With a sickening squish the double bladed katana was removed from the dinosaur’s neck. The beast writhed on the ground, unable to scream or cry due to the blood that spurted out of the wound in its throat.

Kadaj walked in a wide circle around it. “Well, what do we have here?” He stopped at the head and crouched down next to its face, careful not to bloody himself. “You’re an ugly little monster aren’t you…” He stood and pressed his boot against its cheek, pushing its face away. The blood continued to squirt out evenly but in slow dying arcs from its neck. Only moments before the young remnant had been disturbed by this. . . thing trying to eat him. It was the last action it would ever do.

The teen's brows furrowed as he took in the sight of the creature. “You’re not from Gaia.” That was… unsettling. But there was one thing that was familiar through all of this. A sensation. A pull, no—a compulsion to travel in a particular direction. And while he had never felt this urge before he knew exactly what it was.

The dinosaur’s gasping breaths shook him from his thoughts. Kadaj looked down to note that its face was completely covered in thick dark blood. It clawed at its throat and kicked its legs weakly. Its eyes, large and beady black, stared at the remnant’s uncaring gaze, suffering.

Kadaj clicked his tongue in disgust. Though he would very much like to watch it die a slow and painful death as punishment, he decided to end it quickly. He wanted to find whatever was calling out to him.

“Don’t look at me that way.” He casually warned before abruptly jabbing the sword right into the monster’s trachea. It gurgled and sputtered for a final time. Did it die from choking on its own beastly fluids or blood loss? Whichever it was, it was irrelevant. The thing was dead and no longer held any interest. The dinosaur’s body fell completely limp and its once animalistic frightened eyes rolled back into its head. Kadaj smirked. “That’s better.”

She's been dreaming of Earth lately. Why she should be dreaming of that distant planet is not a question Sailor Lethe cares to consider too deeply; she knows it's said to be one of the last territories holding out against Galaxia.

There's no sign of that in the Earth she visits. The lush vegetation is almost tropical, vibrant ferns alongside tall trees. They grace the banks of a winding river, tranquil and quiet. Visible at intervals, small groups of dinosaurs go about their own business, largely ambivalent to her presence.

Lethe poles her small boat silently through the water. When she acquires an extra passenger, she shows no surprise, but be careful; passage is not free. Those in the boat will lose something before they disembark, whether as small and simple as a pen or as disastrous as an irreplaceable keepsake.

It is quiet and cold. This is a ghost town. No one ever truly lived here, for no one was meant to stay. No roots were put down, no futures built, only an ephemeral present, past now. It wasn't meant to stand for long, a mining town built to strip away what was valuable, leaving nothing behind but the desolate land and the shells of buildings. Why would anyone want to stay, when there's nothing of worth remaining?

There are no people here, but in the shadows of an abandoned building, the body of a monster lies on the ground. The chill wind that blows through the wounded walls stirs the beast's hair, so that for a moment, it almost seems about to stir, but it does not stir. It is dead.

It is not the only creature here. Another lies nearby. It has a long, leathery reptilian body, partially hidden by what seems to be a tangle of wings, but like the other creature, as monstrous as it may be, its head and torso are largely human. Its hair is silver, and its wings are black. It lies just as still as the other, and it, too, seems to be lifeless. It lies motionless for a long time, only its long, pale hair moving in the breeze.

Then, suddenly, it opens its eyes. They are bright green, glowing faintly, their pupils narrowed to razor-thin slits. It shifts its limbs, reaching out as if trying to drag itself forward, but the movement is pained. It isn't clear whether it's an injury or something else that has impaired it. Perhaps its body is simply too heavy or too malformed. Regardless, it stills again, but its eyes remain open.

Sephiroth--for it is him--turns toward the other monster (his fallen friend) with an oddly empty, hopeless expression on his face. He's not used to experiencing such despair, such uncertainty. It pierces him through, and he doesn't know what to do. He only knows that it's cold, and that he's changed, changed utterly.