A/N: Hello everyone! I know, what the hell isn't this the third time I've posted a first chapter for this fic? Answer: yes it is. But what I can say, I've been far from happy with both previous attempts at this and I'm a perfectionist (so sue me).

Before I continue, I should probably say that updates probably won't be regular (sorry) but my love for this fandom is very nearly dead now and most of my energy is going into writing my FF7 fic instead...

Decided to squish the first two chapters together into one to make it longer - I'm generally not one for short chapters and it really sets the ball rolling as it were ^_^. This fic shouldn't be too long, shorter than DLBIA (my other BMT fic, an update is in progress for that, honest!), can't give an exact number of chapters though.

As I'm sure I've said before, there are going to be some pretty um...radical events and ideas taking place in the course of this fic. Expect the unexpected - and please try not to kill me...

I've had some help and support this time too, big thanks to Kasloumor for the encouragement and for betaing this ^_^, very very much appreciated. But yeah, this is it - if this time doesn't work out, I'm just going to abandon this. So here we go, "Once More, With Feeling" - my final attempt at Papercut chapter 1. Enjoy and thank you to everyone whose supported this story so far ^_^!

-M.M-

T,

This shall have to be brief as I am not sure of exactly how time I have left – though I am certain it can't be long. They are coming for him, for me – and I realise now that I am the only one capable of ending this- once and for all. Take care of yourself and of her as well, as I am sure she will be beside you at the very end. Do not mourn for me - no matter what you may think, you could not have seen this coming, nor saved me from my fate.

Farewell, my dear friend.

THIS WAS NOT YOUR FAULT.

7 years before…

The combined gasp and choked cry faded long before the light in the victim's eyes. The sound made him flinch, but no more; the nausea, the disgust and the horror – all were still present, but they seemed somewhat muted now. Perhaps this was his way of dealing with the situation, to block out the surroundings as if to convince himself that this was all just the horrible nightmare he thought it was.

As the body he held became slack and eyes glazed over, the man holding the long curved blade lowered his victim to the ground slowly, releasing the vice-like grip from around the other's throat and chest where a stab wound was beginning to blossom. The knife-wielding man crouched down besides this latest victim, who had his gaze turned away from his attacker – turning his face away in disgrace. The assassin sighed, the sound carried away by the wind. He knew this man. Well, knew of him at least, this man had been in the group he was with as the descended into the mines. He couldn't remember his name and was partially glad not to. A name meant he knew the person well. And that was bad. Acknowledging the fact he had killed a friend would only make him feel guilty and he didn't want to feel anything at the moment.

There was a small click from his knees as Akkarin stood up. The wind was stronger than it had been before and was flecked with particles of the desert sand which had lodged themselves in the long black hair that rippled in rhythm with the breeze. The magician regarded the site before him.

The camp which had been his home for the last two months or so was now deserted, the coppery metallic stench of blood filling his nostrils as the corpses, his victims, gazed emptily at the sapphire sky above. It was a harrowing picture, no-one could doubt that, but yet Akkarin expected to feel…more. He was feeling surprisingly apathetic. Disturbingly apathetic in fact, but yet he couldn't bring himself to care about that either. He was still alive – and that was all he cared about at the moment. Yes, but alive for how much longer?

The magician glanced behind him anxiously. There was no method of communication in a desert as vast as the one in Sachaka – so he had no way of knowing how far away the nearest Ichani was. He'd like to have thought that the one who gave him the mission would give him enough time to dispose of the evidence – perhaps a couple of hours. Maybe a day if he was really lucky. But if 5 years of slavery had taught him one thing, it was never to rely on luck. After all, he mused dully as he gazed back at the corpse littered camp, these people probably didn't expect one of their own to do something like this…

And besides, he had no reason left to stay here.

Turning around, he headed back inside Dakova's tent, pausing only briefly upon the site of his former master's broken body. Master. Oh, how he hated that word. And oh he had HATED the man behind it. 5 years of torture, in more ways than he had previously thought possible, had left him more than a little bitter and angry at all that had happened. Oh how far he had fallen during that time, to sink so low as to murder innocents in exchange for freedom. And it was all Dakova's fault.

You deserved to die, Akkarin concluded as he sneered down at the other.

