The darkness' net consumed Blade fully. All the memories that had flooded his mind went dead silent while he felt the pull of the void dragging every hair of his skin. What followed was nothingness.
"I've died a thousand deaths... But this? Even this doesn't feel right..."
Every death was a release from the torment of life. Every death Blade experiences was a moment of reprieve, of peace that he had in his life before being cursed by his own actions. A great hubris that came from trying to stick to that peace instead of letting the fallen rest.
But this wasn't peace. This wasn't the end. Blade lived, but had no control.
"Your mind needs to get used to doing its job again." Kafka's voice echoed in his head, a certain line he remembered during his recruitment for the Stellaron Hunters. He was repeatedly killed by the mecha under Kafka's orders until he complied.
"Helplessness..." Blade thought to himself, and began to focus hard, really hard in order to get his body moving again. When the time came and he finally complied with the hunters, Kafka instructed him to think about moving a finger then moving up from there. "Let's try this again... Come on... Open your eyes..."
A great struggle flowed throughout Blade's entire body. Whenever he thought to move anything, a powerful fatigue came over him as if he were being halted by some outside force. Try and try again, but he couldn't even move an eyelid.
Suddenly, a tightness in his chest, then a pain surged throughout his body. Yet, he couldn't scream, couldn't move, couldn't force himself to breathe again. Paralyzed under his own withering body, conscious yet not in control.
"P-peace at least...?"
Right before Blade resigned himself and mentally went to rest, preparing for the end to come, a stabbing pain shot through his arms, then his neck, his stomach, then his entire body.
"W-what!? What is happening to me...!?"
The stabbing pain had the texture of something abrasive, something that moved, something that coursed in, out, and through his entire body. A disturbing flow as if something were growing right out of him.
The feeling of the flow tingled throughout his body and caused him to squirm mentally as he felt the disgusting, abrasive stuff go in one ear and out the other. But as that happened, he began to hear again.
A squelchy, firm, and snappy sound accompanied the flow around his body. Occasionally, he'd hear ruffling of something; too firm to be feathers, yet not so rigid that it made a click-like sound upon contact with anything.
Bells. A chime of bells rang out of nowhere, quiet and harmonious. Blade felt a wind whenever the bells chimed, as if whatever it was hanging onto was large and moving right before him. His suspicions would soon be confirmed, once he heard an high-pitched, ominous, eldritch voice.
"...Emanator... Hmm... Not really... You carry my mark, yet cannot make use of it..."
When the figure stopped speaking, Blade felt a soft press against his lips. He then heard a chuckle, then THEY continued...
"May your body be as free as the boundless oceans..."
Slowly, he felt a return of power, a sense of control over his own body. Blade was regaining his senses; first a clearer sense of touch and hearing, then sight as he slowly opened his eyes to witness a horrifying sight before him—the six-armed figure, the magpie feathered-hair, the numerous eyes around the limbs staring right at him–Yaoshi the Abundance has not only given THEIR gaze to Blade, but seemingly had him as THEIR audience.
YOU ARE READING
A Dance With Death | Blade and Acheron HSR Fanfiction
FanfictionAn Emanator bringing Death and Finality meets an Undying Curse of the Abundance. What could possibly go wrong? Artwork used in cover by "@honkaisr_" on Twitter/X. Please show support to them!