditch attempt at rebellion. But he never makes it. Another wave of bullets descends upon him, making him spasm as they shred apart what remains of his battered body. His outstretched hand slackens, and a glaze films over once-vibrant green eyes.
She recoils from the vision, stumbling into a nearby banister. A white fog engulfs her, clouding her mind, choking her lungs. This cannot be real.
Hope cannot be dead.
He is too important, too precious – and not simply because he had entrenched himself amongst her loved ones, conjuring feelings of warmth and pride whenever she thinks of him. As the leader of the Academy – the governing body that oversaw Cocoon's resettlement – he truly is his namesake. He is Hope, the living embodiment of their future.
Humanity cannot afford to lose him.
But as the minutes tick on, highlighting the unnatural splay of his limbs, the crimson liquid pooling around his unmoving body, reality sinks in.
Hope is—no. Hope was gone.
This horrifying realisation hits her with the impact of a colliding train at full-throttle, and she collapses onto her knees, winded. Already she feels the hot prickle of tears forming behind her eyes, accompanied by a clogging, burning sensation in her throat.
Gone was the boy she swore to protect, now grown into a man who'd barely scratched the surface of his vast potential before having that snatched away. Never again would he smile that gentle smile of his, or gaze upon another with that kind twinkle in his eyes, or pore over his work with the fervour of true dedication. The future they were working so hard to piece together is now but a hollow dream, marred by the gaping void of his absence.
The heinous irony of the situation isn't lost on her, either. Hope's adversaries – Augusta Tower's security beasts and bots – were programmed with the safety of Academy staff in mind, not the opposite. The tower itself is a giant computer, the central processing facility and foundation of their upcoming city, Academia. Its purpose is not only to house data, but also to serve as the birthplace where Hope's ideas and plans for the future would take shape.
Yet it had now become his tomb.
No one could've predicted that the young, brilliant Academy Director would be felled by his own creation. Thirteen years of gruelling research and hard work and unwavering resolve, snuffed out in mere seconds. He and his team had been slaughtered like helpless prisoners before the firing squad – a violent, ignominious end for the man who had dedicated his whole life to humanity's survival and progress.
Surely this cannot be the true future.
Gritting her teeth, Lightning shoves aside her rising grief and draws on more of Etro's power, looking into subsequent events. Two weeks later, Hope is declared officially dead. The Academy holds a memorial service for him, attended by his peers (but no loved ones, she realises with a pang of sorrow). As the task of retrieving his body is deemed too dangerous, his casket remains empty. It is nothing more than a token tribute, but watching it being lowered into the ground still sends unpleasant chills up her spine.
A new Director is appointed in Hope's stead, and Augusta Tower placed under lockdown, closed off to all but top-secret investigators. However, their efforts to neutralise the security malfunction prove to be in vain. The rogue artificial intelligence continues its rampage, mowing down anyone who so much as poses a threat. Deciding that the cost of resources – and lives – is too high, the Academy eventually abandons the tower, leaving the gory details of the former Director's murder to fade away into obscurity.
While 'Hope Estheim' becomes a well-known name in the history datalogs, mankind forges on inexorably without him. Decades pass, giving way into centuries, as more and more settlements dot the surface of Gran Pulse. Technologies evolve, reclaiming their sleek, familiar forms as they once had back on Cocoon. And one by one the spires of Academia rise into the sky, forming an assembly of gleaming sentinels that stand guard over the growing metropolis below.
Four hundred years later, the capital is the pinnacle of mankind's creation. Its smooth, opalescent architecture is masterfully engineered: a multilayered network of high-rise buildings interlaced with floating roads and plazas. Citizens bustle around on shimmering conveyor belts, their steps energetic as they weave their way through vibrant, immaculate streets. Colourful billboards flash the latest news, and the air buzzes with aerial vehicles flitting to and fro, completing the dynamic atmosphere.
