#a voidsent voice 🜸

[fell-court]

I need to update my icon now that Lorenza's right eye going pale is only a crystal verse trait, oops

[wyrmwinds]

Mhach raids are canon to Ava but frankly she has no personal investment in them. She’s really only there to fuck Leofard. And then the codependent evil void WoLs show up.

[pupperoflight]

Decided to mess around and do a voice claim. But not for Kaine.

This one’s for his Voidsent Avatar

[hazelkjt]

“The Family She Needs”

Hazel watched the two from afar, sitting off on the side porch of Xbalyav Ty'e. Upon Perseverance's insistence, Zero was teaching her how to read Eorzean. Hazel almost stepped in to teach in the Zero’s stead, as the Voidsent had only recently become proficient in reading the language herself. Zero on the other hand declined the Au Ra's offer, and in the end Hazel understood why. It was a chance for the Voidsent to both prove her mastery of the written language and to bond with Percy without Hazel acting as a mediary.

With her back to a pillar inside the establishment, Hazel could only make out a few words here and there from Zero and Percy as their voices blended into the sea of customers at the restaurant. Nevertheless, those few words Hazel could pick up from the young girl and the light they carried were enough to have a soft warmth bubble up in her chest. She thought nothing could possibly ruin this moment for her. Until he showed up, with a hand on her shoulder.

"First it was Zero, and now Perseverance, you have quite the knack for adopting strays into your family, don't you?" The rhetorical question left Thancred's mouth like an annoying poke at her horn. Hazel closed her eyes and tried to imagine the Scion away, repeating in her mind to not let him get to her.

"Ha ha." She lets out of her gritted teeth, taking note of the coy smirk the Hyur was sporting. Thancred always knew how best to get under her skin, usually leaving it at just light ribbing thankfully.

“So, how has being a mother been treating you?” He asks, leaning against another side of the pillar Hazel was against. The Au Ra turned her head to glare at the man. “Guardian, not mother.” She corrects, giving a flash of her fangs to try and dissuade Thancred from pressing the subject further. Unfortunately for her, the show of intimidation did not land with him the way she hoped. As the glint in his eyes changed to match his mischievous grin, Hazel braced herself for his incoming comment.

“Oh? Does being called a mother make you feel old? I cannot imagine what that would feel like.” His every word was dripping with sarcasm, calling back to Hazel’s teasing of him being a father to Ryne back in the First. He begrudgingly ignored her prodding in the beginning before eventually accepting the title in full. This is different though, she thinks to herself. This is entirely different…isn’t it?

The end of Hazel’s tail flicks in annoyance. “I don’t care about that, it’s just…” her words fall silent for a moment as she glances over at Zero and Perseverance again. The young girl was practically glued to the Voidsent’s arm, eyes wide as she took in all the words on the book’s pages. Hazel couldn’t help but also notice the ever so small curling of Zero’s lips into a smile as she continued to explain the words to Percy.

“It’s just,” the Au Ra continues. “Percy might not remember her mother anymore, but she still holds on to the idea of her. She still has her mother in her heart and loves her.” Pulling her eyes away from the two and toward Thancred, Hazel turns to face him directly. “Do you really expect me to go ‘Hey! I’m your mom now, it’s time to move on?’ Of course not!” She towers over the man, but Thancred doesn’t seem to budge an ilm.

Hazel raising her voice earned a few quizzical glances from the patrons around, but they just as quickly returned to their meals. "You're right, no one expects that of you." His calm yet firm tone snaps the Auri woman out of her slight haze of anger to find quite the serious expression staring her down. She takes a deep breath and lets go of Thancred's shirt...wait, when did she grab him? She clicks her tongue and mentally chastises herself for losing her cool, acting on impulse.

Thancred doesn't seem to let what she did phase him and continues with his point. "What does she want?" The Hyur looks past Hazel and towards the child sitting next to Zero. The Voidsent was helping her sound out a rather large word from the text currently. Hazel couldn't help but glance back and forth from Thancred and Percy, confused as to his point. "What kind of family does Perseverance want? Have you ever asked her that?"

The question sank into Hazel's heart like a dagger. With wistful eyes she looks towards the girl without saying a word. Thancred continues. "She has lost her family, and worse lost the memory of what a family is. But now she has you, but who are you to her? You said yourself before you are not looking to replace her old family but be a new one for her, right?" Hazel's tail droops, the tip grazing the wood floor of the building. She silently nods, not even able to make eye contact with Thancred. Thankfully he gets the message.

"She can still hold on to her love of who came before while embracing the love of those around her. The concepts aren't mutually exclusive you know." The comment hangs in the air for a moment before Hazel lets out a frustrated sigh in response. "I can't believe you of all people are-"

Her train of thought is interrupted by Thancred placing another hand on her shoulder. Unlike last time however, the Auri woman could feel a gentle reassurance come across his firm yet gentle grip. "It is because I am 'me of all people' that I can tell you this." Thancred's eyes darken for just a moment, averting his gaze ever so slightly as well. "Don't make the same mistakes I did. If you truly do love and care for Perseverance then give her the family she needs, whatever form that may take."

She didn't know how to respond, but from the sincere smile on Thancred's face it seemed she didn't have to. Hazel leans back against the pillar facing Zero and Percy as she brings a hand overtop the one on her shoulder. And so in silence Hazel stared out towards Zero, her partner, the love of her life. Slowly but surely her stare makes it's way to the side towards a brightly smiling Percy. Hazel could feel the same warmth building up in her heart when seeing such a sight. She could only hope that Percy felt the same warmth as well.

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 7 Morsel

Zenos trekked across the snowy fields, not trying to rush, but unable to take as much time as he would have liked.

His friend’s body was so different from his own, slim and fine-boned, yet possessing its own strength. There was well-honed grace in her trained movements, the dancer’s skill of Aeryn’s homeland ingrained in every ilm.

He wanted to study her scars—he knew he had left a few upon her at least—and see how she had survived, how such a small, delicate-seeming frame could be so enduring.

Magic sizzled and writhed beneath her surface, a feast for his avatar, and no longer as alien to him as it had once been. Not since mal Asina’s experiments, granting him his birthright. But what Aeryn had access to was so much more, deeper and broader, an ocean compared to his lake.

If only this game could last longer.

He doled out a few more morsels of her plentiful aether to his ravenous avatar. It would need to be ready, after all, once they reached the camp. Then it could devour the living aether of Aeryn’s comrades, the distractions and competition for her attentions.

Assuming she did not manage to stop him first. Would she gain control of that body in time? Her will was possibly even stronger than her form, and her passions burned to protect those dear to her.

