Rayne Drops (FFXV)

XLVIII) Amulet Antics

Blood, all around me. Painted on crumbled buildings, dripping onto the cracked streets, pouring from my hands. Staining my skin. Trickling down my neck. But it's not my own. It's pooling up around my ankles, creating a warm sea of crimson. I rush to pull myself onto a rough slab of upturned concrete, grabbing at its jagged edges, panicked. There's no sound, only the gentle whisper of the wind and the slight swishing of the blood pooling below. But the smell... Coppery. Sickening.

I turn and get a good look at my surroundings. My stomach churns; I've been here before. But where am I? A mixed feeling of terror and familiarity stirs in my chest. Around me lie the bruised, sliced, bloody bodies of all those I've ever known... All those I was or am supposed to save. I tear my eyes away from piles of pale flesh and stare straight ahead at the ruins of a demolished building to my right. Insomnia... How could I forget? My breath catches in my throat upon meeting the empty eyes of King Regis. I feel sick, ready to double over and clamp a hand down over my nose. Anything to block out the smell of blood and rot.

My left hand feels weighted suddenly. I see no shower of blue sparks, but my gunblade rests in my grip. Hot blood streaks from the base of the blade and drips off the pointed end, only adding to the crimson-stained wreckage surrounding me. I... I force myself to look back up at Regis, trace the pool of blood at his side to the growing stain on his chest. I killed him. It was me?

The blood rises like a crimson tide, carrying the rest of the bodies with it and washing them up onto the safety of my concrete island. I can't breathe; it's no longer the stench, but the sight that chokes me up. My chest feels tight. My head's spinning wildly. My fingers are trembling. I throw my gunblade to the side and race toward the most horrific of the bodies, already feeling hot tears streak down my bloody cheeks.

"Noct?!" I throw myself onto my knees, shaking his limp shoulders hard. "Noct, are you...?" I push and he rolls over weightlessly. His blank blue eyes roll back into his head, blood leaking from the side of his mouth. Jerking my hands away, I fall backward and tear my eyes away from his. I failed... We... My newest sight isn't any better. Prompto's hair is no longer blonde, red streaks overpowering the messy, light strands. Prompto...

Scrambling to my feet, I look around me quickly, my breathing picking up sharply as I recognize more and more of the bodies washing up. Ignis lays face up on the ground, glasses cracked and splattered with the blood pouring from the fresh tears across his eyes. His clothes are just as torn as his flesh. To his right, Gladio's body lays tossed against the concrete mercilessly, the enormous slice across his chest adding even more to the bloody pools beneath my boots. I choke on a sob and fall to my knees between them, throwing my arms around Gladio's broad frame and pressing my ear to his chest.

"You can't...!" But there's nothing. Nothing but cold, slippery skin that holds nothing more than systems that no longer need to function without a soul. I turn to Ignis, shaking furiously. He's gone. I stand sharply, backing away and shaking my head. How did this happen? How long was I gone? I scream when a cold hand grabs my ankle, jerking away from the loose grasp only to see Prompto coughing up crimson onto the concrete slab.

"Should've... been there..." He chokes, falling back and growing lifeless in mere seconds. I'm deafened by the sound of my own heartbeat, burned by the feeling of my own tears, scraped as I slip and stumble away from them, running from the empty shells of everyone I ever cared about.

My boot catches on a long, rusted pole and I land face down beside Arma's blood-caked curls. Crying out in surprise, I jerk back, staring into his dead green eyes before turning my gaze elsewhere. Only, then I see the shredded and beaten bodies of my family. Signum wide-eyed to my left with a bullet hole in his skull, my father clutching his chest, my mother curled up against his side, covered head to toe in bloody, shredded rags. Tallin with a slice across his throat, staring straight up at the sky. The list goes on forever.