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La Cite des Cloches cont.
Eden sits at the edge of the church's tower, one leg dangling off it, and watches the city burn.
"You see?" The Black Chirithy asks, materialising next to him. "When you set foot in a world, it begins to wend its way towards destruction. You destabilise worlds, you break them down at the tiniest, most fundamental level. Misfortune follows your every movement."
"I didn't do this," Eden points out. "You did."
"What am I, if not a faithful executor," the Black Chirithy replies lightly. "I sped things along. Gave people the tools to hurt you, and in so doing the tools to hurt others. But the second you arrived in this world, it was doomed."
Another fire blossoms from a patch of houses some three miles away. Eden breathes in the burnt air, shutting his eyes.
"You see?" The Black Chirithy asks softly. "Once you see a world's demise, then the path is set. So observed, it cannot be avoided. If you're allowed to exist, every world will continue on a path to its end, to a great Keyblade War where darkness will prevail, and the light expire."
"I have work to do," Eden says flatly, and slips off the top of the church, plummeting until his feet touch the ground, toes first, settling gently into a landing.
He doesn't need to search for Ifrit. He can sense it, like a spot of pitch black on a colourful painting, and he's sure it's mutual. However the Black Chirithy made Ifrit, it knows who its target is, and the two of them are naturally drawn together.
He walks until he sees that same scene he saw before. Ifrit, towering over a street of screaming, fleeing people, shadows wreathed in fire and ash. Charred bodies still smouldering, glowing with embers. People terrified, jostling him as he makes his way forward.
A claw comes sweeping down, aimed at a frightened child, and Eden speeds into its path, keyblade materialising in his hand. They collide with a burst of light and flame, shattering the windows of the buildings around them, throwing up stones and dirt in a wide circle.
"Fine," Eden mutters. "Let's finish this."
"You see?" The Black Chirithy asks, materialising next to him. "When you set foot in a world, it begins to wend its way towards destruction. You destabilise worlds, you break them down at the tiniest, most fundamental level. Misfortune follows your every movement."
"I didn't do this," Eden points out. "You did."
"What am I, if not a faithful executor," the Black Chirithy replies lightly. "I sped things along. Gave people the tools to hurt you, and in so doing the tools to hurt others. But the second you arrived in this world, it was doomed."
Another fire blossoms from a patch of houses some three miles away. Eden breathes in the burnt air, shutting his eyes.
Ifrit towering over a street of screaming, fleeing people, his shadowy body wreathed in flames pumped out from the vents on his back, clouds of ash floating up from his shoulders. The people are stumbling, tripping over the burnt bodies of their friends and neighbours, insensate with fear.
As he brings a claw down, Eden steps into its path, keyblade raised. The impact digs his feet into the ground, shattering stone and pushing through dirt, as flames spill out on either side of him.
"You see?" The Black Chirithy asks softly. "Once you see a world's demise, then the path is set. So observed, it cannot be avoided. If you're allowed to exist, every world will continue on a path to its end, to a great Keyblade War where darkness will prevail, and the light expire."
"I have work to do," Eden says flatly, and slips off the top of the church, plummeting until his feet touch the ground, toes first, settling gently into a landing.
He doesn't need to search for Ifrit. He can sense it, like a spot of pitch black on a colourful painting, and he's sure it's mutual. However the Black Chirithy made Ifrit, it knows who its target is, and the two of them are naturally drawn together.
He walks until he sees that same scene he saw before. Ifrit, towering over a street of screaming, fleeing people, shadows wreathed in fire and ash. Charred bodies still smouldering, glowing with embers. People terrified, jostling him as he makes his way forward.
A claw comes sweeping down, aimed at a frightened child, and Eden speeds into its path, keyblade materialising in his hand. They collide with a burst of light and flame, shattering the windows of the buildings around them, throwing up stones and dirt in a wide circle.
"Fine," Eden mutters. "Let's finish this."