huff huff huff
You squint your eyes against the bright light surrounding you. "I won't let it end here..."
"Ah, but it already is the end, Warrior of Hydaelyn, where is your saviour now?" Loud rumbling could be heard from all around you but the smug voice of Pashtarot manages to assault your ears anyway.
"You're no champion. Without your friends you're nothing, without your primal pet you're nothing." The Ascian growls in disdain.
For years you've been fighting a losing battle against the Ascians, their divide and conquer tactics worked too well when they orchestrated every Scion's soul being transported to another shard.
Again they are about to destroy a world, the First, for which you fought so hard to save and restore. All for naught. The last of the remaining shards, its aether was already seeping away towards the Source.
"If you're gonna get your wish anyway." You say defiantly in between laboured breaths. "I'll fulfill my own!"
As you once did with the Lightwardens, you begin to channel the flowing aether into yourself.
Damn it! You forgot how much that hurt.
Before you could do anything else you were already coughing up condensed aether.
The Ascian laughed. "And what would you accomplish with that? A final showdown like you did with Emet? Ah, but this time-. Well, time. Time is not on your side."
His arrogance has only grown over the years, Gods how irritating.
"That-." You spit out as the aether is burning your insides. "Is where you're wrong..."
You had hoped to hear him sputter or see the smugness leave his face, or at least the part not covered by a mask, but your body spasmed uncontrollably as the aether burst out of you before everything turned first white, then black.
Even though your soul has been pulled through the aethereal sea many a time before, you never could get used to just laying flat on your back everytime you hit "reality".
Especially when only about 20 square ilms of your back was actually touching ground.
No. Not ground. A long cylinder. Your lance. And it was moving. No, you were.
You snapped to your senses and realised you're lying atop of the dome of Ishgard's cathedral, slowly sliding off.
Grabbing your lance, you quickly jumped to one of the spires nearby, balancing precariously on top.
"We were not too late, my friend!" A voice all too familiar to you rang out from down below, sending shivers down your spine. Indeed we were not, old friend.
Precisely when you needed to be, Aymeric and the old coot exchanged words, which gave you just enough time to orient yourself and remember where exactly the fated attack came from.
Haurchefaunt and your naïve younger self sprinted towards the archbishop and not a moment too soon you saw a glimmer in the corner of your eye as an aethereal spear materialised about thirty yalms from you.
Not this time, you bastard.
Within a red flash your lance pierced Ser something-or-another's (are you really expected to remember every one of their filthy names after all this time?) abdomen, the sound of steel sliding past chainmail echoing through the skies.
The knight's concentration wavered, but only for a moment. He threw the aetherlance with all his strength before staggering backwards.
Helplessness envelops you, just like the first time around, both versions of yourself unable to move. Unable to help. "No, no no no, not again!"
But just as before, the spear tore through shield and Haurchefant alike. Likewise, his murderer managed to slip away. Maybe this event was meant to happen?
No, you couldn't accept that. You just had to make sure you could absorb enough aether in the future. Then you could try again, right?
Four times. Four agonising times did you have to witness his death.
The same red flash as those times before. A spear impaling the Knight of the Round and pinning him in place, a katana slicing through his armour, and a rapier piercing his chest. All at the same time.
But still it was not enough. He would fall, yes, but not before death had left his hand.
Hopefulness turned into desperation, and when even desperate measures failed, fanatical fervor took over.
The Scion creed, your creed, 'For those we have lost, for those we can yet save' twisted over numerous failed attempts.
"For those we won't lose, for those we will save." Your voice a furious whisper.
This time you stand back to back with the knight. Plunging a dagger into his kidney, immediately taking him out of action.
Your heart raced with anticipation, but you didn't feel any aether forming nearby. You finally did it.
You needed to make sure he could never be a threat to anyone anymore. He was already on his knees now so it was easy for you to slip your dagger underneath his helmet.
All your despair, all your hatred you poured into the cut. This Assassination was a silent promise to never have anyone threaten your Haurchy again.
Dropping the corpse from the roof and looking over the edge made you realise that everyone below was staring at you, giving the Archbishop the opportunity to board the airship that was preparing to take off.
"Stop gawking, he's escaping!"
They seemed to get their senses back, turned around and sprinted towards the airship. But it was already taking off.
In a desperate attempt that made your heart stop, Haurchefant nearly flung himself over the edge of the walkway to grab onto the magitek machine. Luckily your 'original' self managed to latch herself onto his waist and pull him away from the edge.
It'd be just your luck, to do all this and still lose.
No matter, Haurchefant was alive and well. Everything else you could deal with later. Especially when there were four more of you to back you up.
You all nodded at each other, and descended towards the walkway. Haurchefant, whom had been cautiously approaching, suddenly dropped his guard and stared at you in awe.
You cross your arms and sigh. "Seriously, we do all this effort to save you, only for you to almost throw yourself off of the cathedral?" Yet couldn't stay angry at him, even though he did give you a heart attack.
He seemed to not realise he was being talked to, despite looking right at you.
Instead he just inched closer as if enthralled, mumbling. "Have I been judged worthy in the halls of Halone? Why did no one tell me?"
Gods, you're such a dork. I missed you so much.