Authors Note: Hello! ^_^ This is my first fanfic, so please dont be TOO critical when reviewing! This is simply the first chapter, even if it looks like a one chapter story. I have about 5 more to come ,0. Well anyways, If you are willing to read the whole thing, then Id be delighted if you could please review and tell me if I should finish chapter 2! ^_^ Oh and by the way, I have lots of other fanfics in the works now, and Ill probably get round to uploading them once my band is together. Please excuse any spelling mistakes aswell: I couldnt be bothered to run it over with a spellcheck. I think its readable anyways.
The city of light.
Place of such indescribable auratic ecstasy.
Soon to be gone.
~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~
Stepping almost silently aside the slight click of the metal and glass forged floorboards, a tall figure dragged his robes alongside the aisleway to the end, and placed his hands nervously upon the steel balcony. It was high up, and gave a good view of the city from his point.
However, a viewpoint is only useful if theres anything worth viewing upon. He sighed, although he didnt let it on, almost confidentially. He let his crystal gaze wander upon the decimated sight that was his upbringing and spawner of truths. Looking downwards, he could see crimson flames of destruction levelling the cities main towers, and Bevelle machina fuelling the ever burning fire that covered his hometown. Zanarkand almost screamed in agony, but she stood strong and refused to belittle herself and her people by submitting to the sacreligious monster of Bevelle. This apathetic folly was almost a reality, for the representative of Zanarkand, a Miss. Lady Yunalesca esq. was the leader and patriotic doer of keeping Zanarkand alive and hanging on the thin thread it had been strung upon. Lord Zaon now spread a wince of a smile, for he knew that as long as she was alive, the people would have hope.
Zaon didn't believe in false hope. There is no such thing. Hope, even if it is mislead and misinformed, like maybe the kind Yunalesca gave to the people of Zanarkand, is still a most powerful emotion. It can fuel people into doing things considered crazy and out of mind, but they are still created by the blessing of hope. When the city falls, Zaon thought, Zanarkand will fall. When Zanarkand falls, the hope will fall. And if the hope falls, then all is lost...
Lord Zaon let a single tear trickle out the corner of his eye. He was rarely seen upset or unhappy, for he was usually an optimist and was always jolly and humorous. However, the emotion of his people dying was overwhelming, and crying was only a symptom of the failure of Zanarkand.
Zanarkand, on a whole, was the city of wonder. Belief. Free Rights. All things that Bevelle sought to destroy and root out of Spira, even if they levelled the world in doing so. Zaon cried more in anger. What was so wrong about using machina? Dammit! They were using machina themselves to fight the damned war! So what, if the people worked hard and toiled over machines to create a wonderful huge city, and then spent the rest of thier lives in awe and having fun and a break in thier creation? Was it so wrong and against Bevelles beliefs to play and enjoy Blitzball? Or teach thier kids how to work a Zanarkand computer? Was it so evil to bask in the incredible joy of watching thier children learn and grow up and become a part of the legendary city thier fathers had once created? Zaon was in tears by now. Was it worth a war, and the destruction of something so peaceful and wonderful, just to fill the Farplane with the innocents?
However, Bevelle didnt exactly have an easy time breaking into Zanarkand. They had underestimated that Zanarkand was still the most powerful and technologically advanced city in the whole of Spira. Capital or not, Bevelle had to mass produce hundreds of thousands of machina just to break down the collosal city gates. Even then, Zanarkand was not going down without a fight. Armies and armies of Zanarkanian soldiers and machina poured thier hearts out into fighting Bevelles onslaught, fighting for thier rights, fighting for thier families, and even more, thier future. Destiny, however, didnt want it this way. Bevelle won the inevitable conflict, and Zanarkands forces were made to retreat, or what little was left. Then the Bevelles main regiment was reinforced, and once the city gates were torn down, all was lost.
Well, maybe not all.
Zaon withdrew his gaze and raised his head back to watch the destruction of Zanarkand evermore. He had stood upon this platform before, many times, to simply watch the splendor of the residents all lolling about and laughing, going about thier buisness and being happy. Bevelle could not get any more dirty of guilt. It was the most wrong thing in the world, second only to love; to destroy happiness..