It is a wondrous sight to behold, even from Lightning's vantage point in Valhalla. For mankind to be able to build something like this makes her truly appreciate how far they have come. For a moment she allows herself to hope, to believe that this is the culmination of her partner's dreams. That his sacrifice means something—
Then her hopes are dashed, shattering against the screams of the terrified populace. In one night, the beautiful citadel turns into a wasteland of howling Cie'th and mangled corpses. The assault arrives out of nowhere; victims barely get a chance to register the ominous glowing symbols surrounding them before they are swathed in light. Then the light dissipates, leaving grotesque, bloodthirsty monsters in its wake. Those who escape the transmogrification are no more fortunate, becoming prey for former loved ones and strangers alike.
It is like Eden all over again: a bloodbath. By the time the sirens blare to declare a state of emergency, the damage has already escalated to catastrophic levels. Bodies and debris litter the streets, with casualties far outnumbering evacuees. Above the central building hovers the culprit, a great, sentient monolith of shifting gears and metal appendages. It surveys the scene with the mercilessness for which its kind is renowned, indiscriminately gathering men, women and children into its growing legion of undead.
Unfortunately, there is no countermeasure that can be applied to this particular threat. The manmade fal'Cie, created for the purposes of re-levitating Cocoon and protecting humanity, had inexplicably turned traitor. Being a defensive fixture of Academia, it'd had no difficulty in infiltrating the security systems, using them for its own purposes. To wage war against it would be to jeopardise the citadel itself, not to mention the vast, precious databanks stored within. Thus unable to bring the berserk fal'Cie under control, the Academy is forced to abandon its centre of operations once more.
The next century becomes a scramble to solve the problem of Cocoon's impending fall. Ailed with the loss of the capital, the Academy finds itself shorthanded, both in terms of staff and resources. Utilising whatever means they are left with, the people erect supporting struts around the base of the pillar. But the impact of Cocoon's descent proves to be far more devastating than anticipated. In its aftermath, nearly all terrestrial life is obliterated, leaving the rest to suffocate in crystal dust.
With a jerk of her head, Lightning disengages from the vision, feeling numb. Hope died prematurely – leaving behind no legacy, merely a wish for a better tomorrow – and for what? All his hard work has amounted to nothing. His wish remains unfulfilled. The world is still destroyed.
This cannot be the true future. It simply can't be.
She wracks her mind for an alternative. Something, divine instinct perhaps, tells her that the pivotal point is Hope's assassination in Augusta Tower. So she reopens her psychic link with Etro and rewinds back to 13AF. Since her god-gifted foresight extends to seeing small divergences, she sifts through those instead, hoping to find an answer amongst the various permutations of history.
But every time, without fail, Hope would go into that wretched tower and die.
She watches one instance of him frantically typing away at a computer terminal, attempting a manual system override. The screen flashes green, indicating his success, and Lightning feels her heart swell with anticipation despite her own misgivings. Similarly hopeful, her erstwhile partner gives a relieved sigh and turns around – only to find a Vespid Soldier zooming towards him, lethal sting raised—
She chokes, switching to another instance. This time, Hope and his colleagues are running across one of the interlinking walkways, trying to reach the central platform. Several strides before they reach their destination, the walkway gives way beneath them, suddenly dematerialising into thin air. They plummet into the abyss below, their screams ringing in her ears—
Shaking with horror, Lightning switches instances again. However, the next vision only comes as a sickening blow to the gut. The blue environment is calm, deceptively so. Unwary of what is to befall him, Hope walks up to the control panel room, pressing his palm against the ID scanner. The door unlocks, and he steps through the entrance. Then, without warning, there is a great flash of red and a greater burst of static. She looks down, seeing smoke rise from his lapels as he convulses on the ground—
She switches. And again. And again. But no matter how hard she tries to search for a different outcome, she is only met with more images of Hope's lifeless body, his glassy, unseeing gaze. After the thirteenth repeat of his gruesome demise, she shuts out the visions, unable to watch anymore. Slamming gauntleted fists onto the railing, she lets out a ragged cry, tears streaming down her face.
Why? Why does this have to happen?
Chest tight with anguish, Lightning turns to the deity to whom she pledged her eternal loyalty. Although she'd rather not overstep boundaries by asking favours, the Goddess of the Unseen Realm is known to be compassionate, having rescued her and her friends before. Clasping her hands together, Lightning sends a plea into the swirl of their merged consciousness:
"Please, benevolent Etro. Grant me a chance. Let me save him. Please."