If she made it, it would be a victory. If she did not, he would remove some troublesome pieces from their playing field and stoke her rage—also a victory. He smiled, the motion easy enough on her lips.

The avatar sulked at the back of his mind, demanding more. He preferred it a little desperate, cowing it into doing as he needed. It tried not to slaver over the abundance of aether he kept just out of reach.

“Soon,” he murmured, fascinated by the difference in how the word sounded in Aeryn’s voice, how it felt in her throat and mouth, passing her lips. Simple motions he had taken for granted until he had himself shifted from one body to the next.

But her body was just as welcome as his own, perhaps because it was so much more fascinating in its differences, as he tried to find the similarities that made them equals.

Laterum was in sight, and her allies saw him coming. There were cries of relief and joy, and he smiled again. They would not realize until it was too late.

The avatar rumbled once more, sensing his excitement and the richness of aether rushing toward them. Speaking of insignificant morsels. The trio hurrying forward would barely sate the voidsent’s blade. Still, it had been promised a feast, and he had a goal and only so much time, as he let his avatar loose upon them—

“Enough, Zenos!” a rough, masculine voice shouted as a thrown blade struck and scattered the avatar.

She was just in time, ever the hero.

He had still won.

[firelightmuse]

Save Him

Yume x Zenos

Immediately following the final battle with Zenos at the end of 6.0; After granting Zenos the battle he had been pining for ever since he returned from the dead, Yume makes a life altering decision in a brief moment of desperation.

1,456 Words

Featuring @traveler-of-light’s Astrid and Arslan

Content/Trigger Warnings: Brief Descriptions of Attempted Ritualistic Suicide/Seppuku and Depictions of Character Death

This is my first time ever writing for Yume x Zenos, so I hope you all enjoy!! A HUGE shout out to all who have been so encouraging and supportive of me while I navigate this new ship, especially @meepsthemiqo!! Thank you so much!!

As the two combatants channeled as much aether into their punches as they could, Yume Aino, Warrior of Light, got the upper hand and delt the disgraced Garlean prince a devastating blow. The enshrouded Zenos viator Galvus flew backwards, flipped over and landed face first onto the ground.

Though she could hardly catch her breath, and feeling an overwhelming amount of pain in her chest and abdomen, likely due to cracked ribs and internal bleeding, she quickly surmised, Yume pushed the pain from her conscious mind as much as she could as she slowly dragged her broken form closer to her opponent.

Zenos managed to get up onto his knees and reached out his hand to her, but too much of his life force had been spent and he instead dropped back to ground, this time facing the firmament. A moment later, Zenos’ enshrouded form dissipated from the majority of his body, but his left arm was still twisted with bright red flesh, reminiscent of a voidsent.

The samurai stood close enough to Zenos’ fallen form that she could see him open his eyes as he deeply sighed, “That I should lose again...”

With a chuckle, he closed his eyes before he dejectedly said, “How disappointing.”

Yume shook her head and questioned, “Did you though? Heh… I do not feel victorious.”

“Is that so?”

Before she could say anything more, Yume collapsed under her own weight, falling down right next to Zenos, her hand mere ilms away from his.

She looked over at him, and though her vision had begun to slightly blur, she saw his sky blue eyes aimed upward towards the heavens, yet by the look on his face, she knew his mind was drifting, to where she knew naught.

Zenos must’ve sensed that her focus was upon him, as he began to speak his thoughts aloud.

“Never have I understood those around me. Understood their obsessions.” He paused a moment, the memories of his life floating in and out of consciousness as he continued, “Besieged by their banality, the world was a mire of tedium and trivialities.”

Yume could swear that his eyes shifted to her face briefly, yet the pain was nearly unbearable and it was a struggle to keep listening, let alone to see properly.

The Garlean’s deep, rough voice reached her horns once more; this time she could hear a hint of joy in his tone. “But in these fleeting moments, there is...a spark. Blinding, brilliant... Gone...too soon...”

She let out a small sigh. “Yes… I understand.”

Yume had enough visual clarity to see Zenos turn towards her, trying to catch his breath as blood ran out of his mouth and trickled down his face.

“What of you, Yume, my mirror? Born into this world, bestowed name, bid to seek out strife and adventure...”

Yume turned towards Zenos as much as she could, though it was increasingly difficult to keep her eyes open. As she shut her eyes, the pain that racked her whole body started to slowly fade away, and in turn, her mind’s eye began to wander.

“Was this life a gift...or a burden?”

Her mind wandered to her childhood in Hingashi, images began to rise to her conscious mind and soon fall away to the next; Mt. Aino rising up to the sky, its peak surrounded by clouds, flags flying of the Aino clan’s sigil, the seemingly endless multitudes of people bowing to her father, the duels that always ended with her victory yet with no worthy husband, her slicing her belly open and her father coming to stop her, and her leaving her homeland behind for lands unknown.

“Did you find...fulfillment?” Zenos asked as Yume’s mind continued to wander through the memories of her life.

Images floated to the surface of her new life in Eorzea; her arrival in Limsa Lominsa, first adventuring in Ul’dah, fighting Ifrit, joining the Scions, meeting all of whom she would now consider her found family, going on to fight so many primals, so many Garleans, then the dragons, and then the sin eaters, and finally the blasphemies and then the Endsinger. One victory after another, always more victories, and yet, she still felt the same emptiness as before.

“Did I? Did I… really?” Yume wondered aloud, as her mind flashed to images not of memories of real events as before, but of the dreams that haunted her off and on again for years. Dreams of adventure in far off places she had never experienced before, always with a steadfast companion by her side through all the battles and hardships to come, but also celebrating moments of pure joy and true happiness; she sees the scene of an eternal bonding, realizing that it was in fact her own. Yume gleaming in a white dress, joined hand in hand with the love of her life, sealing their bond with a kiss full of passion and love. Yet, she couldn’t not see her lover’s face. Always was her lover’s face shrouded in shadow. She knew that these must be visions of a future not yet written, and now may never come to pass.

Yume knew in her heart that she was a samurai, and there was no greater honor than to die an honorable death in battle. That was a comforting thought. And yet… it was not enough. She asked herself the same question that Zenos had just asked. Right now, in what could well be her final moments in this life, was she fulfilled? Did she find what she had been looking for in all these years of searching?

With a single tear falling from her eye, Yume answered her beaten opponent’s poignant question, “No… Not yet… There is so much left to experience…”

As the words passed her lips, she heard only a single sound from the man laying next to her.

