*Falls back in with a gi-normous SPLAT* X______X Holeeeeee crud it's been awhile, and I'm really sorry you've had to wait so long! Firstly, I had to get through two very annoying exams that demanded all my attention, not to mention fighting my way through a mild strain of writer's block… ¬_¬;;; I was intending for this chapter to be a lot longer than what it is now (even if it still equals out as the second longest chapter I've written so far) in order to make up for the delay in updating, but too much would've been going on to make it possible, so I had to end it at a certain point. =P Well, things will start getting explained now, and the action/adventure/romance bit should be happening as soon as these explanations have been dealt with – I guess I'd better stop yakking and make it happen faster, eh? XD
PS: Zero-Vision – yes, of course I've listened! ^_~ And Mary, since Hotmail keeps sending back the e-mails I've tried sending to you, I'd like to thank you here for your support! ^__^ I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far, and a big thankyou too to everyone else who has provided feedback, it really does mean a lot to me. :)
CHAPTER 8 – Out of hiding:
A thoroughly ugly beast to behold and equally as offensive to the nose, the lone Grat meandered lopsidedly across an open stretch of clearing, the hairs of its spindly legs gripping random patches of shrub and grass as it pulled its bulging mass ever nearer to the breathy whisper of flowing water. It was vaguely aware, with a very dulled smear of intelligence, of the increasing stickiness of its oily hide as a result of the highly humid air circulating around its enclosure. The Grat however was hardly concerned with the reasons behind its present infirmity, if it was even capable of registering anything deeper than its immediate discomfort – water was near, and water was what the Grat instinctively knew it required. The layers of fat swimming beneath its pocked, sickly green skin swayed as the Grat ungracefully hauled its quivering weight over an impeding fallen log, landing rather heavily on its front with its multiple legs waving nonsensically in the air like fraying pieces of string, before struggling upright with obvious difficulty. Pincer jaws clacking noisily, the Grat continued along its way unperturbed, its senses narrowing to a single point upon the ever nearer, tantalising smell, sound and distant touch of a moving body of water. It forced its way through a wall of foliage consisting of brightly hued leaves and flower petals, staining any flora which had the unfortunate luck of being in its way with a film of foul smelling slime, and then proceeded to manoeuvre ungainly through a particularly dense framework of vine-choked trees. The sound of its coming was hardly subtle, twigs snapping in protest beneath the Grat's heavy bulk, and leaf-encrusted branches rustling angrily as the swing of a stray leg disturbed their motionless demeanour. Water, so dearly longed for… the slick chorus of bubbling droplets sounded near enough to wallow in, tempting the Grat to new degrees of frustration as it navigated through the green gauntlet of forestation.
If its senses were more acute, its wits honed sharper… or in other words, not born a Grat… the bumbling creature might have bothered to notice the curious manner in which the resonance of the water source seemed to retreat with each length won by its struggle against the impediment of stubborn trees… but the Grat was no epitome of intellect, or even common sense, hence it could foresee none of the reckless consequences of its awkward venture into uncompromising terrain. Thoroughly displaced from its element of open spaces, the Grat ultimately found itself in the inelegant position of being hopelessly entangled, the joints of its slender legs wrapped in the tight embrace of drooping creepers and the unbalanced proportions of its body tipping the Grat off its centre of gravity. Flailing rather pathetically in its bonds, it was hardly aware of the strange fact that the gurgling of its aspired water source had suddenly ceased…
The vision of the Grat was decidedly more developed than its four other senses, with the possible exception of touch, and so it was not beyond it to detect a blinding platinum flash through the gaps of the undergrowth, the type of flash commonly created by the effect of ambient light vaulting off a solid, metallic platform. Incapable of registering colour on any scale, the glimpses of brown and black weaving through the cavity of the leaves were unfortunately lost on the captive, dim-witted creature.
