A/N: Okay, here's some more poetic blahness. Can you tell I'm a fan of "searching for the deeper meaning"? Which is weird, since I'm a fairly simplistic person. But! I like words. In any case, let's just call this ... "Hia-is-a-Sephy-Weph-fangirl-and-had-this-way-cool-mental-image-of-said-hero-being-ressurected-in-the-Northern-Crater-and-having-to-fi--..." ... Well, you get the point, right? I actually got this mental image when I was looking at really puffy clouds in the morning! You'll see what I mean when you read it.
Disclaiminess: As much as I adore/worship/fawn/whateverwordsyoucanthinktothisextent my Beloved General, I do not own him. That right is excluded solely to Nomura-Sama. I wish I was his wiiiiiife. xD
Rating: Midteens. Some fun stuff, but nothing big. But you'd probably have to be atleast a teen to understand where this is coming from. ... Yeah. Learn it. Live it. Love it!
Was he the only one to see clouds as spiteful? Were they not? They rose in uneven peaks to touch the heavens while their bases gazed upon the planet so condescendingly. He thought he heard them, taunting him with their vacant proclamations, preaching his failure the way a father would an unloved child. They went where he could not, saw everything he could not, and inhabited places he could not even breathe in. They stood there, with their billows and wisps, and whispered secrets into the wind that would never grace his ears, only to be swept away by their clandestine lovers after their transient amusement of teasing one of whom should be a God.
Yes. A God he should be, up there with his clouds. Up there, basking in the golden rays and looking down on the inferiorities of the planet. The soil he treaded in exertion was not worthy of staining his soles, even now, when his veins were seared with ice and his lips were parched in frost.
He never remembered it being so … cold. Was it resurrection that had restored the barely familiar feeling of pain?
Blood seeped from lacerations on his forearms, chest, abdomen, sending warm rivulets into the concoction of filament and flesh, as though scorning him for the shivers seething down the column of his spine. He saw the universe going hazy, his vision doubling and singling and doubling back again. Every time that trepidation sat in, he felt sweet blackness tugging at the brink of his subconscious mind.
He shook it off and realigned his feline akin pupils, trudging forward. The castings on his shoulders felt chilled, even through resilient leather, and petrified zephyrs blew rigidly at his face, forcing him to sheath his hues in his lids. Breath escaped his tiers would as a feral groan, the first sound that had been elicited since his battles within that vapid wound of the earth.
The last things he saw, before his mind slipped into hibernation and his body collapsed on the permafrost, … were those goddamned clouds.