“I...”

What followed was nothing but silence and darkness, as her vision was failing her, and she could not see nor hear him anymore. Was he still there? Or was it too late?

“Z-Zenos…?” Yume spoke his name aloud as she lifted her hand, reaching out for his. She soon found it, but tears instantly began to fall from her eyes as his skin felt cold in hers.

“No… Do not… leave me…alone…”

Yume gripped his cold hand with the last remains of her energy. If she was to die, then she wanted to die with him, the only man who would ever be worthy of her in her family’s eyes. The only person who could ever understand her, who saw all of her, her beauty and her ugliness, her strengths and her weaknesses, her determination and her doubts. Everyone else only saw the light, but he saw the darkness that she hid deep inside, and he was unafraid. In fact, he welcomed it, and drew it out of her, and made her feel unashamed of herself for the first time in her life.

No. Zenos was the only one that she deemed worthy. If she was to die, then she will die having made her own choice. And she chooses him. Her enemy… her love….

As she felt her consciousness slipping away from her, Yume heard a faint clanging of metal, and then as she still held Zenos’ hand, she felt them both being whisked away, and then arrive in another place.

Yume felt nothing, and she could see nothing, but the very faintest of sounds reached her horns.

“Oh… Yume!”

Was that… Astrid’s voice? Was she back in the ship? Was she in the Ragnarok with the others?

“Yume! And… Zenos?!”

That could only be the exclamations of Arslan, confirming that she had in fact been teleported back to the ship, and Zenos had arrived with her, though if he was alive or dead, Yume did not know.

“Can you hear... Say...” Estinien’s voice called out, though it was incredibly difficult to make sense of what he had said.

Yume heard more voices, Urianger, Y’shtola, Alphinaud and Alisaie, but she couldn’t seem to understand what they were saying at all.

With the last of her strength, Yume opened her eyes enough to see her vision blurred so badly that she couldn’t make out any faces, but she finally spotted her target: a shock of pink entered her sight, and she knew she had found the only person who had a chance of saving him. If anyone could do it, it’d be her.

“H-Hali…” Yume spoke with the last of her breath, “Save… him… p-please…”

As the words left her lips, Yume closed her eyes and let the darkness pass over her. Life or death, she knew not what awaited her. It was out of her hands now.

[cinnabun-faerie]

May I ask headcanons for a bitter-sweet scenario of a Reaper!Wol, who comes to learn their voidsent partner is no other than Haurchefant, making sure their WOL doesn't get possessed by someone more malicious? ;w;

A/N: I went on more of a protective thing for Haurchefant. I feel like if he's your voidsent, no one is gonna possess or harm you

You wouldn't have questioned it

but your voidsent partner would linger

it would come out without your command to protect

you felt safe when you had your sythe with you

without it, you felt cold and lonely

you wanted to be close with your voidsent

though you couldn't understand why

while you were in a battle, you braced yourself to take the hit

but it never came

your voidsent would be infront of you, protecting you

just like he did that fateful day

it would bring tears to your eyes as the memory would flash through your mind

and then the voidsent would speak softly

you could recognize the voice anywhere

you heard it so often in your dreams

"Haurchefant!"

the voidsent would hum in affirmation

he was with you all this time

he was still protecting you, just as he did in life

you'd want to find a way to give him his form back just like Zero

[fair-fae]

FFxivWrite24 Entry #21: Shade

FFxivWrite2024 Prompt #21: Shade

Darkness. Darkness and hunger.

It was all she had known for so long that she had lost track of how long she had been trapped within the Void. Time had no meaning and no measure. Devour or be devoured was the only immutable law of the Thirteenth. Death was a fate she could accept–embrace, even–but to live on as a fragment trapped in another’s body as a conglomeration of forgotten souls was not. So the succubus disposed of the few Voidsent foolish enough to challenge her without prejudice, devouring their lives and growing more powerful with each one. So what if she lost a bit more of herself each time? What did it matter? Was that really such a bad thing? What use was sanity here? What good in being herself? At least it was a brief, hollow relief from the hunger. But the darkness, there was no relief from that. Not until, without warning, that fateful day came. Light, blinding and brilliant, burning and insufferable after so long in the pitch, a portal tearing itself through the blackness. Something unignorable called to her from beyond, beckoned and invited her to come through, tugged at her body and soul. Or maybe it was just the ravenous hunger within her, drawn to that world shining with aether on the other side, so instinctual it moved her body without her own volition. She couldn’t be certain. There was very little she could be certain of anymore. The only thing she did know–had decided–was that the portal was for her. Other creatures were drawn to the light like moths to a flame, starving and desperate, clambering for escape from their eternal Hell. But she fought them tooth and nail, and as always in the Void, the superior demon triumphed. She clawed her way out over their bodies, through the rift and into a dizzying, overstimulating world of light and life and sustenance. Where or when she was didn’t matter. No such thoughts occurred to her now. She only had one drive, one urge: Feed. Whoever had been foolish enough to open the Voidgate stood before her, brimming with aether like a beacon in the night. She pounced on him without hesitation and she was intent on making sure there would be no fighting back, her vicious claws swiping toward his face, rending flesh and leaving his visage a bloodied mess. The mage crumpled to the floor with her atop him, straddling him and siphoning the very lifeforce from his body to sate herself. So lost was she in the hedonistic decadence of a proper meal of aether at last, she was not prepared for what came next. But the mage, he had been prepared for her. He had managed to recover from his mauling just in time to spring his trap before his fate was sealed. She was so focused in her single-minded, feral pursuit of her prey that she had failed to notice the arcane circle and sigils carved into the floor beneath her. He triggered his spell, incorporeal bonds of aether winding around her limbs and ripping her off him, holding her in place. She struggled, thrashing and baring her sharp teeth like a wild animal, but she could not break free, and he wasn’t going to wait long enough to afford her the chance. He pushed himself to his feet, the lifeblood seeping from his face dripping to the floor and pooling into the ritual circle etched there, triggering the spell. The runes glowed to life with aether, and she instantly knew what was happening, but it was too late. The Voidsent was bound to her new master, their aether and destinies irrevocably interwoven. “You…” he began, voice dark and deep, one hand pressing to his wounds and covering half his face. “What is your name?” he commanded, and she was powerless to disobey.

@shadiyah-ffxiv @of-darkness-and-dreams

[thorneyes]

XIVWrite 7: Morsel

It used to be Rohesia could count on one dream to be her nightmare. The one where she drowned - that fear had supplanted all of her childhood terrors, and a few more besides. 

