Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hope's eyes fluttered, he was uncomfortable. 

No.

It was more than that. 

He was in pain.

He tried to move but couldn't. And to add insult to injury, his arms were asleep above him as he dangled. 

“Hope.” The familiar voice beckoned him softly. It sounded like Lightning. He was almost relieved.

But he finally knew better. 

He'd just learned too late.

“No.” He responded, in his exhausted daze. “I know …you're- you're not her.” He mumbled, turning away from her voice. 

“Of course I am.” She responded, “I’m here to save you.”

He could have sworn that she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He leaned away, the little that he could.

“You’re not.” He responded sadly. “You never are. You're not her. Lightning's gone. I couldn't save her.”

“I'm here, Hope.”

“You’re not.” He protested quietly, withdrawing from her.

“I'm your friend, Hope, don't you want my help?”

“No.” He responded. 

He must have fallen asleep for an instant because the next thing he knew, he was struck awake. Pain danced across his body and face.

Startled, his thoughts scattered and he swore a figure slipped just out of his sight at the corner of his vision. It looked like Lightning.

“Light?” he asked, a vague recollection of her lingered in his mind, though he could not remember why in his exhausted and panicked state.

Hope searched for what hurt him, wanting to protect himself, but there was nothing. He swore that he heard Lightning's voice. Was she here? As he struggled there was only darkness and the vague outline of the checkered floor below him. 

“Good.” Her voice came again.

Good? He was in hell. What was good about any of this? 

But wait…it was her! It was Lightning!

“Light, please… help me.” He pulled against his bonds. More of a reflex now than an actual hope that they would come free, he wanted to go to her.

“I am helping you.” Her voice whispered, close enough to be disconcerting. “You can't save anyone the way you are now. I need you to be better. God can make you useful to me.”

“Lightning…I-I tried.” he stammered reproachfully. “I wanted to help you. I-I'm sorry.” He attempted to hide how heartbroken he was. “I tried to help you. To help Serah. To save you.”

There was a heavy pause. 

“But you couldn't save me. You can't save anyone. But god will make you perfect, and you'll finally be able to save me. You’ll finally be of use to the world.”

The words struck him like a bullet to the heart. No matter his attempts to help, he only made things worse. 

He was a burden. 

A memory flashed here and there. His mother dying as she tried to save him on Cocoon, his deep despair for slowing down and endangering his friends on Gran Pulse, watching Serah collapse to the ground dead as the chaos spread and the world itself ended. 

But as the poisoned words settled in his mind he remembered Lightning before she disappeared. She cared for him, she promised to protect him. He remembered her gentle smile, her hand on his shoulder when he looked up at Cocoon, the memory he once thought was just a dream.

That was real. She was real. 

This Lightning was not.

He knew this, he realized, but his mind was broken. He'd forgotten again. 

Then, more fractured memories; his father welcoming him home, the strength of summoning Alexander to protect his friends, travelling through time to meet Serah and Noel, creating the new Cocoon; Bhenivelze he’d called it.

Bhunivelze. 

He quietly whimpered in fear at the name. But he couldn't remember why. 

Where was he? 

What was happening to him?

Why was he in pain? 

Where was Light? 

The flood of good memories gave him more energy and he tried desperately to pull his mind together and remember where he was. 

Light would never do this to him, but this phantom hated it when he remembered the truth. She was a fake. He remembered warning Snow right before….right before he was here. 

Beware the fake Lightning.

Someone had used this phantom to trap him here. But surely someone would find him? His fractured memories suddenly recalled the rest of his team who’d gone missing. No one had found them. 

Don’t lose hope. He repeated to himself a few times. Snow or Noel would come looking for him, someone would notice he was missing. 

 Bracing himself, he came back to what little sense remained in him. 

“You're not her.” Hope returned through greeted teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. “She would save me. You’re not… you're not her.”

“Oh, Hope,” a hand came to rest on his face and he recoiled, keeping his eyes tightly closed. He didn't want to see her, he didn't want to fall for this trick again. “Of course I wouldn't save you,” she whispered. “You always were such a burden, and you couldn't protect me or Serah. I'm relieved that God will make you worthwhile. Perhaps you can finally be useful.”

It's not her. He thought desperately, a few tears slid down his cheeks. But even if it wasn't Light, it was still the truth, and hearing it in her voice was more than he could bear.  

He'd failed. Failed to protect Lightning or Serah, Fang or Vanille. They'd trusted him to guard the world while they fought their own battles, and then he'd lost. He'd let everyone down. Why was he so useless?

“I'm sorry.” He choked down a quiet sob, overcome with guilt. “P-please forgive me.” he stammered, hoping somehow the real Lightning could hear him, even if this imposter was the only one standing before him.

He'd failed to save anyone, and, if this creature was to be believed at all, God would resurrect Lightning and use her too, all to clean up the mess he'd made trying to help her. 

Would god hurt her like this as well? 

At his sniffling, the false Lightning spoke again.

“If you were sorry, if you truly wanted forgiveness, you would stop resisting.” she whispered tenderly. “Now, hold still.”

