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L’Strom wasn’t listening anymore.
Panic suffused them, their body stiff and unfamiliar, looking out of armor not their own across the elaborately laid out table in the Tower of Babil. Zenos sat at the other end, eating quietly as Fandaniel prattled on in his ridiculous clothing, dancing around the table like an annoying gnat. He couldn’t eat, food smelled… wrong in this body, who had he been? Had he kin? Or… or had he been tempered, and this was a strange kindness? The emperor roaring behind a door as Fandaniel explained, and tried to engratiate himself it seemed, with the uninterested man at the other end of the table,
“Does the pursuit of prey you have bested before excite you?” Zenos asked, silencing Fandaniel, “of course not. Absent the challenge, the thrill, your prize is a hollow victory. Butchery,” he took a drink, “perhaps you think that to be the extent of my promise. I have no doubt fallen in your estimation since Ala Mhigo,” that was somewhat true, but L’Strom was absolutely sure that Zenos was still a horrific threat, “Fair enough. But do not let your distain deprive you—deprive us—of an opportunity to craft an even more majestic moment of euphoria,” L’Strom shuddered, “I have been honing my craft as I set the stage for our reunion. Wheresoever there is suffering and despair, you appear, to fulfill your duty as defender of this star,” predictable, that was him alright, but that predictability had saved countless people. Zenos continued, “The chaos and destruction that my hordes have wrought… are my gifts to you alone,” gifts? Gifts?! L’Strom struggled with a tongue not his own, nothing came out, “At a loss for words? No matter. As you will learn, I have only just begun,” Zenos stood,
“Oh?” Fandaniel sounded almost surprised, “Will you not finish your meal?”
“There is only one thing that can sate my hunger, and it would seem my friend has lost his appetite,” he turned his gaze to L’Strom, “I hoped this display of civility might prove an entertaining diversion, but clearly, we are above such pretensions. While my lifeless body was in the possession of the Ascian, I too claimed another’s as my own,” Zenos approached L’Strom who flinched back, “It was an enlightening experience, to fight in an unfamiliar form. Flaws and failings in my technique were plain to see…” he moved towards the empty throne… no, not empty, “Whence rises one’s true strength? The flesh? The soul? Perhaps you should like to discover the answer for yourself,” he stopped at the throne, and L’Strom saw his own body, slumped over itself, hat askew, “Or… together,” L’strom forced his borrowed legs to move, but it was too late, the flash of light blinded him for a moment, and when his borrowed vision cleared, his body was gone, and Zenos’ lay limply at the side of the throne. Fandaniel appeared at his side,
“Oh dear! Whatever would happen if my lord were to greet your friends as you? I shudder to imagine what carnage he would wreak! We’d better hurry if we want to avert the bloodbath. You can thank me later for my generosity,” L’Strom jerked in shock as he felt himself go through one of the Ascian’s portals, and the cold hit, biting through the armor, Fandaniel was floating above him, “Ah, there it is. Your camp, I believe,” indeed, in the distance, through the still smoking wreckage of the ruined city, was the soft smoke of Camp Broken Glass, “If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that you—the other you—is making his way there as we speak. Alas, you will have to walk from here,” Fandaniel grinned, “or run, if you can manage it. My lord would be cross if I made this too easy,” L’Strom was silent, still unable to make the borrowed mouth speak, Fandaniel grumbled, “Such ingratitude. I’d not squander this fighting chance. After all, you’ve obstacles enough to overcome—right on cue!” he gestured and L’Strom turned his borrowed head and felt his borrowed eyes widen, “Tempered soldiers, with standing orders to kill those not sworn to Anima. Under normal circumstances you would make short work of them. But on this occasion, the odds are not so heavily stacked in your favor,” and then he vanished, leaving L’Strom alone, in a borrowed body, on borrowed time.
*
Pain was harsher in this body.
Swords were unfamiliar, and he was cursing his reluctance to learn when he was younger, sure he would always be long range. His breathing was ragged, and he was trying to stay quiet as he limped along, looking for a medical kit in every wreck he could find. Looking for a battery, for something to get him back to camp before Zenos used his body, his abilities, his hard-won trust to kill the people dearest to him. The cut on his side throbbed horribly, the one on his leg even more so. Every step shot agony through him, and he had to harshly bite his lip to hold his screams.