It’s not that the terror of the water has lessened. At times just walking the piers of Limsa Lominsa is enough to make her break out in a cold sweat. That fear she’s quite sure will never leave her. 

But there are other fears, now - not worse, perhaps, but more immediate, more gnawing. Ones that she cannot so easily dodge by avoiding boats and beaches - cannot so easily turn her mind from. 

Tonight in this dream - she knows in some way that she is dreaming, even though she can’t seem to escape it - it’s those other fears, nipping at her heels. 

At one point she was running the streets of her childhood home, winding the narrow corridors of sun-red stone and trying, desperately, to get away. Now it’s all dark, and she’s lost her way. Or maybe the way is gone now, the way it sometimes is in dreams. 

She can do nothing for that - not here and now, when everything in her still screams for her to run. Whatever it takes, only so she might get away. 

The shifting sound of her pursuer makes her shudder. She shoves herself back against a wall, and though she can’t feel her hands, can’t feel her breath panting, somehow in this dream, she knows this is the most panic she’s ever felt. 

Even so - she curls a hand into a fist, waiting for it to draw closer. There’s nowhere left for her to run. All that’s left for her to do is to strike out. 

The hissing voice of this nightmare thing drags over her like sandpaper. “Thorneyessss… it’s too late for them. Come here… let me devour you, too.” 

Rohesia clenches her jaw so tightly it must nearly crack. 

“Deliciousss, their aether… won’t you give yours to me, too?” 

Closer and closer the hissing, shifting form comes. Rohesia tightens her fist, and makes ready to turn the corner - 

And finally, finally, jolts awake. 

“Fuckin’ - voidsent,” she mutters, thrashing her way out of bed, in search of a light. She can’t stand the dark, not tonight. Not when, if she closes her eyes again, she’ll see the voidsent, wearing the corpses of her friends.

[selnyam]

A Reunion

a small story I've been meaning to write, of how Flidais formed her Reaper pact and the long lost secret she uncovered in the process

"You'll need to summon a voidsent to make a pact with" Drusilla had told her. Training in the combat style of a Reaper appealed to Flidais. Fighting alongside Zero had peaked her interested in the art, and that stranger in Ul'dah had hired her to stop "The Reaper." A simple conversation, a meeting with Drusilla who noticed her voidtouched nature. Now she was walking through the abandoned Haukke Manor. The old manor had once been full of voidsent and spirits, now since cleared out by her own hand. The void energy lingered still, Off putting to many. She found something calming about it though, having procured many of her homes furniture from the old manor. What better place to summon a voidsent to form a pact with? A voidtouched Viera summoning a Voidsent? What would the Coco brothers think?

Her path led her to the dungeons in the basement, something drawing a dark corner. Drawing her axe from her back she took a deep breath, feeling for the weakness between worlds. This was the spot, this was where she needed to act. Someone was here, someone for her so she reached out her aether and swung the axe. A portal tore open and she prepared to fight if need be, to destroy anything aggressive that burst through to feed on her. What tumbled from the void was a shape, a bundle of wings and void smoke. She swung her hand and threw her axe to the side. Something familiar was here, something nagging at her mind. Flidais swallowed hard and reached out, the light aether that still lingered in her wounds and scars from the First spreading forth to purge the darkness from the form. A most famliar form.

The Viera woman looked up to meet her gaze, wings and horns adorning her body. The exact same wings and horns Flidais herself kept hidden away. The dark haired duplicate looked up and spoke, in a language Flidais knew but had long forgotten, in a voice she hadn't used since a scar made her mute.

"Shite. I never thought I'd see myself again. Guess it did work after all, Thanks me! Though damn, I've been working out!"

[fell-court]

I finally got around to touching up Linaria's in-game appearance a bit ^-^

Nothing has really changed much about her appearance, apart from her hairstyle, but I was able to make her model look a bit more "proper" because the default ears/tail/clan marks/etc. are now dealt with in a much more polished way. So, I'm a lot happier with it!~

(As a reminder, Linaria as shown here is the ancient of L'nahrii and Lorenza! She's also the little sister of my OC Acanthis, who is Ardbert's ancient for my version of events.)

[fisherrprince]

“Ch’ari. What are you doing.”

The aetheric silhouette that is the Warrior of Light freezes in the middle of hobbling across the hallway. “I am… getting… a drink?” He says. 

“Oh?” Y’shtola raises an eyebrow. 

His aether flickers. The shape inches forward slowly, as if she were a dinosaur and couldn’t see him if he moved really slow. “I am… getting a very specific drink. From… Othard.”

“Are you now.” 

“…You are getting me a very specific drink from Othard?” Ch’ari tries. 

Y’shtola reaches behind her for her staff, and Ch’ari turns and scuttles as fast as his body will take him back into his room where he’s supposed to be. 

-

Alisaie scowls. “I am bored.”

“No kidding,” Ch’ari whines. “When are we allowed to leave?!”

“I am allowed to leave tomorrow. You will be staying here until you have resolved not to be a fool and throw your life away for a victory lap,” Alisaie snaps, and then her expression turns down. “Or at least until you can walk again.”

“Seems hypocritical to me. They’re letting you out early.”

“I’m almost healed!”

“By the loosest definition.”

“It wasn’t even a wound, Ari.”

“Hm.”

“Look—“ Alisaie says, pride in being Not Bedridden stoked by his dismissals, and pushes her way out of her bed at Dawn’s Respite to march over to Ch’ari’s bed, indignant. And still, notably, a bit shaky, after concentrated lightning magic left her too hurt to stand. Ch’ari still thinks they’re all stupid, every Scion, right back at them, for not tending to their own injuries well enough to heal themselves before pouring almost the entire Ragnarok’s worth of aether into him. Stupid, dumb, idiots. They’d already saved the universe at that point. We don’t need eight incapacitated scions when we could have had just the one. 

“You look like a baby amaro,��� Ch’ari says, instead of voicing any of those thoughts. “Like a newborn foal. Damnation, looks like you’ll have to stay here and keep me company.”

Alisaie flicks him — gently, even though he’s not even got a head wound. “Ari. I promise we’re not going anywhere. And you know if you asked him to, Alphinaud would stay with you for days reading fantasy novels or textbooks at you for entertainment.”

His ears droop. “I know. But he needs to sleep.”

“And so do you.”

“And so do I,” Ch’ari grumbles in concession. “I am just not used to not moving. I want to kill something.”

Alisaie coughs out a startled laugh, and Ch’ari grins. “Gods, as do I, but we have our orders! Two weeks. No travel, no fights.”

