Very questionable as to how ornate it actually is, but thank you xD

-Galaxian-

Sept. 3 ~ Déjà Vu
His precognition was being just as specifically helpful as usual. It told him something was wrong, which was great, except it didn’t tell him what the something actually was. 
Regardless, Galaxian stepped out of the crowd as he usually did in similar situations. In his current form, it wasn’t all that hard; from his current height, he was able to at least see the surrounding scenery, a welcome change. 
...he would swear it’s not as bad as that might have made it sound.
He took an usual glance around his surroundings--just one glance was enough--before he held his right arm across his chest, as if to check the time on a nonexistent watch. His surroundings at present hosted a variety of buildings and a break away from the surprisingly empty road, but the sidewalk itself had no such reprieve from dense crowds, which shuddered along as if large swarms of fish evading a shark whose whereabouts were unknown. 
Instead of doing the typical, his right arm reached into his left sleeve to take out an orb. 
It wasn’t any ordinary orb, of course. While in a mortal’s eyes it would have seemed as if a large black marble, it was in truth at least a bit more complicated. For one, gold slashes pulsed at a speed most mortal eyes would not be able to follow along with. They were the representation of deaths compared to births, perhaps a simple thing to be represented compared to how it was accomplished, but then again, the deity always liked to overcomplicate. 
Despite being a life god, Galaxian’s duty was not to ensure that no one died, and though somewhere within him a twinge of pain accompanied the sight of each and every slash, he still heaved a relieved sigh, allowing his shoulders to slope briefly. The sigh caught itself before it finished, however; after all, that was hardly enough for true relief. 
He slowly lifted the orb up again, almost with trepidation. The slashes were the same, but still that didn’t serve to comfort him.There were many things that could be wrong that didn’t involve killings and blood. Such issues were usually the first his mind leapt to, as it was accustomed to doing so, tying a quick connection between his domain over life and any situation. However, it didn’t help him consider how this time, no actual pain came with the realization that something was wrong.
No. The cause was stronger than any pain he could currently feel. It transcended what he remembered. It had to do with something he could actually feel. It was a dubious suspicion, but it was still there, just like it was there with him every moment, growing stronger and stronger, only grasping a hand around his head once he could no longer endure the tediousness.
Or perhaps when someone could no longer endure tediousness of another kind.
Galaxian barely registered just when he had allowed the usual mystical scarlet to fill his right iris again or when he had ricocheted himself off of the wall, but his mind, ever in the present, had allowed him to register that he was once again passing through forms he could not see clearly, if only in pursuit of one. Person by person blurred by, their features indistinguishable, unfamiliar, but he didn’t spare a glance. He couldn’t. 
Then he spied someone, strolling along with the rest of the crowd. They were the same as everyone else. Nothing struck out to him other than the painful familiarity of knowing who it was. Still, the deity whirled to face the crowd as he came to a standstill, ready to ask questions he never knew he had.
Yet, the crowd swirled past, typical as always, and there was no one there for him.

~~~~

Sept. 5 ~ Bane
"Li, why do you not go to the battlefield yourself?"
That was something he was asked over and over again in the past.
He always found some way to deflect answering the question. Sometimes it was easier, with a shrug and a small smile doing the trick. Other times, he put the reason as him being a doctor. His job was to treat the wounded, not to inconvenience his coworkers by becoming one of the numbers, he said. He even formulated a reason that sounded even more justified in his head if anyone ever pressed, but no one ever did.
He sometimes wondered why it seemed so complicated to him. He was not a bad fighter, even though he didn't specialize in it. He could at least be a common soldier or a strategist. He did not fear pain.
Or did he? 
There wasn't much pain to speak of in his life. For some reason, Li never even recalled falling, even though that was how Windsky found him the first time--fallen on his face in barren wastelands. From that moment on, days passed by with a sort of physical apathy.
Now, even though every breath felt as if shards of glass were being sucked into his throat, he didn't feel much. He knew it was just his consciousness dimming in a world that never truly existed.
His body didn't belong to him anymore, after all.
If he disappeared here, someone would still be called Li sometimes, even though that someone would never have the thoughts or feelings Li had grew to attribute as his own. If he disappeared, that someone would never have that struggling voice in his mind bothering him again--that voice that was identical to his own.
They were one in the same, but they could never coexist.
The doctor called Li had once never had a name. It was only after the future General of Country A had found him that he decided on one. He wasn't sure why. It was a strange name even without knowing its origins.
"Li" meant to depart, to leave. It always carried a sad connotation with it, as if the faint scent still lingering on withered flowers. At the time, he had found the name and its source amusing, and the name more out of practical need than anything else, but it also served as a reminder that if he found where he belonged, he might have to leave without looking back. For all that talk about helping others, it was only a sort of distraction--or rather, something to do while he waited.
Yet nothing on his past came, and the present continued on. Soldiers whose faces he had come to remember died in the fight against Mars. Fellow doctors came and went. Countries diminished.
He never changed. Sometimes it even felt as if he never aged. Despite being a part of it all, it overwhelmingly felt as if he didn't belong anywhere.
Not in this current world. Not in his past.
Not in any world or any past.
Not even this little world for imprisoning him wanted to hold him. Even the glass holding him hurt.
He had come to accept all of that, so why was he struggling? Why was he trying to shout out to the outer world--to someone who would never listen to his words and who he could never force to stop? 
Once again, it wasn't his battlefield. Even if he fought, it was a fight he could never win. A soldier who cannot even wield a knife or a gun could never fight in the first place, not to mention winning it.
He was that soldier already held at gunpoint by a skilled sniper, lifting his own gun while his fingers felt like they could slip at any moment. He had no control over it all, yet he still wanted to try.
Maybe that was why Yali Shanda looked at him with that sort of pity. That fool, the other probably thought. So much for being one of the top professors of one of Earth's two major countries. You could last longer if you didn't struggle futilely.
Maybe he had never gone to the battlefield because he had never had a reason to fight. Maybe it was for the better--perhaps if the young man called Li had ever summoned himself to a battlefield in a forever foreign world, perhaps he would have perished long ago in a battle he could not win for a reason he thought he believed in.
Yali Shanda and Li could not coexist, but they could cease existing together.
Even if he was the one to disappear, at least he would not have left without stepping onto a battlefield.