What was easily unmistakable however, was a distinct and ominous rumble akin to that of shaking earth, punctuated by a confusing overtone of what could be likened to the violent swilling of water in a pail…
… and then the wall of green before the incarcerated Grat suddenly parted before the brutal force of a horizontal pillar of foaming water, exploding in a flurry of spray against the Grat's torso with an impact on the par of a solidly connected fist to the stomach. With an inhuman shriek of shock and hurt, the Grat found itself knocked backwards, the momentum of the blow having shredded the vines suspending its form. Propelled by the unceasing onslaught of watery might, the Grat flew through the air at the head of the pillar like a sculpted mascot fixed at the prow of a ship, legs scrabbling desperately for a grappling hold on any solid object. Before this could be achieved, the broad trunk of an aging tree met the airborne Grat in the middle of its crazy flight with a resounding crash and a mild shower of splinters. Tumbling out of the air and plopping among the nest of roots snaking away from the foot of the tree, the Grat found itself beset by the sensation of intense, burning injury as the water pillar broke apart against the wooden barricade of leaves and branches, showering the already drenched monster with heavy, fat, droplets of moisture that felt for all the world like battering hail stones.
Sucking in air noisily between its pincer beak, trying to squeeze as much oxygen into its winded form as it could from around the asphyxiating curtain of falling water, the Grat was only just able to register a series of rapidly approaching thumps resonating through the soggy ground over the trickling chorus of dissipating water… a warning swish, a second metallic flash and then a searing flare of pain which coursed a blazing path through every greasy fibre of the Grat's being with an intensity that cleanly lifted its form off the mud in a spine-snapping arch, and drove an uncanny sounding screech from the squashed depths of its sunken throat. A spurt of olive green and brown spewed forth from the yawning gash that had suddenly materialised on the dripping abdomen of the yowling Grat, looking shockingly like the crazily curved lips of an open-mouthed, drooling grin. With senses clouded over by the white hot sensation of injury, the Grat floundered in a delirious rage within the saturated dirt, kicking up a storm of mud flecks, rock shards and fragments of twigs with its wildly thrashing legs. In reaction to its maddened fury, bulging pores scattered across its bleeding hide spontaneously proceeded to weep an evil looking substance with a tint like that of withered rotting corn, dribbling across the heaving planes of the infuriated Grat's bulk and pooling in a hissing puddle of muddied water and lime hued blood within the trench its lashing feet had carved through the mud. Its bulging eyes tracking furiously on the ends of their stalks, the Grat suddenly fixed its hazy vision upon an object standing before it, an object that had previously not been there the last time it had checked… upright, yet bearing no likeness to the vertical stance of the sentry trees… this object was not a tree, for it was not only living but noticeably breathing and blinking, and the Grat had enough meagre intelligence at its disposal to understand that trees did not cut, did not dish out hurt… did not flash, like this object did! Reaching the end of this slow process of elimination, the Grat finally registered the source of its predicament with a rasping snarl, flinging its flat-ended arms forward in a blurred strike with the sole intention of inflicting hurt upon its assailant, a hurt that might mirror something of what it was currently experiencing...
Squall Leonhart was quicker than any old Grat, and was certainly not to be outdone or shamed by one that was of all things, crippled. Throwing himself to the left within the safety net of a cluster of trees and spiny leafed shrubs, the Grat's arms struck harmlessly against the sunken footprints left by the now scarce SeeD with a biting slap of flying mud and broken rock.