Armor… a Magitek Armor sat broken, and he had just found a fuel cell for it. He could clear a path at least…
He staggered, forcing his legs to run, until his injured one buckled, sending him sprawling, damnit, he’d crawl if he had to, he had to make it… had to… save them…
*
There was blood on the snow, yet somehow no animals impeded him. Cold, bitter and heartless dug claws into his flesh. He was dying, he could feel it, but it didn’t matter, he just had to make it. He could hear voices, familiar and beloved, and he forced himself up using a tree, in time to see his body expel… something, a warped figure, bleeding sorrow and misery. He didn’t think as his sword flew through the air, dispelling the thing as he staggered out of the treeline, keeping himself on his feet through sheer will. There were exclamations but they were secondary,
“Get away from them, you bastard!” a voice, borrowed, his… maybe? His thinking was failing him. His body looked back at him, and that energy gathered again, and he forced his tired, painful body to move.
He slammed into his body, sending them both sprawling painfully to the ground, his vision swam as that damned voice rang out,
“Sadly, that is all we have time for today. The effect has run its course, and back to your own bodies you must go,”
Everything went black.
*
Cognition came slowly, bright spots of light pricked his eyes, and a voice came through the fog,
“Thank goodness. He’s awake!” Alphinaud’s voice, did he make it? He forced his eyes open and immediately regretted it, shutting them with a groan against the harsh light of the snow. He was freezing, two sets of arms wrapped around him, the twins and they helped him to his feet from where he’d been propped, helping him move, slowly and painfully to the building where Lucia had set up their map.
Blessed warmth suffused him as he was allowed to lay down on one of the abandoned couches. He whined softly, another set of hands carefully maneuvered his head, and he tried with little strength to bat them away. A soft huff of laughter greeted that,
“Remain still my friend,” G’raha… L’strom forced his eyes open again and took in the sight of the other Miquo’te, “there you are,” he said, in that gentle voice that made L’Strom melt into the horrid cushions,
“…’Raha…?”
“Thank heavens you’re you again. Gave me quite a fright,”
“…sorry…”
“None of that,” warm magic washed through him, and he sighed as his aches, both physical and lingering from his strange, borrowed body, melted away, “can you rise?”
“Help me?” G’raha nodded and helped him sit up, Maxima walked over, “the body?” he rasped, wincing at the state of his voice,
“Turned cold and stiff the moment you were returned to your own. Perhaps the soul it belonged to is long gone…” L’Strom felt himself tear up, strange emotions tearing at his chest at the fact that the body was dead, Maxima gave him a sympathetic look, “take your time,” L’Strom nodded,
“…need to check on everyone…” G’raha’s eyes widened,
“You’ve only just woken up! Surely some rest is in order!”
“…can’t…” Maxima nodded,
“Let’s get you up then,” two strong grips helped him to his feet,
“At least let me walk with you,” G’raha said,
“…yes…” they walked through the camp, greeting those who greeted them. Thancred was the first they came across,
“My friend,”
“Than…” Thancred held up a hand,
“No apologies necessary, least of all to me. If anything, there’s a strange comfort in knowing I’m no longer the only one to have been used as a villain’s puppet. Though I pray you’ll be the last…” L’Strom cracked a smile and nodded, well wishes from each of his friends made him feel slightly better, although it hurt more than he thought to have Y’shtola doubt him once more… just like on the First, when he was more monster than man,
“Are you certain that you’ve recovered? You mustn’t push yourself, especially after an experience like that,” Alphinaud peered up, not very far up mind, to look at L’Strom concerned,
“No time,”
“We can make time, surely after that a rest is in order?” L’Strom snorted,
“G’raha said the same thing,”
“Then go rest!” Alphinaud insisted,
“Need to check on everyone first,” the young elezen huffed but didn’t push the issue.
Alisaie was furious, all his fury seemingly channeled into her as she ranted. He just felt numb, tired, and wanted to find a place to sleep.
*
G’raha insisted he at least be sitting down when he went to the planning meeting for the assault on the tower, he leaned heavily on an armrest, barely listening as the others planned around him. He couldn’t help but notice that they were planning at least a few hours rest for him, and he hated it. Hated being weak. Hated feeling helpless.
He was angry and grieving and hurting and fearful all at once.
He just wanted to sleep.