In the Farplane, time had pass indeterminately. He had no recollection of days, of months or years. There was hardly even a recollection of self. Simply a sense of pease that had permeated everything, flashes of imagery that passed through the ethereal mind, some his, some belonging to other's. It had been a marvelous release, like being free in the most basic sense of the word. It was something that had been a long-time in coming for him, had been well overdue when he'd finally been sent to his final rest, but it had been marvelous nontheless.
Now, though, all he felt was weakness, hunger and - whether he admitted to it or not - a small level of fear. Where once there had been peace and silence and an unending sense of timelessness, now there was worry and stress, and minutes, days and weeks that seemed to drag on forever and ever as he made his way through the forest, lost, alone, confused. The dense jungle he'd found himself in hadn't made things any easier. He'd hoped that if he'd walked long enough, he might find himself someplace familiar, find himself near a temple, where he could seek help, call upon a Summoner - by Yevon, he hoped people still became Summoners without the need to destroy Sin - and beg for a resending, find someone who could set things right.
All he'd found amongst the huge trees, though, were fiends and beasts he didn't recognize, and a strangely befuddling sense that he was beginning to go in circles. He had a horrible suspicion it had something to do with the strange sand he'd begun to see hanging in the air, clouding his vision, but by the time he'd realized what was happening and turned back, his thoughts had already clouded over, an uncomfortable, sickening daze overtaking his senses unlike anything he'd felt in a long time. It seemed as if the entire forest around him was alive, moving and taunting him at every turn. And as he'd stumbled through the trees, searching for any escape from the worsening confusion, the beasts of the forest had seemed to recognize his moment of weakness, and he'd been attacked by a small pack of...he didn't know what.
It wasn't often that Auron's stoney facade cracked, but the confusion, the days and days of unending torment, caused his guard to slip, and when they attacked, he found himself seized upon without warning. He threw them off, stumbling to his feet as he backpedled, instantly drawing his sword and levelling it at them threateningly. They snarled, their fangs dripping as they salivated at the prospect of a fresh meal, and he had a moment's chance to laugh bitterly at the irony of finding himself, a man who was nothing more then a memory made into the semblance of flesh and blood, being seen as a delicious meal for the living creatures of Spira.
He had but an instant to see the tense of their muscles before the creatures leapt, and he swung the blade, fending off the attack as it came from multiple directions. He'd never been fast, however, had always been the strength behind an attack while he'd left the speed to those who were younger, and as he fended off the first wave, the second sprung into action, tearing into his back and pulling him down. He roared in fury, rolling to throw them off as he sprung to his feet, spinning to wave them off as they dared to approach again.
They snarled at his defiance, advancing on him and leaving their fallen comrades behind in favor of the wounded human as he stumbled away, his legs shaking with each step.
"Stand back, you COWARDS!" He snarled in rage, but the words of the man who would have - under normal circumstances - intimidated some of the fiercest foes years before fell on seemingly deaf ears. He didn't fear death - on the contrary, the Farplane was what he searched for - but he knew that without a Summoner's sending, he would be forced to live with his wounds, either until he could find an Inn to recupperate or find something to patch up the damage the creatures did to him. He hadn't come from the Farplane with any health potions. The dead had no need of them.
The snarl he heard next came from behind him, and he spun just in time to see the beast leaping towards him, just in time to raise his sword in defense, stumbling and landing roughly on the wounds of his back. He slammed his fist against the creature's muzzle, grinning in a small victory as he heard it yelping in pain, the sound of teeth and bones snapping under the assault satisfying to his ears. He leaned against his sword, dragging himself weakly to his feet with a grunt of frustration as it staggered away, it's tail tucked between it's legs. But while the smirk on his face hinted that perhaps he felt he had the upperhand after the blow he'd delivered, the weight in his heart felt almost painful, the knowledge that he had no chance of lasting much longer against the creatures dragging him down almost as heavily as his wounds.
It didn't take but an instant for him to make a decision, to pull himself upright as much as he could as he glared around him at the creatures who waited to feast. He knew that he didn't have the strength left to finish them all off, even if he called upon the magics he'd trained so hard to learn as a Warrior Monk. But the choice of surrendering to the horde or taking as many of them with him as he could was an easy one to make, and with a snarl, he pulled his blade up, focusing his energy through the metal of the Katana and - with a strangled, desperate cry of finality, slammed the point into the ground at his feet, sending a shockwave of fire-laced mana through the ground to explode the ground out from under their feet.
The sound of pebbles and flesh raining down from above lasted for but a moment, though it seemed to last for an eternity, and as he slumped to the ground with a weak groan, as the dust cleared around him, he stared into the eyes of the last few beasts, determined to show no weakness even when faced with - perhaps not death, but...something much worse. "...I hope you CHOKE...!"
The taunt left his lips even as he felt the last remnants of his strength leave him, and he collapsed onto the grass with a gasping sigh. He watched helplessly as those clawed feet padded closer to him, the sound of growling fading to curious sniffing as they percieved the defeat of their prey, and he closed his eye, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath as he prepared to feel them dig into his flesh with their teeth and claws, his hand gripping the handle of his sword as tightly as his weakened body could muster. This was not what he'd had in mind when he'd imagined the afterlife. Not at all.
And then, in the same instant he felt the breath of the creature's dancing across his skin, he heard a sickening, thwick of a sound, and a beast cried out, landing heavily enough beside him that he felt it shake the ground. The sound came again, and again, and he dared for one instant to bring his gaze back up, the sight that greeted him so wonderful he almost found the strength to laugh in joy.
From somewhere, a series of sharp arrows had rung out, striking the beasts where they stood and taking them out before they could get their claws on him, and they lay dead where they had fallen. He tried desperately to move, to turn his head to seek out the source of his salvation, and was rewarded by the sight of a tall, lithe creature stepping out from behind a tree not far away. Through the quickly-encroaching darkness, he could barely make out what seemed at first glance to be white hair crowning a dark, tanned figure, two crests of hair sticking up from the sides of it's head as it approached. Strangely human and yet different then anything he'd ever seen, it held what fascination he could muster in his waning strength before it was knealing beside him, reaching a long, tapered set of fingers out to touch him gently, as if afraid to touch him lest he break.
When at long last he heard a voice, the feminine, accented lilt to the words was strangely soothing, calming and comforting as it attempted to ease his concerns when the rest of the world was going black. "It's alright, Hume, you're safe. It's ok..." Anything else it might have said was lost to him as he faded from consciousness, slipping into the closest semblance to a comforting death as he could come.