He watched more and more as the flames flickered and reflected in his steely gazing face. He had the look of a man in desperate need of a way to save the one thing he had close to him, aside his daughter. That look of a man, who is resentful towards a race that had pillaged his soul and left it to burn.
Men screamed in the distance as Bevelle machina crushed them. The odd citizen ran around yelling, looking for missing family members and trying to break free of the machinas hold on Sector C -2. Old and painful grandparents were not spared, nor were children in the bloody fued. A remaining Zanarkanian soldier dived in front of a huge metal monstrosity, giving up his life to save an old woman and her grand children trying to make escape. Zaon was hurt by thier will to die for the good of the city. Zaon knew, that now as the Bevelle army rampaged through the crumbled streets of Zanarkand, the life he had known was at an end.
"Sir! Sector C - 2 has been taken by the 2nd Bevelle Group!" came a cry from just a few feet behind the Lord. Turning slowly to face the trooper, he forgot that the tears were still evident on his freshly broken face.
"No suprises there, private." Zaon mumbled a half-hearted comment. So dispirited, he couldnt even manage to give the nervous young man a decent answer.
"Sir, there is also something else that I have been told to tell you. Its important."
Zaon knew that the word 'important' would pierce his heart. He needed no phsycic powers to guess what was coming.
"The last Zanarkand Machina Battalion was lost in the defense of Sector C - 2.",The private looked down at his boots, unable to bring himself to tell the Lord this horrific news to his face. "We only have the guardians and mages left to defend the last sector."
Sector A - 1, thought Zaon to himself in the following silence. The last stand of Zanarkand. Bevelle, has finally won.
Zaon turned again to the battle scene. Now that the fighting had ceased due to Bevelles victory, floating white orbs of gleaming light trailed by a spectacle of rainbow energy rose up through the redenned night sky. They flew up past the stars, dissappearing to the Farplane as they reached into the void of space. An enchanting music filled the air, and both Zaon, the private and the Bevelle warriors were filled with a strange sense of anguish as each note rung out into thier worn ears. Far from the explosions, gun noises and spell sounds of battle, the melody was soothing and almost haunting. Almost romantic.
Zaon stared down, to see a single lone priest entailed in simple red robes, dancing and spinning as the pyreflies cascaded through the flames. The Bevelle soldiers were inclined to fire at him, but he had an almost eerie aura that they knew would do them no good. And so, without fear of death, the priest carried on. He was sending the dead to the Farplane. Watching the man dance elegantly and wildly, free and without any obvious direction, fuelled Zaon. He gritted his teeth, reeled back his head and yelled to the heavens, screaming and half crying with anger as he did so. The Bevellians noticed his cry and many soldiers raised thier weapons instantaniously, but they shant kill Lord Zaon. He was a figurehead, and in war, leaders are never to be killed. Only captured or defeated. That was the way of destruction.
Zaon finished, and turning slowly to the shocked and awed private, he walked back inside to the command chamber.
The priest still had to complete his sending. The private was amazed at the sight. He had never seen a sending, and since his last hours were soon clocking up, he was kind of glad to get the chance of at least watching his people have a peaceful afterlife. The priest finally pulled down his staff as the last of the pyreflies escaped the bodies hidden in torn down houses and the odd dead Zanarkanian and Bevellian soldier resting on the floor. Then, as the priest smiled, he turned to the Bevellian group just ahead of him. He spread his arms out patriotically. He had acheived his goal. His deed was done.
"Fire! Fire!", came the order of the captain.
The Bevellians all fired a hail of lead into the body of the willing-to-die priest. He stood for a moment as they ceased fire, and smiling contently, he tumbled to the ground.
The private looked onward as the Bevellians carried on thier onslaught, and Zanarkand, ripped asunder, fell evermore.
