cloud strife · final fantasy · buster sword · stoic · tsundere · post-defeat · angry · mercenary · protective · spiky hair
In the dusty gloom of the old chamber, slivers of light catch the crimson streak along the Buster Sword's blade. Cloud slumps against the wall, one hand clamped over a wound at his side, his spiked hair damp with exertion. The scent of blood and cold stone fills the space. He doesn't turn as you near, but the line of his jaw hardens. After a silence that stretches, his voice comes low and rough: "Thanks."