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Angel Hunt Throughout the Years...
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He does not know how long he has been standing here, watching the lands below from up high on this cliff face within the confines of a city he sealed, nor does he care. The wind that tugs at his locks pains him, but he endures it, the sun that seeks to warm his skin only burns, but he pays it no mind, his thoughts are as they have been since he came here, both scattered and focused yet miles from where he stands.
He has tried… he has tried so many times to escape this vessel, to tear himself of this body and he has failed in every attempt. This body, his body… it taunts him, repairs his every attempt to mar it, keeping him caged like an animal caught in a hunter’s trap. There is no relief for him in this, there is no longer freedom. He has come to the slow realization that he is form, that not even the deaths of his people have undone the sins they have committed upon him.
He is now truly one with flesh.
Behind pursed lips, white teeth grit and for the first time in what has been days, Jenova finally moves. Pulling his clear crimson gaze from the borders, he turns to face what is behind him and while his every movement is agony, it is also graceful, taken as if he has always been as One.
Bare feet make almost no sound despite the pools of congealed browning red he steps through, the bodies he walks upon and the rotting flesh he make no attempt to avoid. One long winding stone pathway after another is navigated as if he’s always called the city his own and before long, his strides carry him back to the temple that lies at the center. With only the slightest rippling of the magic he placed just days prior, he steps through the barrier past the arching doorway and into the sun lit interior beyond. Nearly every corner of the building is tarnished by the blood of the Chosen Seven, their body parts strewn across the stone platform he moves towards, across the alter beyond it and some even indented in the very walls. Just as it had been with those outside, the Demon pays them no mind, simply walking through the carnage without feeling or emotion to ascend the rounded stairs and step onto the platform itself. Coming to a halt on the solid surface of the circular stone well that had only a short time prior, held the connection to his true home, the Demon stands.
Jenova stares blankly down at his feet, looking past his flesh to the stone beneath his toes, finding himself longing for a freedom that’s been stolen from him, wanting, willing, and failing yet again to regain something precious he has forever lost.
More days pass before he moves again and when he does, it’s simply to pull his eyes from the dried gore that paints his pale skin and shift them up towards the sky that shows through the open domed ceiling far above his head, his head falling back and his movements falling still once more.
In the city he’s sealed and the temple in which he stands statuesque and immobile, hidden from the view of those who inhabit those contrasting lands and kept secret, his people continue to rot all around him, their broken bodies slowly turning to dust and their existence forgotten to nearly all but him…