City filled with wonder
City filled with joy
City ripped asunder
Called from the decoy
Army keeps on marching
Through the legend land
Sacred to all who know it
Light shone upon the sand
The ruins lie a lost city
Spread around for fayth to bring
When Sin is killed by the final aeon
All of Spira shall sing
As Zanarkand falls
the city of legends
As Zanarkand falls
by the hand of Yevon
As Zanarkand falls
As Zanarkand falls
~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~
The city of light.
Place of such indescribable auratic ecstasy.
Soon to be gone.
~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~
Stepping almost silently aside the slight click of the metal and glass forged floorboards, a tall figure dragged his robes alongside the aisleway to the end, and placed his hands nervously upon the steel balcony. It was high up, and gave a good view of the city from his point.
However, a viewpoint is only useful if theres anything worth viewing upon. He sighed, although he didnt let it on, almost confidentially. He let his crystal gaze wander upon the decimated sight that was his upbringing and spawner of truths. Looking downwards, he could see crimson flames of destruction levelling the cities main towers, and Bevelle machina fuelling the ever burning fire that covered his hometown. Zanarkand almost screamed in agony, but she stood strong and refused to belittle herself and her people by submitting to the sacreligious monster of Bevelle. This apathetic folly was almost a reality, for the representative of Zanarkand, a Miss. Lady Yunalesca esq. was the leader and patriotic doer of keeping Zanarkand alive and hanging on the thin thread it had been strung upon. Lord Zaon now spread a wince of a smile, for he knew that as long as she was alive, the people would have hope.
Zaon didn't believe in false hope. There is no such thing. Hope, even if it is mislead and misinformed, like maybe the kind Yunalesca gave to the people of Zanarkand, is still a most powerful emotion. It can fuel people into doing things considered crazy and out of mind, but they are still created by the blessing of hope. When the city falls, Zaon thought, Zanarkand will fall. When Zanarkand falls, the hope will fall. And if the hope falls, then all is lost...
Lord Zaon let a single tear trickle out the corner of his eye. He was rarely seen upset or unhappy, for he was usually an optimist and was always jolly and humorous. However, the emotion of his people dying was overwhelming, and crying was only a symptom of the failure of Zanarkand.
Zanarkand, on a whole, was the city of wonder. Belief. Free Rights. All things that Bevelle sought to destroy and root out of Spira, even if they levelled the world in doing so. Zaon cried more in anger. What was so wrong about using machina? Dammit! They were using machina themselves to fight the damned war! So what, if the people worked hard and toiled over machines to create a wonderful huge city, and then spent the rest of thier lives in awe and having fun and a break in thier creation? Was it so wrong and against Bevelles beliefs to play and enjoy Blitzball? Or teach thier kids how to work a Zanarkand computer? Was it so evil to bask in the incredible joy of watching thier children learn and grow up and become a part of the legendary city thier fathers had once created? Zaon was in tears by now. Was it worth a war, and the destruction of something so peaceful and wonderful, just to fill the Farplane with the innocents?
However, Bevelle didnt exactly have an easy time breaking into Zanarkand. They had underestimated that Zanarkand was still the most powerful and technologically advanced city in the whole of Spira. Capital or not, Bevelle had to mass produce hundreds of thousands of machina just to break down the collosal city gates. Even then, Zanarkand was not going down without a fight. Armies and armies of Zanarkanian soldiers and machina poured thier hearts out into fighting Bevelles onslaught, fighting for thier rights, fighting for thier families, and even more, thier future. Destiny, however, didnt want it this way. Bevelle won the inevitable conflict, and Zanarkands forces were made to retreat, or what little was left. Then the Bevelles main regiment was reinforced, and once the city gates were torn down, all was lost.
Well, maybe not all.
Zaon withdrew his gaze and raised his head back to watch the destruction of Zanarkand evermore. He had stood upon this platform before, many times, to simply watch the splendor of the residents all lolling about and laughing, going about thier buisness and being happy. Bevelle could not get any more dirty of guilt. It was the most wrong thing in the world, second only to love; to destroy happiness..
He watched more and more as the flames flickered and reflected in his steely gazing face. He had the look of a man in desperate need of a way to save the one thing he had close to him, aside his daughter. That look of a man, who is resentful towards a race that had pillaged his soul and left it to burn.
