Chapter warnings: asphyxiation, self-harm
iii
He oversleeps a half-day, woken by malevolent spirits whom he frees with mangled hands. No direction save the snarling rockfall guides him as they descend the mountain path. Pale, yellowing grass leads them to a courtyard and a stone temple, blazing white in the sun, empty of the followers of whatever slain god once laid within.
The pillars cast ladders of shadow, incriminating light the rungs, footsteps belonging to him alone until Pichu springs from his arms, staring down an enemy Roy cannot see. In the shadows of the temple lurks a monster with Marth's face, the priest of the establishment robed in white, standing at the pulpit to condemn their pilgrimage there. The false Falchion flashes towards them but Pichu is quick on his electrified toes. Roy steps back as Pichu rushes their foe's legs and knocks it to the floor. Pichu tugs on its cape and becomes entangled in a roll of fabric that pins the monster to the ground, then unleashes a shock that makes them both screech. Roy approaches with his sword and impales the monster through its stolen face. The world begins to tilt and a wave of nausea overtakes him.
It's first time he sees the warriors as he stands amidst the crowd. He's pushed against the bustling bodies and his ears are filled with the endless unintelligible speech, a hundred voices speaking but unheard by their own ears, no attempts made to listen. It's a useless rendezvous.
Then sky drips down and the dream realm shrinks, constricting more and more until he can't breathe. They all begin to scream, stamping each other out of the way, bodies crumpling to the floor and disappearing into the rippling void until he's the only one left in the collapsing singularity.
He can't breathe, he can't breathe. His mind bubbles into a haze as his throat crinkles like paper. Hands materialise around his neck and he's staring into the face of his partner, twisted into an inhuman snarl, murderous blood beneath roiling for his death.
He awakens trembling and gasping for air, hands around his own neck, sitting in the moonlight that exposes him too much. He can barely see Lilina kneeling next to him, her image wavering in the silvery light. Pichu climbs quivering into his lap. Roy's mind is trapped in the material of his dreams.
"I saw him. I saw him." A bolt of despair burns through his chest as Lilina's shoulder offers no support for his outstretched hand. Her eyes shine with desperation and she can say nothing, as always.
"He couldn't stand me. He didn't let me breathe, wanted me dead. That's what would make him happy. And I talk to you like you still have a body. I should be happy as I am. But I can't. I can't save you, can't save him..." The Binding Blade glints in the moonlight. He runs his fingers along its edge, flinching as an invisible drop of blood, wavering between reality and unreality, falls to the cobblestones and dissipates. Like the sweet memory of how his doppelganger severed his hands.
He gets to his knees, evicting Pichu from his lap, and wraps his hands around the blade's hilt. It rattles violently as he channels his consciousness into the metal, causing a pop as the blade flickers to life. The flames are weak but the shadows are immense. Lilina's eyes flash from the other side, flooded with anguished tears. Her cries are drowned out by the light.
He gazes into the fire until it's all he sees. Feels the light and heat and tears burn his eyes. Arms made of lead hold the blade that commands his consciousness. Hands begin rotating it, envisioning the blade pointing downwards, towards flesh.
Too early it slips from his grip and slashes his arms as he jerks forward to catch it. He cradles the blade against his chest as it cauterises his palms and neck.
He didn't mean to fall in this time. So he finds himself pinned to the floor on his stomach, one arm stretched in front, where a prone Lilina is holding his hand in a vice's grip.
She looks at him once before dissolving into sobs that wrack her body and rob her of breath. She repeats his name again and again, squeezing his hand to make sure he hasn't disappeared like he wants to. In the dream world, he can't cry. It's almost like he's choking.
A/n: Am I allowed to write this? I wrote this at midnight while I was meant to be working on an essay x)