Written for the lj Fire Emblem contest, #14 Game mechanics. I chose the unlockable characters.
Well, only one to be precise 8D I like zombies. And mindfuck. So, here have some Ephraim.
Ephraim strikes and the skeleton falls to pieces; the rusty armour breaks, rotten flesh hits the ground with a smack and the mouth clacks – laughs – for the last time. More monsters approach; he cuts through them effortlessly. He hears no one else around him, no other metal or battle cries – or cries of pain – or horses. Relentless, always on guard, he whirls around and beheads monster after monster, dancing between them and their weapons.
Until an arrow hits his thigh and he falters. Immediately afterwards a skeleton pierces the same leg with its spear. Ephraim stumbles backwards, falls back on his hands and suppresses a cry of pain. The skeleton laughs, teeth clacking loudly, and others join the choir. Ephraim tries to push himself back up, but his leg trembles, buckles and he falls again. Cursing, he readies his lance; he can still fight from a sitting position. The monsters approach.
He hears a groan and the sound of a dying monster from behind. He doesn't turn but blocks the blow of a sword from the front. A crooked smile appears on his face. Reinforcements have arrived and so his little solo charge is still successful and he safe.
The reinforcement enters Ephraim´s range of vision. His smile freezes and falls from his face. A lump immediately forms itself in his throat. The dark green cloak, the bright green armour, the gait, the broad back and shoulders. And the hair, the so familiar turquoise hair. He cuts down two enemies at once with one clear and long swing. No, not he. It. Ephraim swallows hard and his grip on his lance tightens painfully; for a second he doesn't even feel the throbbing pain and the blood running down his leg. His gaze drops and he squeezes his eyes shut. He hears the rattling of bones and clattering of metal stop and he- it coming closer, and suddenly images dance in front of his eyes.
"Ephraim. Ephraim!" Ephraim´s eyes fly open. Fado knees before him, wearing a worried and slightly annoyed expression. "Ephraim," he says, throws a quick glance around to check for incoming enemies before turning back to his son, "what are you doing here on the ground? Stand up."
"I can't," Ephraim splutters.
Fado´s gaze falls to Ephraim´s leg and he sighs exasperated. "Ephraim, what am I supposed to do with you." He shakes his head, yet a tiny smile makes its way to his lips. "Come, stand up." He stands and offers Ephraim his hand. Ephraim stares at him; his hands are glued to the hard, cold earth. Fado´s frown deepens and the smile becomes confused. "What is it?" Ephraim´s gaze falls to the offered hand; he wears no gloves, strangely. His hand is big – bigger than Ephraim´s – and the skin rough and broken. He counts six little scars, all results from the rough plays they had when Ephraim was small and loved to attack his father from the shadows.
"Ephraim?" The confused tone hurts Ephraim and he squeezes his eyes shut. The ground presses against him, the coldness seeping through his trousers. There is a sudden pressure on his ears. His heart thumps loudly against his throat. He slowly shakes his head.
"I'm deceiving myself again," he whispers. He wants to hear a deny, a laugh and a slap on his shoulder but his wish is not granted.
He finally – truly – opens his eyes. He sees a pair of leather shoes in front of him. Sucking in a short breath, he looks up. It stares down at him, unmoving, expressionless. The familiar green eyes are hidden behind grey mist. It has a small gash on its forehead; dark red blood trickles down its nose to its beard and from there drips onto the earth. Its blood mingles with his and there is no difference.
His eyes prickle. Ephraim takes a deep breath and tries to climb to his feet. It only stands there and watches how he is struggling. When Ephraim stands on unsteady feet, he immediately turns his back to it. He concentrates on his pain and his own breathing to ban it from his thoughts. Only when the prickling has disappeared and his mind is calm again, he starts to walk back over the corpses to his group, using his lance as a crutch.
After a few steps the clattering and screeching and rattling of its armour pierce his ears. He comes to a stop abruptly. The sounds die away. He swallows hard and tilts his head to the side so he can peek over his shoulder. It stares at him. Blankly. Coldly. Almost expectantly. Ephraim opens his mouth to send it away but the lump in his throat bars the exit. Painfully silent seconds pass.
"What are you doing? Go back and fight," he presses through clenched teeth. Without hesitation it turns and walks back to the battle. Ephraim bites his lower lip and he continues his way, repeating one thing over and over and over again in his head.
"He's gone. He's gone. He's gone. ..."