Hello! :) I am back after a month and a half long hiatus! With an exceedingly short chapter, but this is the final chapter until the last installment of this trilogy. YAY! :) So even though this particular chapter was short, it's definitely a segway into the next one. Then we'll be cutting into the timeline for Lightning Returns! Thanks for sticking with me, with this fic, and with this trilogy! See you all next time! :)
As always, a HUGE thank-you to Meyneth24. You are a huge motivation to finishing this!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Final Fantasy XIII series.
? – ?AF
There was no strength left in him, not even to scream.
His throat was raw and hoarse, bleeding on the inside from abuse and misuse. Everything hurt, everything stung, everything ached. Everything was stretched thin and tired, everything broken. Pools of dried blood marked the ground, the rusty brown an ugly scar on the pristine floors. Both his legs and his arms had been shattered and put back together, his skin raw from being shredded and sewn together.
He did want to scream. He really wanted to scream, he wanted, he wanted, he wanted…
He wanted to so many things. He wanted to remember which name, which names he wanted to scream, which ones had caused his throat to bleed from overuse. He couldn't recall what shapes his mouth made to form their names, couldn't recall their faces or their smiles or the color of their eyes.
The only thing he could think about, the only thing he could latch onto was the constant pain. A loud crack came from his torso; one of his ribs were broken. He couldn't even muster the energy to yell, only wordlessly, soundlessly writing as he hung suspended in the air.
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
Three more ribs broke, he knew, right down the middle. The skin covering his bones was slowly peeled away, half his bones taken out before his skin was meticulously measured and slowly, excruciating slowly, ripped away and sewn back together.
Though his body had long since gotten used to the pain, but that didn't stop stars from exploding behind his closed eyelids, a weak pant forcing its way up his dry, parched throat and coming out as a shallow breath.
"You are almost ready."