Work Text:
Slash left, Triple Slash, jump, Falling Light Blade, roll, Rising Dragon Sl-
The hands on the keyboard paused, a few fingers trembling from the sudden lack of action. In the center of the screen in front of him was a simple training dummy, one that he had been using for the past hour. To the left was a combo counter, one that had long since reset back to zero. But he had seen it. The slight delay in at the end of his usual skill chain. The counter had reflected it as well, falling from five hits back to one. A normal player would have never noticed, and even experts would have had to look over a replay a number of times before trying to figure out the issue. But he knew, and if he knew, then so did the others.
His hands were failing, and there was nothing he could do about it.
He had known that this day was inevitable. Most of his fellow players knew this fact well, pushing themselves to reach the peak, something that he had ever briefly grasped. But in the end, they would all fall, not to others, but to the eternal passage of time. No one was completely immune, not even old God. When he had played against the Unspecialized that season, he could feel the other’s flames sputter at times. Old God had been at the end of his rope, and now so was he.
Letting loose a long sigh, he took his hands off the keyboard. He knew Blue Rain wanted him to announce his retirement soon. His successor, the little brat that he was, was all too aware of it as well, and that encounter had been…charged. But things had to turn out this way. His playstyle was simply too unsustainable for the long run, unlike his captain and his crippled hands. And for once, he envied the man. A Tactician did not fall with age, the opposite in fact. And in the end, his captain would continue to pursue that peak while he would have to take a step back, like so many others. But he wasn’t ready to do so. Not yet.
Opening up QQ, he clicked on a certain name to open a chat. Cracking his fingers, he began to type.
I’m not out yet.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
He stared down the young man in front of him, cold eyes looking over what was soon to be the owner of his account, the Striker he had bled for. In his heart, he was unwilling to relinquish his position, but his brain knew that this was for the best. And when he looked into the other’s eyes, he saw the same determination that he had. The corner of his lips tugged up, albeit unwillingly, and he gave a light huff before gesturing to the station across from him. His successor complied, knowing what was about to come.
Let’s see if you’re ready
Old age should burn and rave at the close of day;
Sniffles echoed through the quiet room, the source sitting across from him at his desk. In his heart, he wanted to reach over and console the crying boy, no, man. But he needed to be strong, and so did the team. So, he showed nothing, giving away none of his tricks as he reached for a card.
The character card shone in the fluorescent lighting, flashing green and white. A small smile graced his lips as his fingers began to flip the card between them. The young man noticed the action and watched, tears stifled for a brief moment. Over and under, in and out. His other hand moved as well, making the card flicker as if it were an illusion. And then suddenly, nothing. His eyes locked with the other’s, a silent message passing between the two as the card appeared once more, entering the slotted card readers even as the other man moved his chair to a nearby computer.
One last performance
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
His eyes stared at the card in his hands, the character held within filling his mind. He had made an oath to himself, one that he had endeavored to never break. Others would have forsaken his position long ago, choosing to leave or even retire. But not him. It simply wasn’t in his nature, and to do otherwise would be an affront to his own pride. And now his pride had brought him to the end.
In a way, he was relieved. He had vowed to keep the character from disappearing from the scene, at least not without making its mark, and now he had secured that future. But not every ending was happy. His partner’s journey would continue, but it would have to do so without him. This was the price he chose to pay, and in his heart, he was content. But their parting was in a short while, and before that time, he would fight on, one last time.
Let’s release my inner demons!
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Her hand slammed the door shut, her breath ragged as she stomped away from the conference room. Her legacy was not over, and yet they wished it to be so. And for what reason? Failing to produce results from a doomed lineup? She had voiced protests over and over, and yet they did not wish to shoulder the blame. Looking over to her right, she saw him, her partner that had been with her through the trials the club had placed on her. At that moment, their eyes traded words. Questions, answers, and ideas passed between them in an instant before they both came to a conclusion. With that, her anger cooled, falling from a boil to a simmer. She had one more chance, a final fight that would determine her legacy. She would take control this time, and no effort would be spared.
Want me to be aggressive? I’ll show you aggressive
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Did not go gentle into that good night.