Squall was never one to delay the inevitable for very long, and this occasion was no exception to the rule – as swiftly as he had sought the shelter of the trees, he now broke forth in a tight-lipped storm of wayward leaves and loose leafs of bark, Gunblade glimmering with hungry malice, its appetite already whetted by the steaming sheen of monster blood coating its subtle edge. The waterlogged clay underfoot sucked against the SeeD's leather-soled boots with a sticky grip as his galloping feet slammed heavily into the sludge-filled puddles, causing him to slide rather unsteadily in his headlong charge, but this still did little to check the speed of his momentum. In a heartbeat, the Grat was close enough for Squall to fall victim to an - otherwise unwanted – intimate encounter with the beast's rather rancid body odour, a combination of the reek of its wounded meat and the stench of the jaundiced poison leaking out of its dilated pores… an aroma which was more than enough to make one's eyes pool in reaction. Oblivious to his nose's evident discomfort, Squall ducked beneath the waving arms of the irate Grat and pulled up slightly to avoid a messy physical collision with the stinking specimen. This close, he could clearly count the Grat's bulging half-dozen eyeballs, glazed over with bodily run-off and the monster's unique trademark of pitiful stupidity. This close, the Grat could also count his if it so wished, but as it was, it of course was not interested – the throaty roar that erupted from the depths of its foaming jaws was enough evidence of what the Grat's intentions lay in regards to the gadfly of a SeeD. With what was undoubtedly a mammoth effort considering the burden of its infirmity, it propelled its entire sodden bulk out of the swampy trench it was currently emersed in and lunged its podgy form forward in a headlong charge, serrated pincer jaws stretched wide to receive the juicy human morsel crouched at the ready before it…
The Gunblade cut a blurred arc of light through the air and smashed resonantly against the Grat's gaping maw, forcing the beast's head backwards with a violent jerk, compelling it to utter another agonised screech as its jaws momentarily resisted, then caved under the crashing blow of the blade in a messy shower of fracturing bone with a sound like that of exploding crockery. Squall quickly ducked his head under the protective arbor of his free arm under the pelting rain of broken shards, feeling the sharp fragments bouncing off the toughened leather of his well-worn jacket and hearing them plopping distinctively and noisily into the dirty puddles underfoot… but there was no more time to waste for self-preservation, he knew. Otherwise he'd never finish what it was that he had started… Blowing the messy stray bangs out of his eyes, Squall straightened, Gunblade cocked at the ready, eyeing the evidence of his blade work upon the now thoroughly anguished Grat with an almost sadistic amusement softening the callous line of his bowed lips. The beast was completely beyond further retaliation, reeling pathetically as a shocking bruise – the hue like that of blades of grass painted by a midnight brush – spread the tentacles of its ugly matt across the breadth of the Grat's flabby throat, radiating from the bleeding flesh hugging the chipped, forlorn remains of a shattered jaw. Tottering unsteadily, the Grat's wavering body finally sagged heavily against the bough of the tree behind it as it hacked out a liquid cough, a thin river of thick black bile trickling out of the corner of its broken orifice. External and internal bleeding was killing the creature with a grimly efficient execution, rendering it as helpless as a newborn kitten, and Squall reluctantly allowed the stained, slimy point of the Gunblade to dip towards the ground. Adrenaline was still coursing relentlessly through his veins, causing his fists to judder and his muscles to protest as he willed the tension out of his limbs, but the urgency had come and gone, the initial danger passed. Still, he revelled in the satisfying flush heating his cheeks as the feverish fire of combat continued to crackle and burn beneath his skin, the startling clarity of his senses akin to that of a hunting wildcat… in battle, merged in an intimate consummation with the wicked keenness of the weapon he chose to wield so long ago, he could almost forget himself. Lose himself, in fact.
The Gunblade is the perfect lover in so many ways…Squall closed his eyes in contemplation, fingers wrapped languidly around the ridged grooves of the weapon's leather hilt as he lowered its now vertical length against the marshy softness of the ground. The spastic wheezing of the dying Grat was the only background clamour which could pose an interruption to the SeeD's gathering thoughts. This, he pointedly ignored.
… it will fight for you… It cannot die… and… and it will never leave you…
The frown that Squall always wore like a second skin deepened, the ridge indenting his forehead creasing as his muscles tightened.
This is the type of commitment that suits you best. You're a lone wolf, always have been and always will… too much trouble to take any other path. You don't need anyone. You can go alone. Stuff relationships, stuff love. All that mindless fluff and drivel, it just isn't you. You taught me that, Rinoa, I'll give you that much credit…
:…Really? And what else did you learn from her…?:
Squall's flung his eyes open with a startled gasp as a foreign voice suddenly intersected his internal dialogue, cleanly slicing up anything else he had intended to lecture himself about. The voice was wispy and vague, yet so unbelievably distinct that its timbre pricked sharply against the walls of his grey matter like filed needles, demanding – and receiving - his full, utmost attention…
:Don't look so surprised. This isn't anything you haven't experienced before.:
"Who the hell are you?" Squall half-yelled, confused as to where he should be directing his voice. Swivelling left and right, he blinked rapidly, trying to discern whether anyone was near enough to warrant responsibility as the voice's source. Then came the voice again, a featherlike giggle caressing his agitated thoughts.
