Jellal Fernandes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rememberscarlet) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-04-17 11:27 pm
rememberscarlet) wrote in towerofanimus2013-04-17 11:27 pm
Entry tags:
2nd Heavenly Body
Characters: Jellal and open
Setting: Floor 46 - backdated to about a week after this thread (4/2/13)
Format: Action, but I'll match
Summary: After his first death, Jellal has come to the conclusion that running away is no longer an option. The results of that are... mixed at best?
Warnings: Angst, violence, the usual, I guess? It's probably not going to be overwhelmingly graphic or anything.
[It's been a week.
A week since he's tried to help, since he's fought and lost.
A week since that monster had stood above him, immune to the strength of his lesser spells, sword in hand, catching him off guard.
A week since his first 'death' within this tower.
It's sobering, he has to say - especially knowing that it is his own fault that it happened. Ever since arriving - no, even since before that... he's been shrinking away from using his magic in any but the most basic of ways, afraid of what he might unleash otherwise. Afraid of what he might remember.
It's cost him, the month before when in the end, he had been useless to help against that dark mage that had cursed the tower, and now when he had not been help but hindrance to the stranger he had intended to protect from harm.
It is quite pathetic.
It's taken him a week of thinking to dare returning to this place - the floor he had 'died' on - a week of withdrawing into books, into knowledge, only to realize that he cannot act on this if he does not balance it with the power he truly possess, that is pushing at the edge of his being, tempting him.
He's not meant to stand stationary and manipulate beams of light. His magic is not meant to be static.
Jellal isn't sure how long he's been standing on the staircase of this floor, frowning down into the pit of darkness as he gathers his resolve. Four months he has spent in this place now, four months and all this time he has nothing but hid and run and withdrawn, rather than to stand tall, rather than to face the future like she would want him to.
There won't be any more of that though. He refuses to run any longer - come what may. Even if it means remembering the things he'd rather forget.
He's jumped a moment later, hands in the pockets of his coat as he glares into the shadows, dares that what is hidden there to come out and face him.
And come they do, a group of humanoid shadows with yellow gleaming eyes crawling towards him, drawing up from pooling darkness on the floor. It doesn't take long until the first on lungs at him - arms and claws extended, ready to strike.
But his magic is not meant to be stationary.
It's the whisper of battle instinct that makes him move just right, that allows him to simply sidestep the attack, one hand withdrawing from his pocket, his palm filling with raw magic as he uses that shadow beings own momentum, merely tapping it. It's still enough to sent if flying.
Then the other shadows attack as one, approaching him like an overwhelming wave - but as fast as they may be... he knows it's not enough, and he exhales again as he reaches for more magic, for the spell that he knows will turn the tide. That he just knows to be so very familiar, event though he cannot recall ever having used it before.]
Meteor.
[A smile tugs on his lips as a yellow glow settles around his body, as the world turns utterly slow around him, and a second later, he is not before the shadows but behind them, hovering just lightly over the floor.
It's almost strange just how is it falls him to control this magic, how he just know when to move, now that he's started to listen to his body's instinct. Almost enough to make him wonder just why he was afraid.
To any onlooker, he probably looks like a yellow flash.
A fraction of a second later, he is onto the shadow beings again, viciously kicking one of them, and it releases a soundless scream as the light of his magic touches with its skin and then the other's move to scatter.
But he won't let them escape.]
This is the-
['This is the end. I'll show you true destructive magic.'
He cuts himself off as the sound of his own voice rings through his head - cold and arrogant and ever so slightly amused - and suddenly he vividly sees Natsu's broken form on a floor of crystals, sees Erza before him - outraged and betrayed, heartbreak written all over her face as he rejoins with Siegrain and he remembers thinking just what a foolish woman she is, how foolish and stupid and weak to cling to those feelings, to think that she could save him.
To have played right into his hands with her resolve to die with him.
He stumbles as flash after flash of memory returns and drives him to his knees, pain hammering through his skull as he reaches up and fists his hands in his hair, unaware of the magic that has slipped from his control and died, unaware of the shadows that have regained their bearing and now are creeping towards him once more.
All he sees, is the top of that tower, the crystal surrounding him as he laughs, laughs, laughs, as he prays towards Zerefs, and firmly believes that after eight long years, he has finally fulfilled his ambition.