I deserve to suffer. He thought, tensing as he cried silently.

He cried out as his arms and legs contorted, his muscles tightened then went slack as the creator of all life sculpted him.

He knew what would come next. It's what always came next; pain. 

Chapter Text

Hope's eyes darted around in the blackness, tears falling freely. He couldn't see, though he so badly wanted to. He tried to contain his cries, so as not to anger the deity. 

A little noise was ignored, but a yell or a command like ‘stop’ would be punished, severely. Anything that was seen as defiance was blasphemous. Blasphemy meant he would be punished and silenced. And the silence was worse than anything. 

In the silence, nothing could cover the sound of bone and muscle deforming, snapping and rejoining, the sound was enough to drive him to madness, yet he'd already surpassed that many times over. He preferred his own sobs instead.

He was being changed. Sculpted. While he was still alive, a god was molding his flesh. 

It was agony. 

It was his punishment, he'd decided. 

Punishment for failing to protect humanity from the chaos, for failing in his search for Lightning, and his reward for meddling in time. His folly and his arrogance had drawn the attention of this god. He'd helped to bring about the end of days, he'd helped to summon this beast from the chaos. And now he was hopelessly ensnared in a prison of his own making…all alone with it. 

A fitting punishment indeed.

As Hope reflected on the never ending torment that was his life, he was alone in the blackness. His eyes had gone dark long ago. He blinked. The shade of black didn't change. He must not have earned back the right to see again yet.

He angered Bhunivelze often, and so, was punished often, his sight or his voice stolen from him. His body and mind tortured, though, all in service of making him ‘perfect’.

Then, as if his thoughts alone summoned pain, his eyes began to burn. 

No, not this!

His eyes were always the most painful to change and reform. He thrashed desperately against his restraints to reach for them, but predictably, he was fixed firmly in place, hanging just above the ground.

Unable to do anything else, he cried out, refusing to stomach some falsely comforting response from the imposter of his partner and trusted friend. The fake Lightning was the only one that haunted him in this nearly empty place, beside his creator, whom Hope had tried and failed to get a good look at. He hated the phantom with his entire being. So, to avoid summoning her, he did not form words, just cries of despair that gave shape to his agony.

He pulled an arm desperately to try and protect his eyes, not that he ever believed they would move, but even with all of the time passed, he still couldn’t help but try to fight. 

“Hold still.” A venomous threat whispered in his ear. It was Lightning…But it also wasn’t.

It wasn't her. 

Lightning would not allow this. She would save him. She would watch out for him. She wouldn't stand by and watch this creature hurt him.

“These still need improvement if you are to reach perfection.” Another voice said, the voice shook the entire world, humming in Hope’s mind long after the words disappeared. 

The god.

A tear rolled down Hope’s cheek as he panted and tried to calm himself to stay still.

His eyes.

His eyes needed improvement, that's what the god was speaking to. And little wonder, they were still not functioning, he'd been alone in the dark for…. Days?... Weeks?... Years? And only now the deity remembered. He remained silent and shaking.

Waiting.

The agony stopped as his sight flickered back into focus. His eyes hadn't opened, his vision simply returned to him. 

He sobbed, half in joy for his eyesight’s return, half in despair for what he saw, the same sight as always, the checkered floor beneath him, the coat tails of a god that he did not dare look up at, lest his eyes be unmade again in punishment.

“T-thank you.” He cried pathetically, trying to garner mercy that he knew would never come. But the creature tolerated him more easily when he was grateful to it. Garnering favor was his only pastime, that, and enduring pain.

As his sniffling quieted, he wondered idly if his eyes were still the same color, if he now saw better in the dark, further than he should, or perhaps they were exactly the same and god had simply forgotten to return them after his last punishment.

Or, perhaps the god thought his last trespass found him deserving of such a punishment for that length of time.

He couldn't even remember what it was that he'd done to upset it.

Though he rarely remembered anything these days.

***

“Your tears blemish my vessel.” The creator spoke.

“N-no, p-please, have m-mercy.” He was used to talking to it now, even if he could not look at it. And he'd learned things. 

It did not tolerate demands, and did not take criticism or feedback. But begging? Begging, it loved.

“You do not need them.” The voice of the world replied, shaking the empty arc as it spoke. 

It had promised that before and it hadn't been true. 

Hope remembered the first time, only a few days after his capture, when it eliminated his need to relieve himself. The means of doing so disappeared; no food, no water, and his body changed slightly, he could no longer feel the urge. But, to his despair, he continued to grow hungry and still he longed for water. His body began to die of thirst and starvation, the systems within his anatomy built to do the job still remained, simply unused. He'd cried and begged for mercy then too. 

He tried to explain, but god had silenced him, stealing his voice away. It was the first time he’d heard it angry.

“I am your god, your creator! I formed you! You think I do not know how my own creations work? A god has no need of those things, and you will not defile my vessel again.”

That was the day he'd nearly died.

For his trespass he was tortured until he lost the will to speak, by the third day his exhaustion was complete. So complete in fact, that he felt a single instant of release. A light appeared in front of him despite the creature taking his vision away, as was his usual punishment.