:You're not scared, are you? Of me? The Squall I knew would never admit it…:
Squall felt himself freezing up, the hot glow that had been warming his battle-charged skin solidifying with a brittle snap, but his eyes continued to burn as a flicker of recognition warily crept into his wide-eyed stare. "Ellone? Is that you?"
Pause.
"Answer me! Are you alright? You were the one who… sent that thing today, weren't you?" Squall involuntarily roared, the crucible of his stifled fears and frustrations having burst a main. He could feel his ears growing hot as his heart pounded almost painfully within the cavity of his chest, suddenly seized with a desperate longing for confirmation.
:Ellone? What would make you think that she would bother to remember you, when you choose to exercise a double standard?:
The words struck Squall's conscience with the force of a slap having reached its maximum velocity, and he found himself taking a step back. "What the shit are you talking about?" He snapped. "Who the hell is this? Where's Ellone?"
:I hardly think that's important right now.:
"Oh, you bet your precious ass that's the priority of the moment," Squall snarled ominously, narrowing his eyes as he tightened his slackened grip around the revolver's handle. His temper, usually checked by a short leash, was now straining unusually far from its staked post. "What have you done with her?! That's her voice you're using, isn't it? Hyne help me, I'm gonna…"
:You would dare to threaten me? To talk to me like that?:
Squall could almost have sworn that the voice had grown decidedly more shrill as it expressed its affront, but it was difficult to pinpoint what with the… the sudden… pain… so intense… what the hell…?! Dearest Hyne… what's happening…. Ugh…
A high-pitched buzzing was ringing relentless between his ears, humming to the brutal vigour of a breaking wave of pain that was ravaging his inner self, chewing casually with dulled incisors into the pulpy mass of his keening brain. With a rasping gasp, Squall found himself stumbling as the right side of his body collapsed underneath the strain plaguing his senses, but with the exertion of a stubborn iron thread of pride, struggled to hold himself up against his unseen adversary. Irregardless of his ordeal, Squall's grip on the Revolver remained as tenacious as ever, despite the fact that the burden it was placing upon his straining, knotted muscles was evident to the naked eye… this act of bravado evidently stirred an amused reaction, as the voice ventured forth once more.
:How pitiful. When confronted with what one does not understand… can never understand… what one fears… you all raise a weapon. How else but to explain a SeeD? Weak cowards, all of you… and their Commander is hardly any exception… you truly fear me, Squall. You always have…:
A tinkle of mind laughter clashed through the film of pain clouding Squall's senses like the metallic chorus of wind chimes caught in a gust.
:… but you are not wrong to fear me.:
The heavy, oppressing hand of discomfort that had been shoving viscously against Squall's inner strength with bony fingers miraculously lifted. Half-dazed, he realised that he had been keeled over at the waist, the joints of his wrists radiating soreness from having subconsciously clenched the revolver so fiercely during his brief distress.
:Let me show you why…:
There was little time for recovery, or for the collection of scattered scraps of dignity. No sooner had Squall tentatively straightened that an unseen force seized him by his wild brown mane of hair, yanking his head backwards with a ferocity that forced him to lurch his body with the flow for fear of having his neck snapped. Eyes wild with swirling fear and shock, Squall squirmed against his steel-fisted opponent like a pinned and mounted moth, even as he felt himself being lifted clean off the ground. Fear was rapidly swamped by an onset of crimson-hued rage, swelling outwards from his gut like an inflated bubble of magma, and blossoming through his coursing veins like a blooming bramble bush. The sheer indignity of his position, dangling unceremoniously like a wriggling worm skewered on a hook, was nearly enough to make Squall spit ink, but incapable of such a trick, the Commander settled instead for a roared string of choice profanities which would have deprived him of a month's worth of pay at the expense of his Swear Jar, if Quistis had been around to hear. Squall groped blindly behind him as he continued to rail, hoping that his clawed fingers would imbed themselves in a tangible enemy that was not insusceptible to the kiss of sharpened steel, but he was to be disappointed. Then… laughter, again… coursing down the tingling channels of his magic sensors, sounding as bright and chirpy as a blue spring morning.
