I do not own any of this. It all belongs to either Nintendo or Monolith Soft.
I never thought it would come to all this. When I walked out the door that morning, I never thought that Mechon would attack that day, and almost kill me. I never thought I would be turned into this Machina-Homs hybrid body. There was always danger that we would be attacked; that we may die. I just never thought it would all come down to this. Where we stand today, ready to face down a god, who has killed another god, and is all the more powerful for it.
Where are we now? I don't even know. It is a place as I have never seen before, that none of us have seen before.
There are huge rocks everywhere, slowly floating around and away, sometimes hitting other rocks and breaking into smaller pieces. And I can hear a strange music, like a hundred voices singing. Their sound echos, imbued with a strange sorrow, both male and female, and it seems as though otherworldly instruments are joining in, making it ethereal and beautiful, but sad. It seems like a hymn of some sort, and I can feel it making something within me resonate in answer.
Poor Meyneth. I can almost make out her voice among them.
There is a path for us to follow; a red line, reaching outwards to a green glint of light, just off in the distance. It leads us to Zanza, I think.
Wherever we step, a honeycomb of blue light spreads outwards from our feet, then slowly disappear, as if they never existed.
As we walk, I search through the memories that Meyneth left me. They make this odd place feel familiar, as though I should know it, remember it fully. But all I can get are glimpses, and the ghosts of feelings. I can sense fear, anger, and sadness. I wonder, what happened to her here?
We fought the spirit of Mumkhar. It made me wonder if Dickson is here, or Lorithia. It makes me want to cry, when I think about all the blood and death that Zanza has caused. All of the friends and family members we have had to leave behind, that we may get to this point, and Dickson…
I remember, as a child, listening to his stories of all his battles with the mechon. I always thought he seemed old, different from everyone else, but I never expected this. That he would end up betraying us, that he only raised Shulk that he may protect the spirit of Zanza. Oh. I can hear his voice now. Are all the voices of the dead added to this choir?
My face is covered in cuts and scratches from our battle with Dickson. I miss my real body, that would be dead from all the blades that have glanced off of this one.
It seems impossible to stray from the path. As soon as we start to move away from it, we are pushed back. We must face whatever is ahead.
We are surrounded by stars. They are everywhere. Above, below, and to the side. It gives me a small piece of hope. It truly is beautiful here. I can make out distant constellations, and not only that, but all the ones I have ever been taught. Wherever we are, all stars are visible. It makes me remember an old poem I learned long ago:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Well, if one thing is for sure, it is that we are not going to go gently into the darkness that awaits us all. We will make sure of that; we have already.
But, I hope, that this is not all just a dying wish. It has gone on too long for it to be a mere dream. Perhaps, when the Mechon took me, they truly did kill me, and this is just a journey into death.
Even if it is, I refuse to see it that way. I have made many friends, and I refuse to give them up on them. Do not go gentle into that good night.
Shulk, if I do not make it out of this odd place, know only that I am sorry, and that I love you.
The poem, Do not go gentle into that good night, belongs to Dylan Thomas. In no way whatsoever do I own it.
Hope you enjoyed. :)