That was when he knew he was dying. 

All of the people that had gone before him, the people that he'd mourned, this has happened to them, and he was finally making the journey too.

He’d felt despair that he was alone, that he'd failed to warn his friends, or see Lightning, Vanille or Fang again. 

He’d felt the chaos beckon to him. Surrounding his body. 

The force he'd battled for so long. He'd failed to save thousands of people from it, it was only fitting that the chaos would have his soul too. 

In that moment, he expected to feel nothing but despair, but excitement coursed through him too; he was free. The pain, the desperate loneliness, and the weight of humanity all fell away from his shoulders, there was nothing more he could do to save them. And he’d escaped the clutches of the sadistic god that held him.

“Hope?” A familiar voice asked

Light?! 

No, no it wasn't Light, but it was familiar, at first he wondered if it was his rose haired phantom again, but then it called for him a second time. 

“Hope!” 

No! It wasn’t Light! It was a voice he hadn't heard in hundreds of years, because he'd failed her too. 

Serah.

Hope felt joy warm him. Serah was here? She was in the chaos? Perhaps she'd been watching over him. 

He could finally apologize to her, beg for her forgiveness. If she remained in the chaos, distinct from the others…then perhaps he could…

He reached for the light, his arms no longer bound above him. Feeling more hopeful than he had in several centuries.

Just as his fingers were about to touch the chaos something dragged him back to his great torment. A healing spell, temporary relief, then pain seized him and he was hanging in his usual position once more. Serah’s voice faded away like a dream upon waking.

He gasped as consciousness seized him, heart hammering in his chest. The tingling of another healing spell danced along his nerves, freshly cast upon him, still, even that could not wipe away his pain, his hunger and thirst still remained back then, but he was alive once more. Denied his death by the entity that sculpted him. 

He whimpered, too weak to beg for death. He'd cried then, his suffering so overwhelming that he didn't even remember the instant when his need for food left him, or when his thirst was finally gone. 

It only took dying for the god to finally fix him.

The anguish subsided and he indeed, finally, no longer needed food or water to sustain himself, he no longer lived as a human, but something else. Some abomination.

The deity expected him to be grateful, but he'd cried for days, the loss of his humanity, coupled with the peace of his death, that was so casually snatched away, was too much. He was once more saddled with the responsibility of protecting the lives of everyone left in this horrid, dying world, a burden so unbelievably heavy, that he felt something within him snap as he returned. He was back, he needed to save the world, but couldn't even save himself.

Before, the weight he carried was hung upon him gradually over hundreds of years, having it lifted from his shoulders then fall back upon him in a single instant was excruciating. 

Insulted by his sorrow, the entity tortured him for his lack of appreciation. He was an ungrateful wretch. He did not appreciate the time and miracles that it took to transform him in such ways. 

And after several more days of torture, he could only hang here, tears rolling down his nose, as he idly wondered how he still produced them. 

And now it seemed that god wanted to take them from him too, perhaps weary of his sobs. He did not know how long it had been, but it was impossible to forget that day. Unlike everything else since arriving here, that memory was clear. And it drove more tears from him than any other.

A shameful blemish on Bhunivelze’s vessel. 

“Your emotions cause this leak. I shall remove them as well.” The voice rocked the whole of the arc.

Panic set in again, what unknown complications would arise when he was unable to feel or produce tears? Would the torture be physical, or emotional? What would he do without the ability to give himself this catharsis? He'd already lost something that made him human, he could not bear the thought of losing his tears nor his emotions, no matter how much of a misery his life had become. 

If he did lose them, would he even remember that there was anything in the world beside pain? Would he know only agony and accept it passively? Would he be himself anymore?

So, it was then that Hope made his biggest gamble. He needed to deceive a god. He wasn't even sure it was possible.

He summoned all of his strength to speak and began thanking it; his god. The idea was unbearable, but he thought of the admiration he held for his friends and spoke to it as if he were telling them. How thankful he was to know it, how much he appreciated its care. How he always knew that it would make him better, more powerful…more perfect. 

He kept his eyes low, it didn't like it when he looked upon it without invitation. He'd lost his sight as punishment several times already doing so.

Hope was suddenly grateful that it had not stolen his voice away for some trespass or another.  

Hope feverishly poured out all of the love and admiration he had for his friends to this god. He did it as if it would deliver him from this hell, knowing in the back of his mind that it was only playing for his right to keep suffering. 

But at least he would know that he was suffering. 

“Please, m-mightiest God, perfect Creator, please, I beg you not to take my emotions… m-my tears, not yet. T-they are all I have left to show my admiration to you. I shed them to demonstrate my devotion whenever my voice fails me. I would like to show you m-my affection as you work. For each one is lovingly gifted to you. A-and my emotions are the only thing capable of producing them…. Please, they're for you. They're the only thing that I can give you ” He begged.

The deity fell silent. Hope shook as the completeness of the quiet overwhelmed him, bracing for a punishment. 

Suddenly something swept under his chin and tilted his head to look up. It was a finger with a long golden nail. 

