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Who would’ve guessed, being a statistically average human being feels like shit.
I got shot, like, what? Twice? How bad could it be?
As it turns out, very bad.
“Hey. Wake up.”
That’s a familiar voice. My eyes flutter open by a fraction to see who’s talking to me.
It’s… Myself?
For fuck’s sake I’ve somehow already forgotten Zenos did that. I’m going senile.
I- No, Zenos- looks pissed. Not, like, someone’s-just-murdered-my-best-friend kind of pissed. More like just plain annoyed to the seventh hell and back.
“I thought you were heading to the camp to kill everyone. Asshole.”
He- she?- ignores me. I roll on my side to face away from him. Looking at him in this state is disorienting as hell.
“We’re switching our bodies back. Now.”
“So I’m supposed to read between the lines and assume Camp Broken Glass is now a pile of ash.”
“No.”
… What?
“Switch back,” he commands again, with my voice.
“As if I could even if I wanted to.”
I can almost hear him frown. “The effect should wear off eventually, if Fandaniel is to be believed. We need only wait for that time to come.”
I sigh. Fine. I can do this, granted he won’t try to kill me for the umpteenth time. Speaking of which, why isn’t he?
“... What brought this on?”
“..?”
“You could literally destroy the world in my body right now if you wanted to. Or do you mean to tell me that that’s going to bore you to death too?”
“Is this an invitation for me to do so?”
“Oh, hell no. But… Why?”
There is a long moment of silence as he uncharacteristically hesitates. Finally, he speaks up again, and if I didn’t know any better I would have said he sounded almost shameful. “... Your shoes.”
“Come again?”
“Your shoes. How.”
… Oh.
“You don’t mean to tell me you’ve never worn boots with a three-ilm heel on them before?” Oh, Tataru is going to love this new blackmail material.
My eyes have instinctively shut from the pain washing over me in waves. Nevertheless, I know he’s averting his own in embarrassment.
“I must confess, I think I… Underestimated you,” he begins, and I can hear him try to tentatively stand up.
I carefully open my eyes, and see Zenos yae Galvus’s soul, commanding the body of the Warrior of Light, standing in the snow, my arms spread out in a T shape as though I’m walking a tightrope. His? my? ankles are trembling as Zenos tries to find his balance and take a few shaky steps forward, to no avail as his right foot bends at an angle feet are definitely not designed to bend in and he collapses on his side in the sea of white, making no attempt to try again.
“Did you just sprain my fucking ankle.”
In response, he only lets out a sound akin to a screaming tea kettle, if said tea kettle had the sentient capacity to be unquantifiably pissed.
I swear to the Twelve above there’s no way being the Warrior of Light can get any weirder than this.