he stares a moment before - "there's something in your hair."
warning is in place for blood & gore.
Rank is the air with the fetor of thick blood and charred skin. The red masks the ground, blending with the cloak that trails along it. He can feel it seeping into the fabric, how it sponges among the uniquely woven threads, weighting the crimson wall the more he remains crouched on one knee. His breath comes in constrained pants, short gasps of air to slow his heartrate rather than from an actual need for oxygen. ( what...what was that? )
He has to force his head to move. It feels gritty -- mechanical. And then he sees it, but perhaps he sees it from a space outside his own body: a man wrapped in so much carmine that it seems like the blood will swallow him whole. Corpses are beginning to dissolve around him, twenty or so Shin-Ra SOLDIER Third Classes, with shocked and terrified expressions fizzling slowly into glittering Lifestream. An arm, torn from a body with a harshly snapped bone protruding, leans against the man’s boot. Two heads, flesh stripped to reveal crying muscle, rest upturned nowhere near the corpses from which they came. A torso, thrown at the end of a burned trail, has the chest completely melted in.
A spare zephyr rustles a soaked lock of hair, wetly sticking it to his cheek. He blinks.
Belatedly, he sees the others. Tifa’s gloves are squared up and her mouth in a hard line; Barret’s arm is pointed toward him, and the man looks uncertain but angry. Aerith stands in her double-casting circle, and the swirl of a Barrier spell around all of them speaks of her work. Yuffie shows him her left arm, covered in her armor; Red XIII has tail still and claws exposed. Cait Sith grips his mount with confusion, as if he wants to run. And Cloud...Cloud is staring straight at him, positioned next to Barret between him and the party, sword raised and a Reflect dancing around his body. “...There’s something in your hair.”
He squints in confusion, and then looks down.
The golden gauntlet is dulled with claret drying liquid, strands of hair, and a small scrap of cloth that exactly matches the uniforms on the cadavers surround.
( ...what happened? )
Pushing up from the ground, he finds the action takes more energy than it should, as if he’s just fought a hundred enemies --
Realization hits him like a truck. It causes him to stumble, just minutely.
The nausea that comes after threatens to cripple him, but he remains upright. ( i...did this? but how? ) With his movements, he feels, rather than hears, the group behind him tense their weapons. Eyes cast to the scene afront, he takes a small step back. And then he hears it.
“...Creek.” Too quiet. He clears his throat. “...There is a small creek nearby.” And he turns away quickly and begins striding toward it, as if he wishes to forget what he saw.
As if he isn’t completely terrified.
( i...did that, obviously, but...with what weapon? my claw does not...reduce bones to powder. i have no fire materia equipped, and yet...the burns... )
His boot catches on a braid of grass in his haste, but he rips away from his stagger with a feverish haste to get to the water. The scent is overpowering.
( ...what did hojo do to me? )