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Bigger than the stadium, bigger than the city - the monster is a world in itself: its massive body blots the sun (is the sun and the sky and the water) and the air - air air air - he swallows mouthfuls of water the slice apart his lungs, water water water everywhere that is acid that burns and burns and burns and -
Jecht throws himself forward and hits the cold floor with a thump that shakes the room. A fish on the bottom of a boat, Jecht tosses his long limbs and cracks his spine on the tile. Auron and Braska slumber on, there's no need to stand guard this far into Zanarkand's temple; Braska's staff is still clenched tightly in his fist, although he is relaxed and sprawled like a pleased cat over Auron's shoulder. They finished off Auron's sake while Jecht played the martyr and thirsted in silence.
He sits up with a shake that was more like tremor than a shiver, and wishes again for a taste of the liquid. He blows out an irritated sigh to prove to the pyre flies that the nightmares are absolutely meaningless to him, thankyouverymuch, and then sinks back down to the floor and pulls his faded bandanna over his eyes. Through the cloth he can still see the damn things hovering and generally being annoying, and he hates how Spira's full of the bastards, and he hates how Spira has more remnants of the dead then it does living people.
Zanarkand - his Zanarkand - was - is - full to the gills with real live humans with real live, pulsing bodies, but that world is gone, and Tidus with it. There's no path back home - Spira is a spiral that leads to death everytime.
Death and destruction and the monster that gets bigger and stronger with each step that Jecht takes. Jecht's caught again, he can't escape the pull toward the day he drowned in Spira's ocean, the beast of Sin dragging him to the darkness.
Jecht throws himself forward and hits the cold floor with a thump that shakes the room. A fish on the bottom of a boat, Jecht tosses his long limbs and cracks his spine on the tile. Auron and Braska slumber on, there's no need to stand guard this far into Zanarkand's temple; Braska's staff is still clenched tightly in his fist, although he is relaxed and sprawled like a pleased cat over Auron's shoulder. They finished off Auron's sake while Jecht played the martyr and thirsted in silence.
He sits up with a shake that was more like tremor than a shiver, and wishes again for a taste of the liquid. He blows out an irritated sigh to prove to the pyre flies that the nightmares are absolutely meaningless to him, thankyouverymuch, and then sinks back down to the floor and pulls his faded bandanna over his eyes. Through the cloth he can still see the damn things hovering and generally being annoying, and he hates how Spira's full of the bastards, and he hates how Spira has more remnants of the dead then it does living people.
Zanarkand - his Zanarkand - was - is - full to the gills with real live humans with real live, pulsing bodies, but that world is gone, and Tidus with it. There's no path back home - Spira is a spiral that leads to death everytime.
Death and destruction and the monster that gets bigger and stronger with each step that Jecht takes. Jecht's caught again, he can't escape the pull toward the day he drowned in Spira's ocean, the beast of Sin dragging him to the darkness.