Over and over she recites the words, praying for mercy. When silence greets her, a sinking feeling forms in the pit of her stomach, growing with each passing second. However, after several tense minutes, there is a tingle in the back of her head, telling her that the goddess has answered.
Intuition directs her gaze towards the shore. Wreathed in dark streams of chaos energy, an object takes shape upon the sand. As the chaos swells and then ebbs, she finds herself staring at the form of a giant, hollow bulb. Esoteric symbols are carved into the sinuous metal ribs, which frame a core of concentrated golden light.
Relief and gratitude washes over her like a tidal wave. She knows what the object is, and where it will take her. Gathering her energy, she springs from the balcony onto the the rooftop of a lower building, then another, making her way down to the beach. A series of leaps later, she is trekking across the sand in the direction of the newly manifested time gate.
"Thank you, my kind Goddess," she murmurs. Etro sighs in reply, her ethereal breath like a balm against the tumult of Lightning's mind.
The time gate hums, beckoning. She steps towards it, and the golden light engulfs her.
After an uneventful journey through the Historia Crux – a inter-dimensional tunnel ringed by huge, floating cogs – Lightning emerges out of the opposite time gate. Her sabatons touch down on the smooth gray floor, and she glances up, taking stock of her surroundings. An ominous red glow radiates from the walls, and the air swarms with eddies of holographic data. She recognises these signs: the security trigger has already been activated.
A fear-filled scream seizes her attention, and she rushes to the walkway's edge, looking down towards the sound. On the circular platform several floors below stand four people, all sporting the white and yellow uniforms of the Academy. They huddle together protectively, back-to-back, casting wary gazes around them. Various beasts and robots flank them on every side, poised to strike. One of the male Academy staff raises his arm, and her breath catches in her throat when she recognises the boomerang in his hand.
Hope.
Without hesitation, she dives. Overture, the divine gunblade gifted by Etro upon her knighting, materialises in her right hand. She imbues herself with a Protect spell and executes a few somersaults, bracing for the landing. Her feet slam onto the platform a heartbeat later, sending out a small shockwave from the point of impact. Unscathed, she rises into a combat stance, the magical shield having absorbed the brunt of her fall.
Not expecting the arrival of a newcomer, all eyes turn to look at her. The man with the boomerang – and those oh-so-familiar wintergreen eyes, framed by wings of soft silver hair – visibly startles, his expression one of utter disbelief.
"Lightning?" he breathes.
"Get down!" she yells, sensing an incoming attack.
But it is too late. Things seem to slow down to a fraction of a second as their enemies open fire upon them. Although the bullets glance uselessly off her enchanted armour, the outcome is far more grisly for her allies. She watches, aghast, as Hope and his colleagues are shorn apart, their frail human bodies offering no more resistance than paper. He topples backwards, and it is like experiencing that first vision of his death all over again, only a hundred times more vividly—
A red haze overtakes her.
She throws out her left palm, sparks dancing at her gauntleted fingertips as she casts Thundaga. The spell manifests in a scintillating amalgam of power and light, blasting apart several mobs and sending their scorched remains flying. Stunned by the aftershock, their neighbours become easy prey for her follow-up Blitz attack, disintegrating in the wake of her spinning slash.
Snapping her eyes back and forth, Lightning makes a quick assessment of the situation. Her opening assault had decimated a good third of her adversaries. Not that that deterred them. If anything, their aggressiveness ramps up several notches, and they close in on her, murderous intentions plain.
She flicks her wrist, prompting Overture to switch into gun-form. A well-timed backflip takes her out of reach of an advancing Luminous Puma, its jaws snapping on empty air. The cyborg feline lunges for her again, only to stop dead when she plants an enchanted bullet in its skull. Incensed by the loss of their pack-mate, the rest of the Pumas let out war-snarls, rallying against her. However, their charge is short-lived. She blows their brains apart in five rapid gunshots, littering the vicinity with shrapnel-coated viscera.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spots an Orion lunging for her unprotected back. She twists around, catching the militarised unit's blade-arm against her buckler. A flick of her wrist later, she brings the business end of Overture's sword-form up against the offending appendage, cleaving it cleanly. The Orion staggers back from the blow, but does not otherwise relent, raising its other limb to shoot dual bolts of lightning at her. She evades by jumping into the air, then unleashes a flurry of slashes, causing her foe to shatter in an exodus of scrap metal.