He remembers it all, horror and grief and guilt weighting on his heart as he throws back his head and screams.]
Setting: Floor 46 - backdated to about a week after this thread (4/2/13)
Format: Action, but I'll match
Summary: After his first death, Jellal has come to the conclusion that running away is no longer an option. The results of that are... mixed at best?
Warnings: Angst, violence, the usual, I guess? It's probably not going to be overwhelmingly graphic or anything.
[It's been a week.
A week since he's tried to help, since he's fought and lost.
A week since that monster had stood above him, immune to the strength of his lesser spells, sword in hand, catching him off guard.
A week since his first 'death' within this tower.
It's sobering, he has to say - especially knowing that it is his own fault that it happened. Ever since arriving - no, even since before that... he's been shrinking away from using his magic in any but the most basic of ways, afraid of what he might unleash otherwise. Afraid of what he might remember.
It's cost him, the month before when in the end, he had been useless to help against that dark mage that had cursed the tower, and now when he had not been help but hindrance to the stranger he had intended to protect from harm.
It is quite pathetic.
It's taken him a week of thinking to dare returning to this place - the floor he had 'died' on - a week of withdrawing into books, into knowledge, only to realize that he cannot act on this if he does not balance it with the power he truly possess, that is pushing at the edge of his being, tempting him.
He's not meant to stand stationary and manipulate beams of light. His magic is not meant to be static.
Jellal isn't sure how long he's been standing on the staircase of this floor, frowning down into the pit of darkness as he gathers his resolve. Four months he has spent in this place now, four months and all this time he has nothing but hid and run and withdrawn, rather than to stand tall, rather than to face the future like she would want him to.
There won't be any more of that though. He refuses to run any longer - come what may. Even if it means remembering the things he'd rather forget.
He's jumped a moment later, hands in the pockets of his coat as he glares into the shadows, dares that what is hidden there to come out and face him.
And come they do, a group of humanoid shadows with yellow gleaming eyes crawling towards him, drawing up from pooling darkness on the floor. It doesn't take long until the first on lungs at him - arms and claws extended, ready to strike.
But his magic is not meant to be stationary.
It's the whisper of battle instinct that makes him move just right, that allows him to simply sidestep the attack, one hand withdrawing from his pocket, his palm filling with raw magic as he uses that shadow beings own momentum, merely tapping it. It's still enough to sent if flying.
Then the other shadows attack as one, approaching him like an overwhelming wave - but as fast as they may be... he knows it's not enough, and he exhales again as he reaches for more magic, for the spell that he knows will turn the tide. That he just knows to be so very familiar, event though he cannot recall ever having used it before.]
Meteor.
[A smile tugs on his lips as a yellow glow settles around his body, as the world turns utterly slow around him, and a second later, he is not before the shadows but behind them, hovering just lightly over the floor.
It's almost strange just how is it falls him to control this magic, how he just know when to move, now that he's started to listen to his body's instinct. Almost enough to make him wonder just why he was afraid.
To any onlooker, he probably looks like a yellow flash.
A fraction of a second later, he is onto the shadow beings again, viciously kicking one of them, and it releases a soundless scream as the light of his magic touches with its skin and then the other's move to scatter.
But he won't let them escape.]
This is the-
['This is the end. I'll show you true destructive magic.'
He cuts himself off as the sound of his own voice rings through his head - cold and arrogant and ever so slightly amused - and suddenly he vividly sees Natsu's broken form on a floor of crystals, sees Erza before him - outraged and betrayed, heartbreak written all over her face as he rejoins with Siegrain and he remembers thinking just what a foolish woman she is, how foolish and stupid and weak to cling to those feelings, to think that she could save him.
To have played right into his hands with her resolve to die with him.
He stumbles as flash after flash of memory returns and drives him to his knees, pain hammering through his skull as he reaches up and fists his hands in his hair, unaware of the magic that has slipped from his control and died, unaware of the shadows that have regained their bearing and now are creeping towards him once more.
All he sees, is the top of that tower, the crystal surrounding him as he laughs, laughs, laughs, as he prays towards Zerefs, and firmly believes that after eight long years, he has finally fulfilled his ambition.
He remembers it all, horror and grief and guilt weighting on his heart as he throws back his head and screams.]