Dearest Hyne… Ellone's laugh…! Say it isn't so, say it isn't so… Elle, are you being controlled?!
:You look so adorable when you're helpless, Squall, just like when you sleep… how could I hurt you when you give me that look?:
If there's one thing I cannot stand, it's being toyed with!! Squall's mental voice was practically shrieking its affront, as old and ugly feelings of abhorrence surfaced like sunken corpses from his memory bog. Just like… like…
Understanding, breaking through like the dampened rays of the sun following a solar eclipse.
Flashback…
"You looked so adorable, sleeping like a baby…"
……
Once… a long time ago… those words…?
Realisation, detonating within his stomach with a blazing pop.
!!!!!!
No way. No way. But. At the same time…
……
Acceptance.
Yes. Yes it is.
……
… Rinoa?!
The effect was positively catatonic. Squall abruptly relinquished his feverish struggles, his limbs growing as floppy and inert as those of a rag doll. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been hit harder, not by Seifer, not by Edea, not by anyone or anything. Rendered mute, rendered numb. Forgot how to breathe, how to blink…
Yellow mind laughter, like draughts of sweet melting butter.
:Meanie. Took you long enough.:
----------------------
Ow… that was a pretty hard hit… serves you right, you duffer – gallivanting off like that in the dead of night, biting off more than you could chew…
Selphie winced as she reluctantly peeled her hand away from the stinging gash that tarnished the previously unblemished porcelain of her left shoulder, her fingers coming away sticky with drying blood, but at least the bleeding was beginning to slow. It wasn't a serious injury – a clean cut, not deep enough to nick the underlying bone – but Selphie knew from experience that her arm was going to be stiff and sore for at least a week's worth of healing as a price for her carelessness. Scanning her magical stocks, she inwardly kicked herself for not remembering to pile up curative magic before jumping the gun, but it was a bit too late to do much about it now. Still cradling her wounded limb close to her body, Selphie slumped against the cold iron of the stair railing for a breather, doing her utmost to ignore the miserable ache of her arm through gritted teeth. Several metres away, the inflicters of her infirmity were currently lying in a bruised and battered heap, the stench of their demise already luring scavengers and flies to inspect the grisly carcasses.
A year ago, I could've dealt with two Grats with my eyes closed, both legs tied and zombified… Selphie chided herself silently, feeling somewhat miffed. You're getting lazy, girl… there just haven't been enough threats lately to warrant enough attention. 'Better get back into training, Hyne knows you certainly need it!
With a quiet nod of affirmation, Selphie then adjusted her dials to a different frequency requiring immediate attention. "Tsk tsk…" Selphie clicked her tongue in a critical manner as her eyes swept over the stained, glossy lengths of Adamantine that she was currently holding before her for inspection; the mineral was by far too oily and hardy to suffer anything as superficial as nicks or scratches, but regardless of how tough any substance could be, Selphie reflected that she was yet to encounter anything that could resist the unsavoury touch of filth. Coated with foul smelling slime, monster blood and dried sweat, her usually illustrious Strange Vision was in a very forlorn state indeed. Wrinkling her nose at the smell, Selphie had no wish to scrub the weapon clean with her bare hands alone. 'Best to head for the stream… and hope we don't run into any trouble along the way…
On that note, Selphie propelled herself up the metal mesh of the staircase which would connect her with the path leading towards the Training Centre's artificial water feature, her steps crashing noisily against the wired grating despite her personal wish to keep a low profile. She wasn't too concerned about being waylaid, knowing that the sheer stink of a Grat was easily identifiable at least ten metres downwind, while the more perilous threat posed by the fearsome T-Rexaur was made less of a worry due to the impossibility for such an enormous beast to conceal itself effectively enough to ambush its prey. Still, prevention was always better than the cure… Selphie was also irritatingly aware that her size and stature always worked towards giving her person the aura of an easy target to not only monsters but people in general, a misconception that she chose to thoroughly render wrong whenever the opportunity arose. Sparring and journeying with her previous team mates had earned her their respect, but it was still sometimes difficult whenever it came to her duty of tutouring the Juniors, whose inflated confidence sometimes threatened to up-lodge Selphie's governing authority over them on the basis of her size and girlish demeanour…