Dark brown eyes flickered down to a lifeless hand, drawn there by the peculiar looking ring on his finger. Akkarin pulled the ring of the bloated finger sharply, feeling an odd little thrill pass through him as he knew that, had he been alive, Dakova probably would have found that painful. Except he wasn't.

Red glass met his gaze, it sparkled brilliantly – a stray beam of sunlight from a gap in the tent roof reflected on the surface making it sparkle brilliantly. For a brief moment, Akkarin felt strangely drawn to the item. It seemed almost as if it were…looking straight back at him. Captivated, Akkarin looked deeper and realised that the gem at the centre was not actually all one colour. They shifted constantly, moving like a living creature – a kaleidoscopic swirling mass of reds, purples, browns and blacks. He found himself admiring how oddly beautiful it was. He found himself wanting to keep it.

Akkarin pulled away, alarmed at the sudden trail of thought. Surely he couldn't…but yet…this could come in handy. I can use this to check how far away Kariko and perhaps the others are. I can take this back to the Guild and they can study it, learn more about this evil magic and how to defeat it…

A low growl cut through the silence and it took Akkarin a second to realise it came from him. He didn't want to give this away. It was his now. This was a symbol of his ultimate triumph of Dakova. He deserved to keep this. Standing by his decision, he slid the ring onto his finger firmly.

He hissed in pain, as a deep crack in the gem's underside dug painfully into his skin. Akkarin closed his eyes and used his magic to stitch the skin back together, weary of wasting any more power than was necessary.

Dakova. Akkarin felt himself freeze as the word appeared in his mind. It was the middle of the day, but he was sure the temperature had just dropped considerably - that voice was not his own. Though it seemed somewhat familiar... Brother?

Akkarin suddenly forgot how to breathe, the air was trapped in his throat and he could feel the blood drain from his face. Kariko. Oh no not now, please not now, the magician pleaded silently. This was all moving too fast for him – sure he wasn't expecting ample amounts of time but at least a little more than this to escape! A sudden wave of anger washed over him, flooding his senses and dragging them under. Who are you and where is Dakova?!

Horrified by the intensity of Kariko's outrage, Akkarin pulled the ring off quickly, severing the connection and shoved the item in his pocket. It took him a couple of moments to realise he was almost heaving for breath, scared beyond believe at what had just occurred. Forcing himself to calm down, the magician recapped on what he knew and how his brief interaction with Kariko could possibly change the upcoming course of events.

Akkarin could now be classified as an Ichani - he'd murdered his 'master' and all those possibly linked to him, barring any allies the Sachakan may have amongst fellow Ichani such as his brother. He was powerful, more so than he could ever remember being, even when at full strength during his days at the Guild. Excatly how powerful he knew not, but that could determined at a later date. Dakova hadn't had any visitors for at least a week, so hopefully there was no-one around for quite a long way. Except now, Kariko was aware something had happened and was most likely on his way to investigate. A cold shiver slithered under his skin and down his back.

As far as Ichani standards went, Dakova had not been particularly strong and could in fact be considered weak due to his foolishness, his greed and his notoriously erratic bouts of rage. But Kariko was different. He was cunning as well as ruthless, often using tricks and underhand techniques to get his way. He was the older brother and so attempted to aid his younger sibling whenever possible, be it with slaves, money, women – though despite this, the elder always made sure he had the upper-hand over his brother. The last time he had visited Dakova was some months ago, but Akkarin had overheard a conversation between the two.

Kariko owned nearly three times as many slaves as his brother, simply taking those belonging to others after defeating their masters. He had also been in exile for a longer period of time than Dakova and Akkarin fought back a shudder as he thought of just how powerful the Sachakan could be. Dakova had not been attacked regularly because he was feared by others, but this was not because he was invincible is any way, but because he was related to Kariko. Akkarin had gone and made an enemy out of one of the most dangerous men in the wastelands. He didn't even have the home field advantage and now that things had been set in motion, Akkarin realised he was running out of time and that he would have to move fast were he to escape this in one piece. Who knew how close Kariko could be – less than a week's journey away? Less than a day? An hour?

Akkarin spun around suddenly fearful, as if expecting to see the Ichani standing at the entrance to the tent. It was definitely time to go now. Fleeing the tent as fast as he could, hot sand digging into the soles of his feet, Akkarin halted suddenly at the camp entrance, by the side of one body in particular- that of his only friend in the Sachaka, Dakova's personal cook – Takan.