It was god. 

It was Bhunivelze.

It had form, and it was touching him. 

That was the first time the entity touched him gently. It lifted his head, so it could see his face. It was then that he saw it in its entirety for the first time. 

Up until then, his sight was taken when he tried to look at it, for all he knew, he was alone inside the arc, with only the voice and the false Lightning, but the gentle slope of the floor, familiar from his youth on Cocoon and the many hundreds of years living away from the chaos in the arc, was steeper, he realized, and the ground culminated in the entity rising from the arc itself, he was on it. It was the arc. 

It was Bhunivelze.

A Colossus, looming and terrible, its eyes glowing in the dark. 

Hope trembled but forced himself to be still. Shocked to silence by the appearance of the creature that held him captive and tortured him with such indifference. It was here. It wasn't just a nightmare.

The fear that filled him in that moment made him shed a few more tears.

The creature watched his face carefully, no doubt analyzing the ‘gift’ as he'd described it.

“Your gifts are meaningless.” It boomed.

Hope trembled before him, unable to take his eyes off of it. 

“I-I only want you to know my love when you see it, m-my voice often fails me in this manner, but my tears never do. You deserve constant admiration, even when m-my failings leave you no choice but to silence me.” He begged, accepting the blame for the entity stealing his voice away. 

The creature looked down at him silently for what seemed like an eternity.

“I deserve to receive your admiration.” It finally agreed. “You do not speak it constantly enough. These tributes will stay, even if they are meaningless.”

The relief he felt in that moment was monumental. And more than keeping his tears, he’d learned something. The creature believed him, he could still deceive it, and so perhaps, there was hope yet. 

A few tears slipped into his cheeks from his relief and his joy and the god watching him looked pleased. 

“Your devotion is plain for all to see: you are a worthy vessel, Hope Estheim. It seems you were always pious.”

Hope bowed his head, shaking and frantically reiterating his thanks, carefully avoiding looking up at the creature again, relieved in the fact that his thoughts and his deceptions were still his own.

Chapter Text

Hope blinked awake again at the pain. 

When had he fallen asleep? 

His torso contracted, he felt every rib bend painfully, his spine held up against a terrible pressure, until, with a snap it seemed to give. 

He cried and struggled again, every movement a hellish agony. Until his body reformed in a sudden rush of relief that was almost as jarring as the pain.

“Lightning.” He whimpered, closing his eyes, wishing for company. Any company. 

“I'm here.” The voice responded. He felt the gentle touch on his cheek but he shrunk away again. This ghost was not who he was talking to, but he needed to hear a voice; even if it was just his own.

“Please help me.” He prayed to the real Lightning. He knew the prophecy, god had told him. She'd return and save humanity at the end of the world, he prayed that she would rescue him too, or at least put him out of his misery. Either way she would save him, he thought.

But it seemed the end of days wasn't here yet. He selfishly cursed the world for continuing on.

He opened his eyes and saw the rose haired phantom pass just out of his view. He shivered.

Perhaps he could give this Lightning another chance, if it could save him…perhaps he could make it his ally.

He knew somewhere in his broken mind that it would never change, but hope, even after all these years, was a powerful and intoxicating thing. 

“Please…Help.” He begged, this time to it, hoping desperately that it was cognizant enough to develop any empathy for him. “Please save me. Even if you're not Lightning…you could save me.”

“I am saving you.” Her voice responded. “You will serve God. There is no greater honor.” he felt her hand on his shoulder and withdrew as if the contact was painful.

“Lightning, please-” He muttered as his heart broke, all of his hope vanishing in an instant. “Please hurry.” he murmured to his friend, lost somewhere in the fallen world he’d helped to make.

“Hold still while he perfects you. You will serve him better if you allow it.” the phantom’s voice whispered.

“I can't- I can't stay still. I-it hurts.”

“You can stay still, and you will. Or it will hurt more, Hope Estheim.”

“Please don't.” He begged. 

But as his anguished cries filled the empty shell of his cocoon, his Bhunivelze, he tried. 

Hope Estheim tried to stay still.

It did not lessen the pain.

Chapter Text

Hope strangled his words as he felt the presence travel behind him. No doubt analyzing the work that still needed to be done. Hunting for all of the flaws that needed correcting.

He'd barely seen this creature, this god, since the day he'd kept his tears, but he knew its presence well.

He wanted to move, to run, he wanted to keep it from coming closer. Reactively he pulled against his restraints, but there was no give, the resistance was complete, he could use all of his power but his wrists and ankles never moved, the grip on his neck was unrelenting and unforgiving, and still, it did not hurt him. 

All the greater the insult. 

His struggle was meaningless. Not even the satisfaction of pain when he fought for his life, for his pain. It needed him too much, though for what he could not guess, and he suspected that it received its satisfaction from being the only thing that could hurt him.

Reshaping a living human, it knew, was painful for the subject and he would often wonder if the more he struggled the more the god felt happy to experiment on him. 

He'd had nearly every part of him reshaped at one time or another, replaced with odd recreations or other parts he'd only seen in nature, backward knees, scales, claws, his skin inlaid with molten gold, a second pair of arms, multiple pairs of eyes, the shock of receiving them only matched by the agony of their removal. 

