FFXIV Writes 2024 - Prompt #2: Horizon

FFXIV Writes 2024 - Prompt #2: Horizon

Spoilers for the end of base-game Endwalker lie below the cut. You have been warned.

As a new dawn broke across the horizon at the edge of creation, Xander found himself face to face with one singular noisome loose end. A man who’d followed him across the depths of space at incomprehensible speeds to come to his aid in the final battle against the Endsinger, all to ensure that naught remained to forestall his precious rematch.

Zenos stood before him, hand extended to offer challenge and ‘singular bliss’. And as much as Xander wished to his very soul that he could take the bastard up on his offer to just leave him behind without fighting him at all, he knew that he couldn’t risk what Zenos might do if denied once more.

He nearly burned the world to cinders just to force me to fight him last time. I shudder to think what he will destroy to earn my ire if I don’t stop him here and now.

Xander closed his eyes, clenching his fist at his side as Zenos’ taunting goad of “Is that not so, adventurer?” echoed in his mind. Even now, even after everything, Zenos insisted that they were one and the same. Two souls driven by the thrill of combat, the mortal peril of dancing on the edge of life and death.

And maybe he was. Once upon a time. He’d willingly gone to the Bloodsands for a reason. Maybe that was still in him.

But Zenos didn’t need to hear that. Never. Not from him.

Part of Xander burned with the desire to wreak bloody vengeance upon this foul demon that had haunted his thoughts for far too long now. To make him pay for the utter violation, the humiliation of stealing the body he’d just made comfortable for himself for his own. To rend him limb from limb for all the harm he’d done to Etheirys.

But even his hatred would bring Zenos joy. And frankly, Xander didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

He couldn’t leave. He had no choice but to indulge him in his little fantasy now. But he could make damned sure he derived not one bloody onze of the satisfaction he so desired.

He opened his eyes to behold his opponent in this strange dawn at the terminus of all, and, with his face set in a mask of determination, firmly replied, “Think what you will. But I’m not letting you leave this place.”

Zenos’ eyes slipped closed. Xander felt a momentary sting of petty delight at the silent sigh of disappointment writ large on his face.

And then, he had to open his godsdamned mouth.

“So, you would still play the hero.” Zenos opened his eyes, his grim expression shifting for a manic smile as he continued, “No matter. In acceptance, you reveal your deception. You know full well what we are. What we seek. To shine incandescent in death’s shadow!”

Xander’s eyes narrowed as he pulled out his codex, readying himself for another battle to the death against this one stubborn cockroach that refused to stay where the hells he belonged- in his memories. Shine incandescent in death’s shadow, he would indeed. And Zenos’ candle of life would be extinguished for good and all, even if it took his own life to do it.

directors using colorful or "impossible" lighting to convey mood and meaning and beauty my beloved. directors making night scenes impossible to see for the sake of realism my beloathed.

FFXIV Writes 2024 - Prompt #4: Reticent

Spoilers for the end of Dawntrail and the Arcadion Raids lie below. You have been warned.

Xander closed his eyes, foot tapping an uneasy rhythm against the floor as the blaring techno beats that defined the music surrounding Solution 9’s continuation in mankind’s ‘grandest’ universal tradition of blood sport echoed in his skull.

Twenty-one souls. All you have to do is succeed in this contest, and twenty-one trapped souls will be freed.

So he’d been promised by that shifty Lalafell- or, Milala, he supposed- Metem, who seemed responsible for announcements in this ‘Arcadion’. A promise that had damned well better be upheld if the bastard hoped to secure his continued cooperation in this nonsense bread and circus designed to placate the grief of the despairing people of Alexandria.

Then again. It wasn’t just Metem to whose expectations he had to rise. The thought of Celeste and M’hana’s eager eyes watching from the crowd filled his mind. Iori would bear witness, too, though he had considerably less interest in sport-fighting than they did.

Gods, I wish I had them watching my back instead of watching me compete right now. Xander thought with a shudder.

He’d never felt this nervous before taking the field of battle. Not in all his five years at the Bloodsands as The Golden Warg. Not in all the battles he’d fought with the fate of the world hanging above his shoulders.

Though he’d shelved his greatsword and tucked away his copied crystal of the Dark Knight, Xander could swear he heard the whispers of his shadow from deep within his soul over the roar of the crowd outside.

You seem reticent, my friend. Do not tell me that you, who stood in the face of Despair itself and won, now balk at so simple a contest. I doubt any foe here is worthy of gracing your blade with their blood.

He sighed. To the voice of his friend, his enemy within himself, he replied, “I’m reticent because I know the cost paid for the crowd’s entertainment here. I’ve fought beasts in the ring before, but something about using beastkin souls as fuel and fighting until I’ve actually slain my foe here sits ill.”

Though it was called ‘the Bloodsands’, in truth, actual deaths in the arena were rare. Waste of valuable fighters. Killing in the ring could easily merit execution in turn. Fights were supposed to be to the point of death, not to the death. Not unless some ungodly sums of coin had changed hands to change it from a fight to an assassination. (Or an ‘unfortunate accident’ had been arranged.)

And here, not only was he expected to slay his foes, he was encouraged to do so, to allow them to use their godsdamned Regulators to drag themselves back to live. Death here, not so much an ending as an inconvenience, so long as one had cleansed souls remaining in reserve.

A multitude of candles of life to burn. And burn them, these fighters did. Wastefully. As if the loss of whoever’s soul they used as fuel mattered not.

Hah. Those who fight without the certainty of death will never know the true meaning of life, the time between the seconds. If you wish to give the lie to their culture of deathlessness, then show them the capabilities of one willing to burn his one candle of life to its very dregs.

Spurred on by the words of his shadow, Xander’s eyes snapped open. “Oh believe me, I will.”

He drew his sword and shield from his back, laying the blade of his sword against his head as an age-old prayer passed his lips. “We who walk in Thal’s halls, for the glory and blessings of Nald, request the blessing of the twin gods. Grant the victor your gilded boons, and the loser safe passage.”

Though the twin gods to whom he prayed had been sent on their way to the Aetherial Sea by his own hand, murmuring the words brought Xander a vague sense of comfort. He could swear he heard Nald’Thal’s approving chuckle at his back as he readied his sword and shield for combat and stepped out into the blinding lights of the Arcadion.

He would show them. He would show them all that their abuse of the souls of man and beast was not only cruel, but pointless. And maybe then, he could finally begin to dismantle this corrupted system in full.

I had a tattoo client ask if I ever used AI to design tattoos for me. Man I spent the better part of a decade doing shitty bit work as a graphic designer and now that I have the space to do whatever I want, I'm gonna let the computer generate random garbage for me? What next should I have a computer that eats my dinner and fucks my wife?