He wasn't dead, Akkarin hadn't had the nerves to murder the only living person who had ever shown him some degree of kindness since he arrived so very long ago…

No. He couldn't take Takan with him. He'd only be putting him in danger anyway. Akkarin had to leave. Now. He glanced back down at the unconscious man once more. If Takan was lucky, Kariko may arrive and simply think Takan was dead too. The cook could escape once the Ichani had gone – make his way back to Armje, or wherever he pleased. If his luck held out. But Akkarin doubted it.

Glancing around anxiously, he bent down by the Sachakan and placed his hand on the other's forehead, sending a steady stream of healing energy into him. Satisfied that Takan would survive this particular incident at least. Akkarin stood up. Never thought I'd say this to anyone out here, but I'm glad I met you Takan. He shot his friend one last glance before fleeing the camp, his footprints were all that were left to prove he had ever been here.

Takan's head faced the camp exit. If he'd opened his eyes at that moment, he would have seen the retreating figure sprinting into the distance and his figure eventually blending in with the surrounding sand dunes. Perhaps if he'd opened his eyes then, everything would have been different. But his eyes remained shut.

Akkarin wasn't sure how much time had passed before he finally stopped running, or of how much distance he had covered in that time – but he knew, with a sinking dread in his stomach, that there was a possibility that no distance was great enough to guarantee his safety out here in the wastelands.

Luckily for him, he had not heard from Kariko (or anyone else for that matter) since the incident with Dakova's ring earlier on. Of course that could mean that Kariko had already arrived there, realised what had happened and was on his way after Akkarin to avenge his brother's death. The magician deemed this unlikely, but he wasn't willing to risk his life on it.

Due to this heightened sense of paranoia, the damaged blood ring had remained on his hand the whole journey – as risky as it was, Akkarin needed to know Kariko's every move if he was to stay at least two steps ahead. The ring was no longer on his injured finger, the one that had been cut by a chip on its underside before - that finger was still injured, the wound still present; although Akkarin was sure he had healed it when he was back at the camp…

He had a bad feeling it had gotten infected somehow, but that could wait, he reasoned. Akkarin would deal with his little 'papercut' later – when he wasn't fleeing for his life across the Sachakan wastelands. One little scrape was the least of his problems.

Truth be told, Akkarin's most pressing worry, was that he was running in completely the wrong direction. After all, the sand dunes looked virtually identical and he was without a map or any kind of navigation device – he was essentially running blindly in any direction he felt like. He had passed a few craggy passes some time ago, but though those weren't exactly uncommon in these parts either.

On the way to the camp Akkarin had just escaped from, he briefly recalled passing over a small river surrounded by trees and shrubbery – many types of which, the other captives had told him, were edible. The magician, having not eaten a proper meal since they had begun travelling (some four or five days beforehand), eagerly wolfed down as many as he could without Dakova noticing. Of course, this was discovered when the Ichani read his mind that night. Akkarin preferred not to recall the punishment he had received because of that. Point was – he had seen no sign of the river or any large clumps of greenery anywhere since his departure. Whether that was a good thing or not, Akkarin wasn't sure.

The worst case scenario was that he happened to run straight into Kariko or some other Ichani and would be forced back into slavery again. That he would have failed and that all those people would have died for nothing…that was Akkarin's greatest fear and most unwelcome thought, even worse than a gruesome, drawn out death. But he couldn't, wouldn't think that way. He had to make it, he had to survive. Because Akkarin seriously doubted he would have the energy, the willpower or the chance to do this all again if he were captured once more…

He cursed violently under his breath for choosing the Sachakan wastes, of all possible places, to be captured in – the one country in this part of the world not in the Allied Lands, filled with people who hated his own vehemently, the one place with a climate as harsh and unforgiving as this…Why in the world did he come here in the first place?! Akkarin couldn't even remember the reason now, proof enough that whatever it was obviously couldn't have been that important – certainly nowhere near significant enough to justify all that had happened …He wouldn't wish a punishment like this on his worst enemy. Then again, Akkarin's worst enemy was dead now anyway. Good riddance.