But today was different. Today when the agony stopped, he felt a warm, lovely weight on his back. Limbs desperately reaching for freedom.

He knew he'd been transformed again, something new was there.

Hope risked a glance over his shoulder to see what new mutilation he'd received, and to his utter shock, he spotted a pair of feathered wings.

The wings were beautiful and soft, covered in white and gold feathers, they shone gently as a light in this darkness with a dull glow. They were beautiful and fluttered with his every wince and shutter, as if attached to a chocobo stuck in a trap. He supposed they were attached to something trapped. They were beautiful and he wept when he saw them, which always pleased god.

“Good.” The terrible voice purred. “Now let me test you.”

For the first time since his arrival, Hope's restraints disappeared and he dropped to the floor, he crumpled into the ground in shock, his memories of standing hazy from the length of time he'd been suspended by his wrists. But he wasn't hurt, just in awe of his freedom and the weight of his new limbs. 

“These…these are mine?” He asked, running a finger over the beautiful feathers. He felt his own touch in them, they were a part of his body, like a leg, a finger or anything else. 

“Yes, a much more perfect form.” The God agreed, “You will suit me better this way. Stand, move, fly, I must see.”

Hope had scarcely moved in what felt like years, but the energy of a healing spell ran through him at the god’s behest.

Almost giddy, he managed to get himself shakily to his feet, rocking a bit to get his posture correct with his new limbs. His wings fluttered restlessly with his new freedom. When the god offered no additional input he spread them, feeling as natural as stretching his arms. Then he began to beat them gently, he rose into the air slightly. A smile spread across his face, so forgotten to him now that he was shocked to realize he remembered how to grin. 

The still, stale air even felt wonderful to him as he kicked up his own breeze. His feathers dragged appropriately at the empty space around him and he felt his body begin to lift slightly more. Excited, he pumped his wings faster and rose ever more.

Perhaps with these he could make it to the outside world again?

He'd only just had the thought when he felt something affix to his wrists.

He looked down and the tethers of light encircled his arms, binding him in the air.

“Wh-?” 

“Fly hard and fast.” The entity demanded.

“But I can't-”

“Fly.” 

He felt burning in his wrists where the light shackled him.

He frantically pulled away, his new wings dragging him desperately up in an attempt to escape the pain, but of course, he couldn’t escape.

He didn't know how to use his wings, but suddenly, on basic instinct, they pulled him up desperately. 

“Faster.” God demanded.

“I'm trying!” He managed. “Please, I'm trying!” He yelled in a panic. More tears came. 

“Fly for me.”

He'd frantically beat his wings until his new muscles screamed at him to stop. 

“Please! Please stop! I’ll do anything!” He begged and pleaded, praying for release. 

“Good.” The voice answered. The pain stopped but he was suddenly frozen, the pain of overworking his muscles was made worse by this sudden immobilization. He couldn't move, he could hardly breathe.

Only his heart was seemingly allowed to beat. That was when it happened. 

Fearful and completely frozen, he felt something move inside of him, even after all of the manipulation of his body, this felt wrong and unlike anything that he'd felt before. 

His mind was suddenly too full, his body no longer obeyed him properly. It was as if something slid into him, puppeting him. The restraints dropped away and he held up his hand with a scowl, completely out of his control.

Suddenly a healing spell warmed his fingers and his muscles all cooled and relaxed.

A spell cast by his own hand, despite being free of his brand for hundreds of years.

“Good.” The entity’s words echoed in his mind as he involuntarily held up his hand. To his dawning horror, he realized the words were spoken by his own voice.

His eyes traveled around the room, once more, out of his control. 

What is happening to me? 

“This form, though improved, still needs modifications.” His voice said, the fear made him shake involuntarily. “It still feels. I shall amend these faults.”

It was going to capture him again, change him again. He just wanted to run! He forced his body to obey, only managing to stagger forward a bit.

“Come now, vessel, this will not do. You are not in control here.”

He shrunk away at the shock of hearing his own voice command him, and to his surprise, his body obeyed him again. 

“You, human, will not move again, you forget your place.”

He still had control? That meant he could escape! He could fly out of the arc, back to the lower world and-

He began to fly. He had to find an exit. If he could fly down from the arc, perhaps god could not capture him. Perhaps he could warn Noel or Snow. It didn't matter how long he'd been gone, his friends would listen to him.

“Come, vessel.” Bhunivelze’s voice rocked his skull. “You dare defy your god?”

But Hope was looking desperately for an exit when the odd feeling of being saddled left him. There was no longer resistance in his limbs.

His mind now clear, he was able to fly faster. He spotted what he thought was a door when he was suddenly clotheslined to a stop.

He looked down and the cuffs of light once again bound him in place. 

“No!” He yelped in horror. “No! Let me go!” he shouted, beginning to struggle.

“I perform these miracles to elevate you and you not only disobey me, you would make demands of your god? You are a miserable, ungrateful, creature!” The god’s voice rang in his ears. “I must improve you further.”