“Sneak a coblin in here when you get out of this joint and I’ll pay for your sweets for a month.”

“Not a chance.”

-

“Not that I doubt your s-sSS-killed hands, Krile, I would never. But do bandages need changing thisoften?”

“In this specific case, yes,” Krile says, clearly not willing to entertain him while he chatters distractingly. “Might I remind you you were falling apart before we got to you with healing magics, and therefore you will be suffering the consequences for as long as a normal wound takes to heal naturally.”

“Peachy,” Ch’ari groans. He should have been better at avoiding that dumb voidsent Zenos summoned, but it always hid right out of his line of sight until it pounced. Clearly, a cheater, even if its master wouldn’t do a thing like that. Nah, he’d challenge him head-on, evening the playing ground until it was just strength against strength, no tricks, no unfair advantage. Pure, untouched adrenaline, bloodlust, the hunger for feeling alive. 

… Ch’ari will not miss him. But he will think of their encounters as long as it takes him to find something like it, if he ever does. Which is exactly what the prince wanted, drat. He should have taken Zenos to the Gold Saucer. Maybe he’d get really into chocobo racing instead of death matches. 

He’s jolted out of his thoughts by a sharp tug in his ribs. “Ow!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” Krile says, already casting a light soothing glow over the sticky mess there. Ch’ari buries his head further into the pillow with a groan. 

The door creaks. “My, someone sounds grumpy they’re being tended to,” comes a voice, and Tataru trots in with a small box in her hands. Ch’ari’s ears perk up. 

“Am not grumpy, I’m injured. What’s that?”

“Medicine,” Tataru says bluntly, and then gets a sly grin. “And a handful of pastry fish, fresh from the oven.”

“Tataru you’re my favorite. Have I ever told you you’re my favorite? You are. Hands down,” Ch’ari says, already sniffing the air to catch the smell, his tail whacking the edge of the bed. “I don’t even care that it’s bribery to get me to drink that foul tincture, I love you.”

Tataru laughs, bright and open, and even Krile huffs a bit in amusement. 

-

Alphinaud is asleep when he wanders into the main rooms, and Ch’ari considers dropping something onto the table to wake him up, but decides against it. He’s not all that sure how mana works — or mana overexertion, or… well, Lyse called it a chakra, but Ari isn’t a monk, and he’s not sure what straining or breaking one of them entails. He just knows the kid needs to sleep a bunch to get his aether back, and Ari shouldn’t be startling him so bad he breaks something again. If that’s how that works. He’d rather not risk it. 

Instead, he wanders over to Estinien, who is brooding in his Dragoon Corner. Also seemingly asleep until one eye cracks open, trained on his approach. 

“Dragoon,” Ch’ari says.

“…Cat,” Estinien replies in greeting. Ari snorts, the joke he made about having nine lives clearly amusing or at least annoying the Elezen to this day. 

“Guarding your nest, are we? I didn’t think we’d see you stick around this long.”

Estinien grunts. “Aye. Under normal circumstances I’d rather be off by now. But as long as…” he frowns. It’s always difficult for him to differentiate between draconic instincts and his own, and then subsequently translate them into human words, something he and Ch’ari have only spoken of briefly when Nidhogg’s lingering presence wanted to clash with what was left of Hraesvelgr in Ch’ari’s body. Simultaneously feral and overtly made of higher thought, the presence of the dragon is as long-lived as the beasts themselves. “As long as my ward is in need of protection, I will stay,” he settles on. And then his expression squishes, pained. “And… the pink one threatened me if I were to leave without a clean bill of health.”

Ch’ari laughs, then covers his mouth quickly to muffle it. “Ah, the jailer. No escaping that.” 

“Indeed.”

-

“Raha, you need any help with anything?”

G’raha looks up from his books, surprised. The Warrior is standing over his shoulder, swath in bandages and a simple shirt and slacks, his tail swishing. “Do I need any help with anything?”

“Yes.”

“Well, no, I don’t think so… resigned to being monitored as we are, I have no new tasks which require my attention, and so…”

“Let me rephrase,” Ch’ari interrupts. “Please do you need help with anything.”

G’raha blinks. And then splits into a smile, ears giving a quick one-two wiggle. “My friend, I am quite sure we can find something to do. Something very calm and stressless, but something nonetheless. What is your opinion on magic circles?”

[shroudandsands]

Prompt #6: Halcyon

You can’t tell where it went wrong. How did a simple escort go wrong? How did you screw this up? It was supposed to be easy. You clutch the bow in your hand as you hide behind the carriage.

Your old friend falls in beside you as a bolt of void-lightning spears past them. You free a hand to clasp their shoulder, to ground them for a moment as you both look at each other with the same mix of fear. No words to exchange, of course, the moment is far too short for that. Instead they grip their axe. You nod at them. And you throw yourself out from behind cover. You loose an arrow into the shoulder of one of the summoners. A bolt of fire from one of the voidsent is sent wide by the sturdy metal of the axe. You slip under its wide arc to sink another broadhead into the chest of that same summoner in vain hopes it will curb the tide of monsters that flood the small pass. You hear the sizzle of lightning behind you, the scent of flesh held in flame for too long, and you can only give it a passing glance as the hands around that axe begin to sear into its handle. You can’t look them in the face. You nock the smaller bodkin arrows as you loose them into imp, hound, and what seems like a half-failed summoning of a deepeye. They strike true, they strike well- But you know it’s little more than a moment’s breath of success before you’ll be surrounded. You duck as you hear the axe swing wide around you once more. A bolt of lightning vaporizes one of the voidsent you’d shot. The taste of ozone in your mouth holds back your scream. Your arms, your fingers, the entirety of your body keeps its motion- your last broadhead, bloodied from the body you’d ripped it from, nock and point it as you can barely keep your heart from stopping at the sight of it. You hear the axe hit stone. The gargoyle is massive. Its greying skin and blackened eyes worse than the stories you’ve heard told about them. You’re not even certain the arrow you’re holding will do anything to it. Didn’t that one hunter you met tell you that only magic could hurt them? Or was it that you had to kill their summoner? You’d already shot one, yes, but there could be more and you needed to spot them it was your only chance- There’s an axe in its mouth. Your whole world spirals down into a single point. You scream as your world rocks hard. You’re thrown off your feet, your bow thudding into the dirt too many fulms away. You clutch at your chest. You can’t crawl. You can’t roll. You’re still clutching the arrow in your fist. The metal bites into your flesh. It keeps you awake. You can still only see the axe. And then wings of paradise.