Akkarin's leg muscles whined at him to stop, wearing away at his already damaged stamina. He sent a trickle of magic to sooth the ache until it was bearable and decided to send a little to the wound on his finger. Nothing happened. The skin refused to stitch back together. The magician frowned and sent more, the amount normally needed to heal a broken limb. Still nothing happened. He scowled at the injury and it glared mockingly back at him.

The Kyralian growled quietly under his breath, arriving at the conclusion that trying to solve this now was a waste of his time and that he needed the energy to keep him going. After all, the scratch could wait.

However, a few miles later and Akkarin's belief that he would survive this ordeal was being to falter. He was still yet to see any sign, anything at all, that he was in fact travelling back towards Kyralia. For all he knew, he could be bringing himself closer and closer to Kariko, or another Ichani, handing himself over without even realising...

No, he thought tiredly. No, surely that isn't true. Can't be true. It just…can't. He would get through this. Akkarin would get back to his homeland safely and see the Guild again, just as he would see his best friend Lorlen and embrace him once more. He just had to believe…that it was all possible…

The future High Lord stumbled over a stray rock and collapsed to the floor in a heap, sand and grit filling his mouth and going down his throat as he sucked in huge lungfuls of air. For hours, Akkarin had been relying on nothing but his newly gained magic, his determination and his pride to keep him going but his body had finally had enough. No more.

Something sharp scraped the back of his throat as he inhaled and tears sprung to his eyes as he attempted to cough whatever it was back up. They were violent, hacking coughs that made his throat raw and left his body in an even greater need for oxygen that made his stomach heave and his chest ache. When at last his throat had cleared, leaving it painfully sore, Akkarin relaxed into the sandy ground beneath him in an attempt to recover some of his lost energy. This will only take a moment, he told himself. I just need to take a short break…

The last thing he remembered was faintly acknowledging that his eyes were closing and a sudden niggling worry that this 'short break' could jeopardise all that he had worked so hard for…

So when Akkarin awoke later to the sound of thunder, he knew something was horribly wrong. His eyes snapped instantly, fear ensnaring his heart. The sky which had been clear before had all but disappeared now behind the brooding storm-clouds that lingered over him. He'd stayed too long. Scrambling to his feet, he feverishly cast his gaze over the immediate landscape. It appeared there was still no-one around. For now.

Akkarin wasn't exactly sure of how long, but he did know that he had potentially lost most of his ground to an Ichani during the time he was slacking. Yes, he had been slacking. He should have known better than to stop at a time like this! The magician swore bitterly under his breath. Admittedly, he did feel more refreshed now than he had before – but that did nothing to improve his current mood. The sky growled again, as though also in a bad mood and Akkarin scowled at the prospect of being outside, not only lost, but drenched as well. He really should have thought this through beforehand.

Something dripped on his nose and he began to frown, but then realised. Sachaka was a desert wasteland. There were almost never any clouds here because the water supplies were so few and far between, but yet they were the only things big enough to make it actually rain…And for there to be a storm as big as the one brewing, it had to be a very large water supply. And water meant food and trees – shelter, a hiding place. The rain began to pick up now but Akkarin no longer felt so melancholy. He may not have made it back to Kyralia yet, but at least now he potentially had somewhere he could stop and reflect on what to do next – and that was a start. Akkarin allowed his feet to carry him onwards, running towards the storm with energy he didn't know he had left in him, hoping that he would make it to this shelter before night fell –the last thing he needed was to be found exhausted in the middle of the desert, drenched to the bone in the middle of the night with nowhere to hide.

As the magician sprinted off, he failed to notice someone watching him go from the top of a sand dune, couple of hundred yards from where he had been sleeping just a couple of minutes ago. The stranger stood alone, eyes narrowed as his eyes locked on the long dark hair and the unnaturally pale skin. This runaway slave was no Sachakan Ichani. Holding out his hands he drew on a large chunk of his power and moulded it into a mindstrike when something shattered his concentration, a disturbance of some sort. He stopped and frowned at the strange sensation of something ghosting across his mind. Worried, he seized the intruder's message, which consisted of only two words. At this, the Ichani let go at once and watched Akkarin flee into the distance with a maniacal grin now plastered on his face.

Let the game begin.

A/N: Feedback would be much appreciated? Hehehe...