“Please, I-” but suddenly he could no longer speak, his tongue was gone. He whined in horror, struggling. 

“I spend more than a decade forming you into the perfect vessel and here you are, openly defying me? You are a wicked creature.” the god’s voice hissed and Hope sensed the massive, looming creature behind him again.

Panicked, Hope tried to force words through. He was sorry, he did not mean it, he could be trusted. 

But the damage was already done. 

Though he couldn't move his arms, his wings still flapped frantically, allowing him to pull against his bindings.

“I am kind in my modifications. Too kind.” God said, voice filled with disdain. “You shall suffer for your disobedience. I am not required to lessen your pain, I only do so as a benevolent god, but perhaps you will learn better with the memory of your agony.” He felt a great hand catch one of his wings so fast and awkwardly that he was certain it snapped every bone within his new limb.

He choked on a silent and pained scream, whimpering as the god’s grip tightened on him, crushing his wing into a mass of feathers and broken bone.

“Perfection for myself or not, it seems these are an unnecessary risk. I will simply do without in my vessel.” 

‘Please’ he tried to speak, ‘please forgive me.’ 

But the god could not hear him. 

After a moment of pause, uncertain of how else to beg for mercy, Hope surrendered to the creature, going limp and hanging painfully by his broken wing, he forced himself to submit to his defeat. Promising with his body language that he'd cease his struggle. 

Just as he did, the hand ripped his mangled wing away. Bones broke, tendons snapped and slackened and the shock lasted only moments before the pain flooded his entire being, followed by the feeling of hot blood spilling all down his back.

“No!” He cried out, barely intelligible and struggling with his arms and legs as his second wing was seized by the unrelenting grip of the god. “Please! Forgive me!” It seemed that in its cruelty, god had returned his voice to hear him beg.

To his surprise, the binds on his hands fell away and he was suddenly gripped by the other, massive hand. Hope struggled and grasped for a hold on it, somewhere between fighting it and seeking comfort in his fear. Contact with another living thing while he was so terrified. The god had not deigned to touch him since the day he kept his tears, and now hope held onto it tightly, as if his life depended on it.

The god gripped him in return, almost too tightly.

Terrified, but reactively, he looked up into the perfect porcelain face of Bhunivelze. The god disproved of him meeting his gaze, unless he was openly invited to. But in this moment it seemed to want it.

Hope breathed frantically, convinced he would be sick from the pain of his departed limb.

“You are unworthy of my love, creature, but fear not, I shall fix you, for my compassion knows no bounds.”

As he finished speaking, the god's other hand ripped his remaining wing away.

Hope was vaguely aware of his screams echoing in the massive, empty arc, the familiarity of his new limbs now missing as he sobbed. He tightened his grip around the god’s fingers, simultaneously wishing to cause it pain and feel as if he wasn't alone.

But as if in additional punishment, the creature dropped him, denying him even the contact of another being as he suffered. It recoiled, disgusted, as if disposing of something abhorrent. 

Hope fell, the blood ran down his back and the sobs shook his body until the ethereal restraints caught him just before he hit the ground.

As he wept, the remains of his beautiful wings fluttered to the floor in front of him, still glowing, but covered in his blood. 

The profound sense of loss he felt looking at his only chance of escape, in what the god indicated was at least a decade, was more than he could bear. On top of that, he now knew the creature's plans for him; he was to become one with it. His body would not just be its vessel, like he'd begun to suspect, but his soul would be trapped inside with it. No quick or clean death to excuse him from the knowledge that his visage would be used to control or trick his friends, for the entity had muttered many times of its intention to keep his features familiar to them. 

He'd wondered how it planned to make him do his bidding, and so he’d remained quietly defiant. Vowing that he would not allow it to use him. But in a moment of weakness, he'd let it in.

And in it came.

Even freed completely from his restraints he'd been unable to escape. He'd stayed here. He'd lost his chance to escape, even given wings and his freedom. He'd just hovered here, like the obedient pet he was.

No.

It will not have me. I must resist. He thought, but even then, he had his doubts.

How long then? How long now before he slipped up and it took him again?

He couldn't stop the tears of despair flowing freely down his face. The god looked down at him, as if admiring a painting.

Hope, meanwhile, would not dare look up at the deity before him, instead, he fixed his eyes on the fading light of his beautiful wings, watching until they became fuzzy spots of light, his vision blurring.

“You will be my finest servant.” The god remarked as he watched the tears flow from his eyes and his blood pool beneath him. “Fear not, my vessel, for I shall form you into perfection. Your devotion to me will know no bounds. I will make sure of it.”

Never. Hope thought to himself.

Chapter Text

Somewhere along the line, god decided he no longer needed sleep, and hope hadn't been able to persuade him otherwise. When he slept he did not gift his tears, his one use to God, and when he awoke, he was often more defiant after the respite, no matter how brief.

So now his consciousness was eternal.

He wondered if it had been years, or only days, without sleep. He began to realize that he could no longer tell. Hope was dizzy from being awake so long and now often had trouble remembering anything. 