"I'm not small, I'm just surrounded by a bunch of bean stalks…" Selphie muttered under her breath. Her heels no longer echoed against the hollow bong of steel, instead biting firmly into the crunchy gravel of the dusty path which wove its way through the thinning foliage. Her size had always been a bit of a touchy point for her, having earned jeers and ridicule in her early days as a SeeD novice and occasionally drawing double takes from those who encountered her for the first time. Selphie knew that since the success of Balamb Garden against the threat of the Sorceress, she and her team mates had been inflated into larger than life heroes… the expectations were sometimes difficult to live up to, the image sometimes too large to fill. Occasionally, Selphie longed for life before the Sorceress, a life free of obligations and menace around every corner, nothing but halcyon days of simple tasks and solving petty disputes…
… but deep inside, we know that there's no such thing as 'before the Sorceress'… the Sorceress always 'is'. There's never been a time when there was none, when there was no power that could be potentially abused. You know your duties as well as anyone, even if it's not all fun and roses. SeeD is the check on the Sorceress whenever the need arises, no matter what the occasion or whether those we love get hurt in the process… it was hard, fighting Matron… but our SeeD duty towards the safeguarding of innocents trumps personal emotions and personal relations. I hate how that sounds so cold… I'd… I'd really… hate having to go through something like that again…
Absorbed in her thoughtful ponderings, Selphie almost missed the turning towards the stream, jerking herself out of drifting space long enough to remember why she'd set off on the path in the first place. Her boots scuffed up loose clouds of dirt as the packed earth gave way to worn wooden planks which amplified her clomping footsteps, accompanied by the happy gurgling of bubbling water sluicing a liquid path over river-worn stones. Selphie ambled across the make shift bridge spanning the distance between the forested shore and the tiny island in the middle of the stream, the slopes of the island chiselled smooth and flawless by the file of the water currents.
Slipping a little on a patch of moss, Selphie dropped to her knees upon reaching the island and dunked her soiled weapon into the flowing stream, her eyes widening a little at the shock of the icy crucible of the water which was engulfing her submerged hands.
Bah… I forgot how messy fighting Grats can be… Selphie inwardly complained as she rubbed the Adamantine shafts with a vigorous palm, keeping a firm grip on the weapon by enclosing its chain within the grasp of her other hand. The motion caused the dull pain in Selphie's shoulder to flare in protest, strong enough to force a hissed intake of breath whistling through her clenched teeth… the overall combination of scrubbing off Grat gunk and an inconveniently placed flesh wound was enough to make Selphie think twice in the future about the intelligence (or lack thereof) of casting off her beauty sleep for the sake of venting some inner steam…
Grumbling under her breath, Selphie shrugged off the smarting of her shoulder and focused on scraping off the troublesome cakes of grime that had solidified during her short walk through the centre, a slow task that she unfortunately found she could not achieve without the use of her fingernails, and the water was chilling her hands to the point of hypothermia the longer she took to complete her undertaking.
Stupid things… horrible, ugly things… why'd they have to bleed so much? Hate hate hate! I'm an Elite, why do I have to do my own washing? Selphie felt a fingernail resist, then spontaneously snap from the friction of her scrubbing, souring her mood even further. "I should be having servants… as much nail lotion as I want…" Selphie belly-ached as she leant into the scouring, "… no more stupid dreams… a Garden Festival… a year's supply of red cordial… pets allowed in the Garden and…"
:Selphie!! Quick, answer me!:
"HECK!!" Selphie yelped in genuine surprise and mild embarrassment, having been caught red-handed talking to herself about hardly flattering subjects, and a far from subtle blush razed a crimson path across her cheek bones. Falling backwards upon her heels, she yanked the Strange Vision out of the water in a chaotic spray of droplets and flecks of hardened Grat run-off, thus succeeding in drenching herself in a delightful curtain-closer performance, much to her weary exasperation.
Then it dawned on her who had just spoken.