“Get him up!” Comes the call of a commander, a veteran, a voice you’re sure you’ve heard once before. “I’ll round up the voidsent, you take out their casters!” You’re not sure if she’s talking to you. But then another voice is, for certain, as those same wings you thought you’d hallucinated in throes of death spin down to shield your eyes. They scream with elemental rage as you can barely make out the bodies falling to their onslaught. “They are alive-” Your eyes snap open to meet the gaze of a Raen. Her hand on your chest keeps you down. Her magicks bleeding from her like sunlight into your wounds. You clutch the broadhead. Your hand’s wounds reopen. “You will stay under bough. Fly true with which winds will point-” She slaps your bow into your hand in the moment of seeming calm on the battlefield. You manage to look up long enough to see the other; a woman in a white coat and a blade of gleaming silver throwing herself into the midst of all those monsters without a second thought. She’s winning. You grip your bow. You can still see the axe.

The steel of the arrow gleams with your blood and someone else’s. There’s no way it will do anything to the gargoyle. There’s no way it will give as much pain as you have rage. But you’re on your feet. You’re pulling back on the string. Those wings of paradise circle you. They line up with your bow. Magic bursts from them around you, around your arrow, and for a moment you feel as if you can see every second passing. For a moment you feel as if you bear an angel’s blessing. She nods at you. You loose the bolt of light from your bow. It rages, unfocused and bright, like the Destroyer’s own star. And with every onze of your fury it burns away at the dark. A divine wind to carry it. You can’t breathe. The wind from your chest.

You watch as a lone hand picks up the axe. It glints in the afterglow. You don’t look at their face. They nod at you. And you loose another arrow. Another bolt of light.

This will be the first of so many. You will always remember.

[hazelkjt]

The Moon and Her Sun

Hazel Kha, the Warrior of Light. Slayer of beasts, gods, and everything in between. And yet, this was somehow her greatest challenge yet: clothing shopping with Zero.

The Voidsent previously only had her armor as her only form of clothing, but if she was to have extended stays in the Source she would need something more to wear, and they even did go shopping once before...but what's the harm in having some extra clothes? So after convincing Zero that no, the Gil wouldn't be an issue and yes, she had the space to keep all Zero's outfits the two went on a bit of a spree in the Sapphire Avenue Exchange...or so Hazel thought it would be.

As it turns out, Zero doesn't know what she wants to wear. Or rather, Zero never considered what she wanted to wear before. Fashion in the Thirteenth was never really a priority over survival after all. And while Hazel could've for sure just taken the initiative and bought what she thought Zero would look good and be comfortable in, like the first time around she did this. Instead, she insisted that Zero pick for herself. But, as it turns out, this was the equivalent to pulling teeth.

Eventually, hours later, the two of them had acquired a good wardrobe for the Voidsent during her visits here: an array of clothes in blues and blacks. Enough for her current time in the Source, at the very least. "The two of them make their way "My apologies for this Hazel...as well as my thanks." Zero calls behind her as she begins to make her way down the street. Hazel speeds up a bit to keep pace with the Voidsent, the bags of clothes jostling as she picks up her pace. "Don't worry, Zee. It's no big deal." Hazel says out loud, thinking to herself how happy she is it's over.

The two continue on in silence down the avenue, Hazel stealing glances at Zero every few seconds. That is, until a glint from her stall catches her eye. She drops the bags and makes her way over to the jeweler, Zero taking notice and halting as well. "Did something catch your eye?" The Voidsent slowly takes a spot next to Hazel, who seems to ignore her question.

It was a pair of necklaces, a stylized sun and moon each with a gemstone incorporated. Hazel was certain they were supposed to represent Azeyma and Menphina...but just maybe...

"I'll take both of these!" She exclaims out loud, pointing to both necklaces. The merchant quickly swipes up Hazel's Gil and motions for Hazel to take the jewelry. Zero watches with curiosity as the Au Ra puts the moon necklace on and extends the sun to her. "Here...for you." Hazel motions for Zero to take the necklace out of her hand, her cheeks beginning to turn a bright red.

"Hazel...I..." Zero begins to stammer, a rarity for the ever stoic Voidsent. She knew what this meant to Hazel, having done her own research previously. The creation myth of the Xaela, Azim and Nhaama. It's not traditionally a love story except for the version told by the Oronir tribe, and while Hazel is of a different tribe she has a fondness for that iteration. Zero begins to feel her cheeks warm while staring at the sun necklace in the Au Ra's hand.

"Shouldn't...would it not make more sense for me to wear the moon?" Zero's voice was softer than usual, a detail both of them catch. Hazel brings her free hand to the moon medallion now around her neck. Her tail begins to flick back and forth. "Well, I, y'know..." The Au Ra begins, unsure of how to voice her thoughts.

"You're incredible, you know that Zero? And...I want everyone else to know that too. So I'll be the one showing how bright you shine when you're not here. You're the light of my life after all..." Hazel's words trail off to a whisper. Both her's and Zero's faces deepen in their shades of red, the two staring in silence for a moment. They lock eyes with one another for a good period before being brought back to the current moment by an awkward cough behind them: the jeweler.

Hazel looks behind herself and sheepishly gives an apologetic smile to the merchant, moving to pocket the necklace. "I'm sorry Zee...forget it." But before the Au Ra could slide the necklace into her skirt pocket Zero grabs her wrist with one hand and catches the falling necklace in the other.

"If that is what you desire..." She begins, starting to tie the sun necklace around her own neck. "...Then who am I to deny it?" Zero ends with a smile, her hand still clasped around the ornate sun. Hazel finally lets a smile appear on her face as well. "Hehah...alright then. Shall we get going my Sun?" Gods, that was such a BAD LINE, she thinks to herself immediately after.

Zero turns around and glances back to Hazel. "Of course, my Moon." She responds, beginning to walk to the airship landing. Hazel lets out the breath she didn't know what she was holding in. I guess it wasn't that bad a line after all...

[rythasbrenelle]

Prompt #30: Two Heads Are Better Than One

Everything hurt. Aches slithered up Locke’s legs and ribs, and the slightest shift sent burning waves across his chest and neck. He threw back the scratchy blanket covering him and found that he’d been stripped to his undergarments. Fresh bandages covered more of his skin than they didn't. Only his left arm, its wooden frame cracked and splintered, had gone unattended by a chirurgeon. He squinted against the bright light streaming into the room through several windows and forced himself into a sitting position. The room tilted, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the bout of vertigo as he waited for it to pass. He heard the door swing open before he managed to get his eyes open again. Lifting his head, he took a risk and cracked his eyes open.