After the day he flew, bits of his humanity were slowly chipped away to make him more perfect, forced sacrifices to allow god to more easily exert his control and live in his body when the time came. 

Still, Hope remained defiant.

But now, he no longer slept. God had easily robbed him of that, a colossal blow, as he had no reprieve from the constant pain, and he decided sometime in the last few forms, that human minds should not be awake every hour for years, he couldn't keep time straight anymore, he was constantly forgetting, or blacking out even when he wasn't in pain, and yet, details of the most unusual nature would stay with him. 

His sanity was leaving him. Soon he wondered what of him would be left? Everything had been taken and replaced at one time or another.

Was he even still himself? What made him Hope Estheim?

He was too tired to entertain the question for long.

Only the blood running through his body still seemed to remain. He still bled when he was broken, though how his blood and his tears stayed hydrated were a mystery to him. 

Blood was essential, but his soul was not, his mind was not. But he was not allowed to die. So his soul was essential? What made the difference?

Eventually he grew tired in his analytical mind of asking the question “how?”. 

How was he still alive? 

How did he still remember? 

How was he still able to cry and bleed without water for decades? 

After enough time, the answers were clear, even to someone driven mad, it seemed. There was a god before him; Miracles. He thought grimly. And there was no doubt; he was the ultimate miracle. 

Chapter Text

“Help me.” He awoke with the words on his lips as pain shot through him.

“Must this vessel always speak?” Asked the voice that rocked the earth. 

Startled, Hope shrunk as much as he could, but a moment later, his entire body was impacted by something massive, making his head spin. 

“Be still.” Lightning told him. “It will be faster if you do not move.”

Hope sobbed in fear and pain.

“It’s never fast.” He whined, voice shaking.

He was struck again, hard. All of his thoughts scattered. 

He trembled, no longer trying to shield his face, he knew that he couldn’t in the position he was bound. God struck him more often now and he could never stop it, so why should he struggle?

It was always painful. Struggling would not change that.

He trembled, fearful of another strike.

“Ungrateful mortal. You would criticize the miracles I perform as I elevate you? You shall be perfect when I am through with you. You will be grateful.” The voice all around him hissed. 

“No human… is perfect.” He responded hoping that the god would simply put him out of his misery. 

“You will be.” The agony burned in his limbs again and he strained to escape.

“Do not fight the will of God.”

“N-No-!”

“This vessel is unworthy to speak to God. Let alone deny me!”

“No! P-please, I didn't-”

“Silence puppet, your defiance tires me.”

Hope went to respond, but suddenly, he could not speak aloud. His voice was gone. Panicked, he called out again, but no sound came.

“You dare to defy your god? Then you shall be punished.”

The burning started in his eyes, his vision went black but this time, when he called out, there was nothing but silence. 

“Your sacrifice will be glorious and you shall save the miserable creatures of this world! That is what you wanted, was it not, Hope Estheim?”

Hope struggled silently, shaking, god had addressed him, and he knew what happened when he did not answer. He wanted to answer. He did not want to be tortured.

He tried to respond, but his voice was gone. He thrashed in frustration, trying to speak.

“You dare to stay silent? Your creator, your sculptor has lowered himself to ask you what you want, you miserable creature!”

Too late. 

His entire body felt like it was heating up, blistering, melting. The pain was unbearable. He screamed but couldn't make a sound, he was suddenly glad that he couldn't see.

He thrashed and shook as the pain consumed him, his bones, his skin, every hair on his head hurt, everything burned. He was withering away, he couldn't breathe, he silently prayed that he would die this time. 

“Oh, of course.” The voice said. 

And suddenly, he heard his own screams fill the air, his voice pathetically begging for mercy.

“Forgive me! Forgive me, please!” Were the only words that he could make out in his own panicked and desperate cries. 

The pain ceased and he felt his body heal. 

Covered in sweat, he caught his breath, shaking with sobs as his muscles relaxed. 

“You are broken once more, but I see you have not forgotten your manners, your tears may be your gift to me, however, a leaking vessel will not do. And the end of days is nearly here. A god does not weep, I will remove your tears.”

“Soon?” He managed to speak, tasting blood. “She's coming…?”

“And you will be there to greet her.” It replied. “You shall be my eyes, my ears.” 

“I-I…” he stammered. So many times he'd refused. 

‘I won't’ he'd said before, full of defiance, but now he was too afraid, conditioned to know that defiance meant pain.

God noticed and he felt a giant claw run gently across his neck.

“P-please don't…” he begged, nearly hyperventilating in terror for his own safety, but interestingly, the touch remained light, not painful.

“You are nearly there, my vessel.” The god was petting his neck gently, stroking him, like the broken, obedient pet that he was.

“All that remains is to remove your pain. And then you will see my goddess of death.”

“I'll see L-Lightning?” He asked, feeling lighter than he had in a century, numb from the very idea. 

“You are my eyes and ears and I will be by her side for the final days.”

“M-me?” He asked, trying to shield his face. Remembering the day that he’d flown, hoping that God wouldn’t punish him for it again. He remembered the feeling of being pushed aside in his own body.