The tank-like Dragoon that engages her next meets the same fate. Its thick armour proves no match for Overture's magic-enhanced blade, and she reduces it into a heap of broken machinery within seconds. Melee combatants dispatched, she studies the remaining ranged units: Zwerg Metrodroids and Vespid Soldiers. One of the former hurls a powerful Blizzara spell at her; she counters with a hastily conjured Shell. The protective wall blunts the incoming icicle blast, which she then shatters with a blow of her sword.
She is forced to leap aside when a tell-tale gust of wind swirls around her feet, erupting into the full-blown vortex of an Aeroga spell. A maelstrom of wind and ice magicks follow, and she weaves through them expertly, closing the distance between herself and the nearest foe: a Vespid Soldier. Overture lashes out in a flash of silver, slicing the mechanical wasp into two. It crashes onto the ground in a metallic clatter, the sound oddly satisfying to her ears.
Three more to go. Sensing her intent, the remaining Vespid Soldiers speed away in opposite directions, trying to divide her attention. A decent strategy, but she too is no stranger to improvisation in combat.
She switches targets, going for the less mobile – and less intelligent – Zwerg Metrodroids. Being grouped together as they are, the knee-height bots would succumb easily to an wide-hitting Blitz. Carving a path through the volley of Blizzara spells they fling at her, she leaps as soon as she is within range, throwing herself into their midst. Then Overture swings in a circular arc, obliterating them all in one strike.
Still three pesky Vespid Soldiers left. The quickest way to end this fight is to snipe them out of the air. But their movements are too erratic; she needs them to stay put, even for just a millisecond—
An idea occurs to her. Anchoring her weight with Gravity and reinforcing her armour with multiple layers of Shell, she switches Overture to gun-form and braces for their attack. To her satisfaction, the Vespid Soldiers take the bait, stopping to cast Aeroga at her stationary form. She grits her teeth as the concentrated wind spells slash at her body, but her feet remain planted and her aim, true. Three gunshots later, the mechanical wasps drop down onto the platform, their lives extinguished.
Battle finally complete, Lightning dispels Overture and rushes to her fallen partner's side. There is blood everywhere; so much blood. It forms a pool around him, staining his uniform crimson. The coppery scent clogs her nostrils, and were it not for her unfortunate familiarity with this kind of situation, she would have gagged.
Please don't be dead, please don't be dead…
She slips an arm underneath his shoulders and pulls his limp head up against her bosom. Fearing the worst – and praying fervently for the opposite – she presses two fingers into the notch of his throat. A pulse throbs beneath her touch, faint but insistent. At this, she feels relief overcome her, so powerful that it leaves her lightheaded.
"Hope!"
Several seconds pass before he responds. Stirring feebly, he makes a pained gurgle; it is clear that his lungs have been punctured and are now filling up with displaced fluid. If she doesn't do anything, he would drown in his own blood. Assuming he doesn't die from exsanguination first.
No, she cannot lose him, not again—
Taking deep breaths, Lightning draws on the discipline of her military training and pushes aside her rising panic. She cannot afford to be anything but calm. When her mind finally empties of emotion, she commences the task of mending Hope.
Although emergency treatment is not her forte, she knows how to work with the various magicks at her disposal. Carefully, she conjures an inverted Water spell, siphoning the blood from his lungs while stitching up the perforations with Cura. Then she strings a powerful Curaga spell through his broken body, crudely piecing together bones, organs and muscles in a great flash of heat. Finesse is not the priority here; only when they are out of danger will she detach him from his clothes (which have glued to his skin), unseal his wounds, and remove the bullets lodged inside him.
However, what she doesn't expect is for his body to reject her efforts. To her horror, he gives a spasm as the last of her healing magic enters him, then goes still.
"No, Hope! Stay with me!"
