Authoress Notes: A fic written from the blankness of my mind. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own SO3.
Plot/Summary: She is a woman, emancipated and strong, not willing to break without a fight. He is a man, arrogant and prideful, ready to break the barriers around her.
Twisted Convergence
By: xKuroSeraphimx
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You are my instrument, my own.
She denied those words, focusing her utmost attention at not being impaled by one of her opponent's fatal attacks.
Why deny this fact?
Parrying here and there while watching out if her comrades needed any healing or support. No, they too, were too busy not being killed by their enemy.
You've seen the evidence… Why hide?
His words… were purposely trying to derange her train of thought, that time. She knew it, it was clear right in her face, and she could feel it. He wanted her rankled, wanted to catch her at a possible lapse of distraction.
Disobedience is highly frowned upon, my little sweet…Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!
You cannot escape me.
Where were the others?
Even if you were to defeat me…Fayt Leingod raised his sword to deliver the final, decisive blow. Yet from her viewpoint, she saw the flicker of apprehension, hesitation stilling his blade only for a mere second. It was his decision and theirs… Could he really kill?
He's too naïve, barely a man who has not been put through more emotional turmoil from the destruction of war than you. He cannot kill me.
Grinding his teeth, the azure-haired boy swung.
Blood splattered, followed by an agonized scream of pain.
You're wrong… She thought back in her mind, watching her enemy fall. Fayt held back, she analyzed. He really didn't have the heart to truly kill a person, let alone destroy a twisted and hateful enemy like the one they had faced then.
Heh heh…Then, to her horror, her hand began to move on its own. Unable to think, the woman let out a surprised shriek before placing her free hand on the wrist that tried to attack one of her comrades. Everyone stared at her in shock, wondering what was going on in her body before Fayt and Cliff Fittir made their way toward her.
Do you really think so?Her right hand began to violently shake from the strain of trying to force herself to stop from deciding to let her hand do damage. She could not, would not, let herself hurt any of her friends.
I can still control you…'Stop it!'
You are my instrument…'Be gone from my mind!'
It's not over, never over…"Aaahh…!"
Before long, the world around her began to disperse in clouds of glimmering, cotton soft feathers.
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"Aaah!"
Jerking up in bed, the woman shifted her head from side to side to see if there was anybody in the room. Fortunately, the inanimate objects in her room were the only things present.
Shaking her head, she shoved the covers aside and padded over to the window near her bed. Pushing aside the curtain nearest to her, she used her free hand to let the cool, late night air breeze glide in.
Just a dream… Of the past… She thought, closing her eyes and savoring the calm, quiet atmosphere of the night.
Yet, for some strange reason, something gnawed relentlessly at the back of her head, filling her head with disturbing questions that the woman wondered if she was ever going to gain any sleep tonight.
Hardly.
You are my instrument, my own…
Even to this day, his words haunted her like a vile plague. Clutching her head, she flickered her gaze to her right forearm, noticing the vanishing bruises, the shape of fingers, throbbing on her flesh.
She let nature heal the wound inflicted upon her arm. Though, she still wondered, even months after the ordeal, how she, and others with her, could not heal this particular injury.
You cannot escape me…
I will not get him through me… She thought, determination shining in her eyes. Residue of his power over her and everything she knew was still around, waiting to snatch or break her when she was vulnerable.
But she wouldn't allow that. She was strong, together, her and her comrades, were strong.
And they prevailed.
Then why…?
So, Nel Zelpher…Ready to play this game with me?
The Crimson Blade closed her eyes, feeling a playful wind billow through her ruby locks. But the wind seemed to be hiding something under its benevolent sway, a murmur of a dark, tainted promise, and inwardly, she could not help but shiver.
You're dead, gone. You are nothing more than a nightmare, a memory, and a phantom, Luther Lansfeld…
A malicious chuckle ringed in her ears.
If a memory I am to you, then I will be. But a phantom and a nightmare? Oh, my dear creation, you can never be so right with me…
Nel sucked in a large amount of oxygen in her lungs, calming herself to drown out the touch of fear inside her chest. He was dead, gone, they defeated him, she repeated this mantra over and over again in her head. She absently wondered if the fading mind tricks Luther's presence left in their universe was working on Fayt and the others.
If not… Then she will take care of this nightmare herself.
-END-
And yes… Dirty little secret here: I like Luther/Nel. There. I said it. I guess it's implied here. Yet my loyalty and love still goes to the Albel/Nel pairing. Don't forget that.