“If you serve me, vessel, then yes, you shall see her. Speak with her. Guide her. But you must let me in. Be good. And you will save her…and the world. ”

Hope shook, trying decide if he should resist while simultaneously trying to remember what it was like to see anything other than the checkered stones beneath his feet.

“If you do… I shall reward you…your pain will end, even if it means I must go without your tributes to me.”

My pain? My tears? All gone?

Hope recoiled at the idea, but why?

Why did he want to feel? Feeling was just pain. It always had been, for as long as he could remember. Why did he want to keep his pain? Out of stubbornness? Bhunivelze often scolded his unwillingness to yield, it was a fault, and the deity punished him for it often. Why would he want to feel anymore? Why did he bother disagreeing with it?

He could relinquish his pain and please god, what was the downside? Why hadn't he done it before? He was too confused to say. All that his emotions ever did was cause him pain. He couldn’t remember why he’d ever wanted to keep them. He didn’t want to be sad, he didn’t want to be in pain. Why shouldn’t he give up these things? Perhaps he really was just stubborn.

It felt as if the answer was fleeting to the back of his memory, somewhere where he could not find it. He closed his eyes and tried to think.

“No vessel, you shall look at me.” Hope opened his eyes and snapped to attention, he didn’t want to be struck again and he lost the thought he’d been chasing.

Why did he want to keep his tears and his pain? God could just take them away.

“I..I want to see Lightining.” he stammered, only managing to remember that’s what he wanted after years and years and years of thinking the same thought over and over again.

“Then you must be a good vessel.” The voice said, lifting his chin with its gilded finger. “Give up your pain, and give me your memories, let me in. And you will see her return. She will be my goddess of death, and she will come for you.”

Hope registered the words and the bargain.

He did not want to feel pain any longer, he did not want to resist anymore. He wanted to see Lightning, and most importantly, he wanted to die.

It was the perfect agreement.

“Let me in, vessel. Become one with me. Just say yes.”

Hope looked up at his god, feeling the weight of his decision even if he was unable to grasp the moment, or his thoughts, fully.

He hesitated. 

“Vessel, would you like to see the goddess of death? Your Lightning? Would you like to be saved?”

Hope trembled as he answered. “Yes.”

“Do you wish to die?”

“Y-yes. Please.” He felt his voice grow unsteady with his longing.

“Will you do whatever it takes to see her again?”

“I…I will.”

“Good.”

Just before it touched a finger to his head he remembered. 

I won’t be human anymore! It will use me to-!

The thought was lost before it was complete, and Hope felt muted. He blinked several times, he knew there’d been something he was thinking about beforehand, something that worried him. But it didn’t seem to matter now. He decided not to remember to stop chasing the thought. 

He was strong again. His pain was gone, though everything seemed distant.

Still, something flashed at the back of his mind, something he thought he should remember, a half finished thought. 

“You are the perfect servant.” God’s voice was his own.

He suddenly remembered that he was not alone and looked around, his eyes did not obey him well, in fact, they barely obeyed him at all.

“Lightning is coming?” He asked, his voice was weak as it spoke his words, unlike god’s words.

“Yes, she shall be here soon if you obey, now be silent and observe.”

He nodded, waiting patiently for another command. 

He suddenly felt his body jolt without his instruction. It was unexpected, but he felt nothing that moved him to stop it, the pain was gone, he felt nothing, so he observed passively, watching his hand as it was held up for him, then traced his eyes along the rest of his body. After some walking he was in front of a mirror. 

He saw himself.

There was a faint memory in his mind that he looked just as he had when he met Lightning, all of those years ago. 

“Then I have done a fine job.” He felt his voice speak without him. 

But as his eyes observed his bandana, something stuck out…it was different. The thought in the back of his mind squirmed, as if desperate to be free. Something about that checkered pattern….it seemed so familiar…

The thought was immediately seized from him. 

“Now I shall resurrect Lightning, the end draws near.”

Thoroughly distracted, Hope’s mind filled with thoughts and memories of Lightning. 

This is what he'd wanted. And he was going to get it, Lightning would return, and she would fix the world and he would help her do it. 

He waited patiently for the god to tell him what to do next, it had been right, he'd done what it told him to do and everything was better. 

His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he stared at the mirror, but he felt a crawl up his spine. He sensed displeasure from the expression he could read. He wondered idly of he'd done something wrong. 

That thought was seized too, and crushed back down into a sea of indifference. Anxiety replaced it as he became more certain that he'd done something wrong, if he was jeopardizing Lightning and disappointing his god.

“D-did I do something wrong?” he managed to ask his reflection before he forgot how.

His own expression looked pained for an instant, as if the god was grappling with the same feelings he held. But eventually the anxiety was crushed back down too and with a flex of his neck, it straightened, composed. 

“No, my loyal vessel. You’ve just saved all of humanity. You let me in.” his reflection smiled back. “So stay quiet, and this will all be over soon.”

Relieved by the clear direction, Hope let his mind rest.

He'd done it. He'd save humanity, and seeing Lightning again would be his reward.