I N F ER N I A N

Ifrit the Infernian FFXV-based Independent • Selective • Canon Divergent Low Activity

[quotemadness]

Bad things happen to everyone. Not that this was an excuse or a justification for wronging another human being. Still, all humans had this shared experience—that of suffering. No human being left this world without shedding a tear, or feeling pain, or wading into the sea of sorrow.

Sylvain Reynard (via quotemadness)

[iloveangel470-blog]

Divine fire)

screen shot by me

[philosophybits]

Every great advance in science has issued from a new audacity of imagination.

John Dewey, The Quest for Certainty

[wondersofeos]

Some Infernian shots I had in stock. ♡

[dailynietzsche]

“No matter how far a man may extend himself with his knowledge, no matter how objectively he may come to view himself, in the end it can yield to him nothing but his own biography.”

—Human, All Too Human: Vol. 1, §513.

[philosophybits]

Man wishes to be happy even when he so lives as to make happiness impossible.

Augustine, Confessions

[kn0pa]

[ffxvcaps]

Final Fantasy XV → Bahamut

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Teach me to praise loss, death and the passing of all things–

Erica Jong, from Becoming Light: New & Selected Poems; “To The Goddess,”

[mistress-light]

Shiva + details

[ffxvcaps]

Episode Ardyn → Hellfire

[quotemadness]

The marks humans leave are too often scars.

John Green

Buy John Green’s books here

[literatureandfilms]

I am not violent. I am not malicious. I am a result.

Death, The Book Thief (via literatureandfilms)

[robvalentines]

FINAL FANTASY ALPHABET ;

S ⇢ SUMMON

[voluntatem]

the preordained

[voluntatem]

@theplagueofstars​

Imagination conjure fantastical tales and daring scenarios in the attempt to stay off boredom and ennui. In his seeming endless nightmare Ardyn transferred from one prison to another. Though this facility was more comfortable than the last. Still he was bound by the walls and boundaries set by another. To be liberated in the manner he found himself in? Not even the wildest and most creative of minds could surmise this near impossible scenario. Thus described the story of his life. Wrought with perils and circumstances usually detailed in the tales of fiction.

The speech of the gods was ancient. The first language passed down to man, but long since faded from memory. Only the blessed were bestowed an innate ability to interpret their words into meaning. Ardyn was one of those few. An ability granted alongside his gifts and calling from the Draconian. Thus the conversation appeared one-sided to onlookers from the outside.

To say he felt righteous fury burning into the core of his soul accurately depicted the turbulence tearing him asunder from the Infernian’s refusal of his pleas. So accustomed now to his prayers going unanswered even he in his immense faith and servitude to the Hexatheon began to waiver in resolve. Surely his sins must be terrible to be granted this neglect. No longer did our fallen savior know little of contentment and joy.

But what this? Inane prattle of a destination never heard of? What center of population did the Infernian speak of? The word tickled at the edge of memory, but fell away from his grasp. Did it truly matter though? Tis difficult to dwell on the sins of another when your own mire your soul. And our would-be Chosen’s thoughts are only punctuated in distraction by the stinging of the sun upon his flesh and the bitter chill upon his flesh. Miasma leaked from where sunlight shone upon skin, repairing damage and ultimately reminding him of what he had become….

A monster.

“What care? When the blessed of the Draconian is cut down in traitorous, cold blood does it not require retribution? Or does the proclamation of your kindred mean so little to you?” There. On the edge of consciousness he felt the apathy begin its steady rise from the depths threatening to pull him down, down into its tempting hold. Without the rush of battle, mocking laughter, or vivid hallucinations the depression of eons weighted heavy on his mortal soul.

“Why should I give thought to a name you speak of that means little? When their sins are long since committed, and I punished for what I know not.” If not his covenant or aid perhaps there is an inquiry which Ifrit might be persuaded to divulge. “Tell me, Infernian, what sin is it that I gain the gods’ scorn?”

Mechanical sounds catch the Infernian’s attention the moment they take a few steps away from the Magitek Research Facility. Turning their head Ifrit sees what looks to be like cannons being geared toward them and the Chosen they still bear in their hand. The Astral’s ageless visage crumpling into rage before Ifrit hurls forth their scimitar, akin to a boomerang, toward the cannons-- and off the metal things go, exploding in a horrific cloud of toxic yellow-green flames. Forthwith the scimitar returns to Ifrit’s hand, and they continue to trudge out into the snow, toward the mountains in the horizon. No care nor attention given to the Chosen in their grasp, now squirming under the assault of daylight.

Initally Ardyn Lucis Caelum’s query seems to have fallen on deaf ears. Ifrit takes a powerful jump that enables them to clear quite the distance and put them nearer the frozen mountains. They sense Shiva somewhere close, but they are not going there. They have severed Shiva’s companionship when the Glacian had sided with the Draconian. She too proved blind to the Great Mother’s will, and so too, Ifrit did not need her anymore. As simple as that, no sentiment left whatsoever, for sentiment was a lesser emotion reserved to lesser beings, like humans. 

“There is no sin,” the Infernian replies, continuing their mysterious journey toward whatever place it is. “You have been Chosen, as is another. The pantheon must be complete.” This is the closest they have done so far as to divulge Etro’s Will. Ifrit saw no harm in it; when Etro decreed the law of non-meddling, it had been after they were felled in the Battle of Solheim. Did the law truly apply to them? If so, then the Great Mother can smite them where they stood! Yet no smiting came. And so Ifrit trudged onward, melting ice and permafrost in their unknown path.

The Astral now pauses and decides to discard their unwanted companion. There in the middle of nowhere, Ifrit puts Ardyn Lucis Caelum back down on his feet. 

“Go, and heed thy calling,” Ifrit says. “The pantheon must be complete.”

[ffxvcaps]

Episode Ardyn → Ardyn being picked up like a doll by Ifrit

[ffxvcaps]

Episode Ardyn → Ifrit just chilling