“Figured you’d be out for a few more suns yet,” the boatman said, his bulky frame filling the doorway. He had a pleased smile on his face. “Feels like I should be,” Locke groaned. His back and arm felt stiff, and he reached up, trying to stretch the latter. Pain jolted up the limb for his trouble. “What happened?” “You didn’t come out of that cave is what happened.” The boatman stepped inside and grabbed a chair, one of the few furnishings in the little room. The scrape of wood on wood as he pulled it to the bedside got little drums thumping behind Locke’s eyes. “Here now though. Guess you went in to get me?” Locke asked. When the boatman nodded, Locke scoffed. “Coulda died.” “I don’t doubt it. I saw all of the, uh, the bones. And those symbols painted everywhere. Almost turned and ran, but, well, I just couldn’t make myself do it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Sentimental, I guess. I couldn’t leave before seeing if you were alive. Good thing I did, too. You were in really bad shape.” “Sure feel like it.” Locke frowned down at his body, all bound in clean linen. “Dumb to go in there. Appreciate you pulling me out anyroad.” “Happy to help,” the boatman said. He looked ready to clap Locke on the shoulder, then — thankfully — must have thought better of it. “Really, it’s the least I could do, seeing as you killed that voidsent and all.”

Locke sat up a little straighter. “Oh, that’s right! Checked on Swarmhas since then?”

“Truthfully? I didn’t want to go over there before you woke up. His business is with you, after all.” The boatman glanced out the window before looking back at Locke. “But after we left the cave, I did notice the fog had cleared up. All those voices were gone too. Whatever sorcery he and that voidsent were using is gone now.”

Locke swung his legs over the edge of the bed and tested them. They didn’t hold him well, and he had to grab for the bedside table to avoid falling on his face, but he didn’t fall. Technically. “Get the boat ready then. Let’s see the old magician.”

“What? Shouldn’t you wait? I'm certain the healer wants you to get more bedrest,” the boatman said quickly, hands raised toward Locke to both usher him back to bed and prepare to catch him.

Locke ignored the gesture and shuffled across the room to where his weapons and clothes were waiting for him. Most of the latter were a tattered mess, but there was a loose shirt and slightly too long trousers mixed in with his things.

“Thoughtful.”

The boatman turned away, giving him a measure of privacy as he hissed, grunted, and swore his way into getting dressed. By the time his hips were laden with their usual weapons and the magician’s knife — the end of its blade had snapped off with the voidsent’s death, and cracks spiderwebbed across the diamond in its pommel, but he wore it on his belt anyroad — he was out of breath.

“Come on, come on,” Locke said, motioning for the boatman to follow. “Let's go see the wizard.”

It took some ticks before Locke and the boatman were leaving the docks behind. The boatman had to give the skiff a once-over, and by the time he had finished the healer had caught wind of what they were up to and arrived at the pier to chew them out.

But after hurried promises that they would return soon and Locke would be a perfect patient when they did, they were off to the Isles of Umbra. The ocean was calm, gentle waves shimmering under the midday sun, and the wind was at their back.

And true to the boatman’s word, they encountered no mist or fog on the brief voyage. Even the shores were clear, the ashkin that had previously stood in Locke’s way having vanished entirely.

Locke ventured to Swarmhas' cavern abode alone anyroad, the boatman citing a long list of incidents around the isles that encouraged him not to so much as set a toe on their shores if it could be helped.

The journey there was quiet. Waves rolled against sand and stone in the distance, and the occasional cry of a bird floated on the wind. But otherwise, Locke was left with his thoughts in silence.

Finally, he arrived at the mouth of the cave. He tapped his knuckles against the stone and called, “Wizard? You here?”

More silence.

Locke loosened his Doman sword in its sheath and moved forward, following the tunnels to Swarmhas' lair, fingers hooked loosely around the handle of a lit lantern. When he arrived, it was much the same as he remembered it. A bed, an old desk, shelves stacked with books and jars. Candles and torches were scattered throughout the cavern, extinguished.

There was no wizard.

“Swarmhas?” Locke said, walking a circle around the room. It wasn’t exactly rife with hiding places, and those that he did find — under the bed, the ilm of space behind the shelves — were predictably empty.

He’d just taken a step toward the tunnel when something thudded against the desk. Hewhirled on the noise, arm struggling to lift the lantern to swing it at the source.

A gull stood there, staring at Locke with beady yellow eyes.

“The hells did you come from?”

The gull opened its beak, as if to answer. Locke yelped when it spoke.

“Greetings, slayer of voidsent.” The gull chortled, dry as an aristocrat reacting to a story etiquette required them to find funny. “Truthfully, I did not expect you to succeed. Inexperienced, reckless, arrogant. You presented yourself as everything a hunter of the void should not be.”

“Okay, none of that’s called for,” Locke grumbled, setting the lantern on the table so he could put a hand on his hip and glare down at the gull. Its blank stare didn’t change, and words continued to emanate from its open beak.

“I apologize for sending you there regardless. I was desperate to see my failures rectified. With your help, my wish has been fulfilled. I’m finally free. But more importantly, my daughter is free. Thank you, swordsman. We can finally rest.”

“You’re welcome,” Locke told the gull. “You dead then?”

It ignored his question, of course.

“You’ll find your reward in a trunk under my bed. I had little time to spare once I was freed of the pact—”

The next parts of the message were lost, buried beneath the groan of wood and iron hurriedly scratching stone. Locke flipped the trunk open and found a leather backpack there, along with half a dozen belt pouches. He frowned, picking each of them up. They were well-made but otherwise seemed perfectly ordinary.

“—enchanted to weigh less and carry more than their sizes suggest. They should be of use to you on the road.”

“Oh!” Locke looked toward the gull, then the bags. He removed his backpack and belt pouches and began transferring their contents to the magic bags. Once he was done, he slung the new backpack over his shoulder — wincing at the pressure on his injuries there — and paced around the room.

“This is light!” Locke said, grinning at the bird. “Barely feels like I’m carrying the pack at all, let alone the stuff inside. Thanks, wizard.”

“Unfortunately,” the gull continued, heedless of Locke’s side of the conversation, “I used your gold ingot in preparing the inks that were used for these enchantments. Not that you would have expected to get it back after we traded for it, but now that I am gone and you are surrounded by my possessions, I’m certain the thought crossed your mind. I was an adventurer once too, after all.”

Locke silently conceded the point. He had been a little curious about the gold bar. Surely it could have covered at least a moon of rent, were he able to recover it.