It's happening again! Holy Hyne, it never ends…!
"I'm here! I'm here!" Selphie yammered, having not overlooked the urgency with which the voice had addressed her with. Shaking her head free of loose drips, she quickly stood and looked around her, only half hoping to match a body to the voice. "Who are you? What do you want? Is something wrong?"
:Yes…! By Hyne, I don't know what to do…! I… look, you have to trust me, you must, please promise me this!:
"Whoa! Wha… h-hey, I don't even know who you are!" Selphie blurted out, noticeably taken aback by the strident string of words that had been hurtled down her magic channels like chunks of concrete, bashing heavily against the walls of her skull with an almost painful resonance. "What's going on?"
:She's distracted… alright… trust me… believe… this is Ellone… don't ask how or why yet, but you must believe that it is me, and I would never harm you like she would! I'd never harm Squall either, please believe me!:
"Ellone?!" Selphie all but fairly screeched as she recoiled in astonishment, but the now identified dream-speaker barrelled on impatiently without a break in momentum.
:Squall's here, he's not far from you… oh Hyne, she's… please, go and help him! I can't stop her anymore, not without your help! It's driving me mad…! I feel so helpless…:
Ellone's voice fractured as her composure evidently crumbled, trailing off into a morbid silence. Selphie however, recovering her own composure with yet another extraordinary display of resilience, spoke demandingly into the empty air, her hands gripped tightly once more around the shafts of the Strange Vision in lieu of offensive confrontation. "Show me where!"
:I'll guide you… and… and I'll try to help you… I'm very weak, but I'll do my best…:
"Just remember, you have one heck of a lot of explaining to do after this!" Selphie said fixedly, giving the Strange Vision a final tug to shed the last drops of water off its sleek surface. The links of the finely crafted chain clanked together in unison, growing taut and then slack as Selphie expertly loosened the weapon from its watery film. Sparkling with a newly-washed shimmer, the overhead light catching off the subtle edges of engraved runic symbols and two lethal aerodynamic lengths of parallel batons, the Strange Vision was more than ready for the commencement of battle, and its wielder was more than willing to instigate one…
I have so many questions… so many things to ask, that I don't know where to start… Selphie's thoughts were almost effectively drowned out by the dull pummelling of her heels against the wooden boards of the rickety bridge as she broke into a break-neck sprint. The stagnant, muggy air of the Training Centre flowed backwards against her face, whipping her brown bangs out of her eyes and across her smooth brow. But they'll have to wait… Squall's in trouble… and if he's gotten himself into a fix, then it must be serious! It makes me wonder about my own chances…
Gulping back those far from encouraging thoughts, Selphie forced herself to focus on calming her inner core, a hard enough task when her stomach was bouncing crazily with the rhythm of her pounding gait. "Ellone, where to?"
--------------------
A lone Grat munched placidly on the remnants of an old and decaying meal within the safe confines of a sheltered clearing, its multiple legs gathering strips of black carrion from the bleached bones of the all but unidentifiable remains before it. Although mostly mesmerised with the activity, its tracking eyes still blinked wetly as it espied an unusually punt-sized blur of movement whipping past the outer tree line before vanishing as quickly as it had been noticed, a movement supplemented by a chorus of snapping twigs, crackling leaves and kicked up clods of earth… if the Grat were born with shoulders, it might have used them to shrug, but having been born without, the beast simply made do with tuning its attention back to its unappealing supper.
* * *
Yeeeesh, and there we have it! This chapter has been completed at last! *Collapses from exhaustion* X__X;; Once again, I'm very sorry that it took so long in coming, and I'll see if I can make sure the next chapter will be up a little quicker, although I'll definitely be needing to think about how to tackle the next instalment in a way which doesn't look… well, stupid. XD And as a disclaimer, no Grats were harmed in the making of this chapter, so get off my back, RSPCA! O___O XD
Rinoa fans probably won't be liking what I have in store for her from here on in, so don't say I didn't warn you… O_- anti-Rinoa fans however, rejoice! =P ^.^;;
Coming up next: Slice and dice time, with a confrontation that will surely involve resorting to fists (or sticks of death!) =P Be here next time to see Selphie in action!