She presses two fingers against his neck again. The absence of a pulse sends a cold rush of dread through her, jumpstarting her panic. Frantic, she digs her fingertips deeper into his skin, searching, wishing, hoping for a heartbeat that is no longer present.
No, no, no! This isn't supposed to happen! He can't die again! She hasn't come this far only to fail now!
She considers administering CPR, but discards the idea straightaway. There is no guarantee that such a method would revive him, nor is there enough time to experiment with it. No, what she needs now is a miracle.
In desperation, she decides to invoke the most potent magic of all: her own life-force. This is an extremely risky venture; one wrong move would result in her burning herself to cinders from the inside out. Even the correct application would leave her thoroughly drained afterward, reducing her capability for further combat.
But there are some things in life you just do.
Delving deep into her core, she gathers the sparkling energy there, and starts the excruciating process of drawing it out. The pain is beyond anything she'd ever felt, flooding her nerves with molten fire and wrenching an ever-hoarser tide of screams from her throat. But she cannot let it overcome her. So she fights through the haze of agony, pulling on the effervescent magic within her and feeding it bit by bit into Hope's silent body. Her will becomes a prayer: that his heart would restart and his lungs would fill up, pumping life through him anew.
She prays that he would live again.
For a few seconds, nothing happens. Then there is a loud gasp, and wintergreen eyes snap open. At first, disorientation clouds Hope's gaze, but it fades away as he focusses on her.
"Light—?" His whisper of her name is tremulous and barely audible, but her heart sings with joy upon hearing it. Never has she heard anything sweeter.
"Hope," she chokes, blinking back sudden tears. "You're alive."
"How? How are you… here?"
She shakes her head. "Now's not the time. I'll take you somewhere safe, then we can talk."
"Light, what about—" he rasps stubbornly, but she silences him with a finger against his lips.
"Later. We get out of here first."
He considers her words for a moment, then gives his assent in a weak but unmistakeable nod.
She doesn't waste another second. Slipping her free arm underneath his knees, Lightning scoops him up into her arms. Although supporting his larger, lankier form is awkward at first, he settles against her comfortably after a few adjustments. For a man of his height, he is lighter than she expects. Regardless, his weight does not gives her any difficulty, for the title of Etro's knight confers upon her not only magic but supernatural strength as well.
The loud blare of a siren reaches her ears then, indicating the timeliness of her retreat. It seems that the tower has finally decided to up its security response in light of her intrusion. Sparing one last glance at Hope's fallen workmates (and watching him do the same), she bends her knees before springing upwards. And just in the nick of time, too; the central platform had suddenly plummeted beneath them.
Her bound carries enough momentum to take them up to the next floor, but no further. So she finds herself ascending the floors in a zigzag pattern, leaping back and forth between the opposite sides of the tower. Her ascent, swift as it is, remains uninterrupted until she arrives at the destination floor. When her greaves find purchase on the platform scant yards from the time gate, a swarm of Vespid Soldiers appear out of nowhere, blocking her way.
She doesn't pause to think. Tapping into her remaining magical reserves, she calls forth a massive Thundaga. The air fizzles, setting Hope's and her hair on end as a gargantuan ball of supercharged energy forms and explodes. Numerous blue and white tendrils lash out, razing any unfortunate Vespid Soldier that they comes in contact with. The mechanical wasps drop out of the air in a shower of miniature meteors, raining fire on the floors below.
However, her victory is short-lived. As the static clears, more Vespid Soldiers descend from above to take the place of their demolished fellows. They are also joined by the sturdier forms of several Dragoons, plated arms raised menacingly.
Oh, for fuck's sake. Hasn't she already had enough to deal with?
Gripping Hope tighter, she breaks out into a sprint. Her airborne foes charge after her in mad pursuit, raining spells and bullets down upon her. She avoids their attacks as best as she can with Hope's dead weight in her arms, ducking and swerving and scrambling. A particularly vicious wind spell catches her, eliciting a gasp of pain as it slices into the unarmoured parts of her arms and thighs. She ignores it. Reaching the time gate is all that matters—
Her destination glows a welcoming shade of gold. She leaps towards it with her precious cargo in tow, and they vanish in a swell of light.
A/N: Please let me know what you think! By way of review, of course. ;-)