#Godo is DONE(tm)

[kedamononoken]

He reaches out - reaches forth to choke the man, to squeeze fingers around his throat til he can barely breathe his last; his grip is harsh, his fingers rough on skin. What starts as a tight squeeze, edges into the curious touch of a man so close to something he's dreamed of for so long - those hands loosen, claws withdrawn for the caress of an animal, eased. But Heidegger isn't soft, isn't gentle. He's stricken. So wanting to murder the other that he can't quite bring himself to do it - he wants to savour it. He needs to feel it, really feel it. The warmth of flesh between his fingers, the heat of Godo's breaths beside his ear. He himself pants into the other's neck - resists the temptation to draw blood with fangs, instead grazes lips along skin. Tells himself he does not want a taste but rather, blood.

Well, aren't they the same?

He hates himself enough to spare the other man's neck a kiss - pursed lips, not without the edge of his teeth between them. Oh, if only he didn't want him so badly.

As always, Godo remains obdurate as stone and just as silent.

Heidegger's visits are infrequent, yet spaced just long enough apart that some none too small part of his mind anticipates his coming. And every time the other man reaches for him, he hopes that his touch will bring what he desires most- Death.

Whatever vision of unbending steel and righteous mettle the former Commander may be seeing is simply a ghost- Some phantom echo from a time when he'd thought himself invincible, even chosen by the Gods.

Godo is no warrior-patriarch of a vast and powerful dynasty, simply a thrall to an eikon that traded power for mako. He has killed and betrayed, conquered and subjugated, sacrificed innumerable lives of the slaves he made of the once proud populaces of smaller, weaker nations.

He is no better than the conglomerate that keeps him hostage, offering false promises of enlightenment and feeding the souls of those he considered inferior to the flames. He chose this- To offer himself to Shinra in exchange for a truce, an end to a foolish era dominated by greed and arrogance.

Perhaps, in an entirely selfish way, he hopes that Shinra will follow in Wutai's footsteps with the discovery of what 'summon creatures' truly are. He does not care to live long enough to see the city reduced to ash and bones, such a fate is inevitable- what they exchange in order to seize such abilities always costs more than the price agreed upon.

He is... tired, down to his rotten marrow and blanched soul.

Not even the graze of his old rival's lips enflames him, nary a spark to be birthed from such an act given to one so unworthy. Their eyes once burned with righteous fury and a madness that only another consumed by madness could understand. Now his are dull and bereft of that light that once guided his every move and executed each decision made with wrathful certainty.

"What you truly seek is mere illusion, nothing more than the conceit of mad tyrant's pursuit of godhood. Everything that I believed, everything that I once understood with such an angry and dogmatic fervor, was little more than a child's fantasy. A foolish, intransient dream as tangible as smoke fading into air."