presidentheartbeat: (Oh my fucking god Becky shut the fuck up)
[There's probably something to be said about having 'oh, hell, I really should've brought a change of clothes, huh?' be Zelos' first thought after being stabbed and stumbling as far away from the current town their traveling party's staying at, but whatever it is it currently eludes his mind at the moment. Because he's much too busy holding onto his wound, trying to will himself to put one foot after the other, trudging through grass and dirt until he's deep into some woods he can't recognize, bathed only in the moon's light as it cuts through the foliage and the night.

Somehow, despite the pain that comes with the action and the wince that nearly causes him to lose balance, Zelos still finds it in himself to laugh. Well, this sure went south, didn't it? He's pretty damn lucky nobody saw him sneak out, much less get fucking jumped at by a bunch of randos with an agenda against him.

The problem is, though, that now he's dangerously low on mana and pretty sure that he's going to die if he doesn't get some medical help. And, considering everything else he still has left to do, he kind of just can't let that happen. He needs himself alive--at least for now, thank you very much. So it's either go back and get people asking questions that are better off unanswered, getting help elsewhere and risking another trap, or dying in the woods. Honestly, none of them appealing.

Except for one last, desperate measure that tastes sour like weakness and feels heavy like failure, yet is also his one ticket to, you know, living.

Zelos grits his teeth.

Fine, fine, whatever. Fuck. Aimless, in pain, and already feeling the delirious numbness of blood loss, Zelos stumbles until his outstretched free hand has found a tree in these woods, then leans against it and fishes in his pocket for the little device a certain asshole seraph gave him. Numb fingers fiddle with it until he's entered the number he wants, and he breathes a sigh of relief the moment it finally starts to make a connection. He waits, waits, waits and waits until the little screen comes to life, and then--]


"Yooo, hey there," [Zelos grins, already sliding down the tree trunk until he's sitting on the grass, breathing heavily.] "You, uh, got a sec?"
presidentheartbeat: (Bitch?)
[The wildly flashing lights of the space-time tunnel propelling him forward as the Sylvaranti Aegis' signal retreats back to its point of origin are nauseating. He clings to the signal and squints his eyes against the light show, core crystal flickering, form wavering as his ether is pulled at from every direction as he goes. It hurts, but he grits his teeth and keeps his focus forward, trying hard to remain intact lest he finds himself stranded once more.

Every particle that makes up each universe he traverses is like a wall he crashes through as he momentarily enters each world, every time he does so leaving him gasping like he's breaking the surface of concentrated miasma. The glowing, orange wings on his back ripple like a water surface. Traveling through the multiverse in a single, dedicated tunnel like this is exhausting, but he holds onto the signal and pushes himself through with strong flaps of his wings, aiding it in his journey, begging for his physical form to hold.

He focuses on the way he still feels the sprinkles of mana left behind in his system from when he and his driver connected.

Feels the dark matter of another universe pooling against his eyes as he arrives and leaves.

And then, suddenly, there's ether greeting him like air. Something familiar, something fresh. Something like... home.

Zelos involuntarily lets go of the signal and opens his eyes.

It pulls itself all the way back to the planet without him. Zelos is left floating in space, close enough to Derris-Kharlan for its gravitational pull to force him forward until he's standing on the glass-like surface of the moon. He blinks, startled. Derris-Kharlan is still resting near Aselia, empty and devoid of life--and that's what startles him the most. For a moment he kind of expects to see the teal glow of the network, or to feel the Architect's overwhelming presence wearing a familiar face, but he doesn't. Then he kind of expects to see his last driver still standing by a terminal, scowling and asking Zelos just what the hell he's doing here when he'd literally just sent him home, but that doesn't come either. He's alone, here, except for the morse code-like signal tapping at his forehead, begging for him to pick it up again, aching to connect soon.

He takes a deep breath. There's still leftover pain from the journey here, but it's easy enough to ignore. There's more pressing matters at the moment, anyway. Like how Derris-Kharlan is too empty to be comfortable, echoing network or not. It makes Zelos remember, abruptly and sourly, the fate of the man he'd called god in this universe, how he and the one he'd called his last driver share a past, but now have different futures. It should bring some sort of joy to him, but instead all it does it fill him with worry and anxiety at the prospect of meeting the one last piece in this weird trifecta of iterations and mirrors.

Zelos clenches his hands into fists. Breathes in, breathes out. Straightens his posture. Clears his throat. He has people to see, people waiting for him. He tries not to think too hard on the emptiness the lack of a resonance brings, tries to look forward to meeting his driver again, his sister.

To meeting with--

He walks forward, over to where he remembers the teleporter to be. It's time to go home.]

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Zelos Wilder

November 2019

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