“If you don’t mind, I think it is only fitting that the rest of my belongings be given to the Maelstrom to use as they see fit. I have little of value, but perhaps my research notes will prove useful to fellow magicians. Ah, but you are welcome to any potions on my shelves. I daresay you’ll need them if you insist on testing yourself against Odin.”

The gull chuckled again, but only for a moment. Its voice soon turned somber.

“On that note, I would leave you with one last thing: Advice. You needn’t do everything on your own, swordsman.”

Locke frowned at the gull and leaned against the table. His thumb idly rubbed the pommel of the magician’s knife, and his claw clicked against the cracked diamond in its center. But his eyes were set on the gull, weighing the wizard’s wisdom.

“My own arrogance led me to this island and all of the tragedy you have been compelled to resolve. For all my research and all my plans, it took your assistance to free me and my daughter. Do not repeat my mistake. Find allies. Make friends. Open your heart. You will be richer for it.”

Locke hummed noncommittally. But his eyes and ears remained set on the bird, committing the magician’s last words to memory.

“Farewell. Truly, I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

The gull closed its beak and, with a reverent bow of its head, began to dissipate. Tendrils of Mist unfurled from its body, its silhouette diminishing with each unraveled thread. Then it was gone.

Locke watched the spot where the last remnant of Swarmhas had lingered for a few moments more. He walked around the cavern one last time, collecting what few items seemed useful but leaving the rest of Swarmhas’ possessions in accordance with his wishes.

He left the cavern behind, rejoining the boatman on the isle’s shore. Their return to Aleport was slower than their journey away, traveling against the wind now, and they lapsed into silence after Locke told the boatman most of what had transpired. It gave Locke ample time to weigh the wizard’s last words — he’d kept that part of the message to himself, personal as it was — as he turned the broken knife over in his hand.

The silence also, however, gave the boatman the opportunity to strike up a conversation. As much for his own sake as Locke’s, probably, after everything that had happened.

“So, traveler. Once you’re given leave to be on the move again, where will it be? Elsewhere on Vylbrand? Back to Aldenard?”

“Hm.” Locke lifted his eyes from the dagger to look at the boatman, the faint sheen of sweat visible on the Roegadyn’s brow. He’d taken a break from rowing to peer back at Locke.

“Back to Radz-at-Han to check in with my boss, I guess. After that, don’t know. Got a couple ideas. Nothing certain. Wherever the wind nudges me, maybe.”

“Ah. You’re in good company then.” The boatman smiled and motioned to the skiff beneath them, slowly drifting along with the waves.

“Guess so,” Locke agreed, flashing a brief grin at him before looking back down. He rolled the handle of the knife in his palm one more time before returning it to its sheath on his belt. When he looked up again, it was with curiosity in his eyes. “Say. Know anything about Tural?”

[aerialsquid]

FFXIV Write 2024 Day 17: Sally

(Continuation of this scene.)

Author Note: This fragment has a content warning for nonconsensual aether feeding that might tangentially resemble an assault. Idk how to tag this besides 'fantastical violation metaphorically resembling real world ones' but like. Make your reading choices accordingly.

--------

It didn't hurt, was the problem. Even with his chronic anxiety Martyn took far too long to realize something had gone terribly wrong. Dollmaker had put the weird mouth embedded halfway down its neck on Martyn before, after all. No reason to not assume this was more of its wet kisses. Whatever strange stilling of the aether that Dollmaker did to disassemble and reassemble its dolls meant there was no pain when the teeth sank into Martyn's shoulder and the vast, dark maw began to feed. 

There was an odd tugging, a sense of dizziness, a feeling of cold creeping along his arm and then a feeling of emptiness that even someone who'd touched every magical discipline Eorzea would allow had no vocabulary to describe - not just emptiness, but an active, sucking void, a whirlpool that he was being pulled into.

His weary mind frantically battered the pieces of his thoughts together with the strange sensation until finally, by a mercy, the answer snapped into place.

The voidsent was devouring his aether, bite by slow bite.

This wasn't – I didn't agree to this, stop this–

"My doll, precious doll, sweet doll," Dollmaker moaned. "And how delicious your essence. Sweet and potent, fluttering with purest life. Just a taste, doll, just a taste, you owe me that much, you owe me…"

The oddly comforting locks around his limbs now revealed themselves for the chains they had always been. Martyn couldn't move, couldn't scream as the teeth dug into his flesh. The massive tongue laved at his arm, drawing his essence in deeper down the voidsent's throat.

Nonononono

His cane was across the room, as useless as if it were in remote Thavnair. Nothing to channel with. No focus. Incredibly unsafe, incredibly ineffective, but good gods he couldn't even cry for help. With that monstrous mouth across his vision, all Martyn could think of was the rotting undead goobue wandering the ruins of Amdapor, its hunger so vast that its own stomach had opened a maw of its own. The Gourmand, they'd called it. 

Spectral teeth bared in the dim light of the tunnel and snapped down on Dollmaker's gluttonous neck. The monster jerked, body wriggling at the impact. "What is this? What–" It slapped the teeth away. The slow drawing in of aether continued, but it had broken Dollmaker's focus just long enough.

By force Martyn ordered his body to flinch away, his neck to turn inch by agonizing inch. He pulled in what precious aether Dollmaker hadn't already devoured, coiling it, sharpening it.

Don't touch me don't touch me you can't touch me

Protection to harm his enemies, to make any hand that touched him suffer. The sharp edges of a thousand sabotender needles exploded from Martyn's body. Dollmaker screeched, dropping Martyn's body from its arms as it clawed at the tiny spines embedded in its dark flesh. Another burst and spikes of ice slammed into its mask, leaving a crack along it. Glowing blue seeped through the crack and the eyeholes of the mask, shimmering in tune with the rising rage in its voice.

"Fiend, how dare–how–!"

Later, Martyn would realize the moment the rage turned to horror and regret in the voidsent's glowing gaze. Right now, he just wanted the vile thing to burn. 

Martyn shook himself, rolling up to curl on his side. His clumsy arms folded around himself, a protective gesture for the blue mage's last resort. When you couldn't win a fight, you made it a draw. Fire aether channeled between his palms. The dripping voidsent reached out for him again, its voice high and piteous.

"Wait–doll, please, Martyn–"

There was the reek of sulfur, the crack and roar of flame, and then nothing at all.

--------

Credited as the source of the “bomb” voidsent family's name, Self-destruct, when used by blue mages, converts the entirety of its caster's energy into fire-aspected aether to cause an explosion. The application of oil has been observed to make it more effective─though likely also more painful.