Men screamed in the distance as Bevelle machina crushed them. The odd citizen ran around yelling, looking for missing family members and trying to break free of the machinas hold on Sector C -2. Old and painful grandparents were not spared, nor were children in the bloody fued. A remaining Zanarkanian soldier dived in front of a huge metal monstrosity, giving up his life to save an old woman and her grand children trying to make escape. Zaon was hurt by thier will to die for the good of the city. Zaon knew, that now as the Bevelle army rampaged through the crumbled streets of Zanarkand, the life he had known was at an end.
"Sir! Sector C - 2 has been taken by the 2nd Bevelle Group!" came a cry from just a few feet behind the Lord. Turning slowly to face the trooper, he forgot that the tears were still evident on his freshly broken face.
"No suprises there, private." Zaon mumbled a half-hearted comment. So dispirited, he couldnt even manage to give the nervous young man a decent answer.
"Sir, there is also something else that I have been told to tell you. Its important."
Zaon knew that the word 'important' would pierce his heart. He needed no phsycic powers to guess what was coming.
"The last Zanarkand Machina Battalion was lost in the defense of Sector C - 2.",The private looked down at his boots, unable to bring himself to tell the Lord this horrific news to his face. "We only have the guardians and mages left to defend the last sector."
Sector A - 1, thought Zaon to himself in the following silence. The last stand of Zanarkand. Bevelle, has finally won.
Zaon turned again to the battle scene. Now that the fighting had ceased due to Bevelles victory, floating white orbs of gleaming light trailed by a spectacle of rainbow energy rose up through the redenned night sky. They flew up past the stars, dissappearing to the Farplane as they reached into the void of space. An enchanting music filled the air, and both Zaon, the private and the Bevelle warriors were filled with a strange sense of anguish as each note rung out into thier worn ears. Far from the explosions, gun noises and spell sounds of battle, the melody was soothing and almost haunting. Almost romantic.
Zaon stared down, to see a single lone priest entailed in simple red robes, dancing and spinning as the pyreflies cascaded through the flames. The Bevelle soldiers were inclined to fire at him, but he had an almost eerie aura that they knew would do them no good. And so, without fear of death, the priest carried on. He was sending the dead to the Farplane. Watching the man dance elegantly and wildly, free and without any obvious direction, fuelled Zaon. He gritted his teeth, reeled back his head and yelled to the heavens, screaming and half crying with anger as he did so. The Bevellians noticed his cry and many soldiers raised thier weapons instantaniously, but they shant kill Lord Zaon. He was a figurehead, and in war, leaders are never to be killed. Only captured or defeated. That was the way of destruction.
Zaon finished, and turning slowly to the shocked and awed private, he walked back inside to the command chamber.
The priest still had to complete his sending. The private was amazed at the sight. He had never seen a sending, and since his last hours were soon clocking up, he was kind of glad to get the chance of at least watching his people have a peaceful afterlife. The priest finally pulled down his staff as the last of the pyreflies escaped the bodies hidden in torn down houses and the odd dead Zanarkanian and Bevellian soldier resting on the floor. Then, as the priest smiled, he turned to the Bevellian group just ahead of him. He spread his arms out patriotically. He had acheived his goal. His deed was done.
"Fire! Fire!", came the order of the captain.
The Bevellians all fired a hail of lead into the body of the willing-to-die priest. He stood for a moment as they ceased fire, and smiling contently, he tumbled to the ground.
The private looked onward as the Bevellians carried on thier onslaught, and Zanarkand, ripped asunder, fell evermore.
City filled with wonder
City filled with joy
City ripped asunder
Called from the decoy
Army keeps on marching
Through the legend land
Sacred to all who know it
Light shone upon the sand
The ruins lie a lost city
Spread around for fayth to bring
When Sin is killed by the final aeon
All of Spira shall sing
As Zanarkand falls
the city of legends
As Zanarkand falls
by the hand of Yevon
As Zanarkand falls
As Zanarkand falls
~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~~*--*~