A/N: Shiva and Ifrit are two fantastic summons who have been featured prominently across a number of Final Fantasy games, and this franchise is property of Square-Enix. This was written for the FF Kissing Battle over at LJ.
c o s m o s
The atmosphere shifts. The floors of nothingness begin to sting and then there is a bright flash of light. When in the next moment a dimension-crease forms and Ifrit steps into the void, the four intangible walls that surround begin to scald. Soon they will burn. But Shiva doesn't move an inch, only keeps her searingly-cold gaze locked into Ifrit's eyes-of-coals. "What brings you here?" He thinks, maybe hopes that she doesn't see it, but he shudders - either from the temperature of her impossible ice cavern or from her voice. But then again there is no difference because both are ice.
She watches him struggle to speak. Shiva imagines that Ifrit's fangs are chattering and bumping into each other and the thought makes her want to laugh, but the fact is that she never laughs. The words tumble out of him like cannonballs. "Odin," he rumbles. Like thunder. "Odin was sliced in half. By the witch's brat. The boy of blonde."
"And so?"
Ifrit doesn't answer.
"You want me to stay?"
Uncannily, Shiva receives the summons right in the next moment. She feels it reverberating through her entire form. She stands and walks towards the dimension-crease. The terrifying contrast between their forms makes the air between them crackle. Visibly. Ifrit's massive form bars her way. Her slim feet, slipping over melting ice almost succeed in sidestepping him, but then he reaches out his arm and clamps her around her tiny wrist. Cracks form around them but Shiva still returns his intensity with her stoicity.
"This is your purpose, then? You intend to weaken me - and in doing so you also weaken yourself - in the hopes of preventing me from going out There. Because only our broken forms can restrict our wills and our unbreakable bonds to those children, is that it?"
"Don't go." Ifrit's voice is ragged.
The fissures on her arm grow wider and longer. The floor between them is falling to pieces. But he, the perpetuator, stands his ground. She, however, balances on tiptoe and lifts herself up lightly to meet his lips with hers. It is a mere brush. Like a cool gust slapping at a lighted match on the ground. Nothing more. The equilibrium has been tilted enough. Anything more may cause the utter wreckage of nature. The collapse of a realm. The destruction of a universe. The implosion of two guardians on opposite ends of the scale.
But it is enough. The pair of fiery orbs dilate in surprise. The fingers twitch, loosen. And Shiva pulls away, plants a shimmery foot into the crease, and is gone. She plummets downwards to join her summoners, feels streaks of something running down her cheeks, and realizes it is Water. She blames it on Ifrit, being Fire that he is. For Shiva doesn't cry. She never does.
end