A Final Fantasy Tactics story

Angel in Crimson

Written by Spiritblade

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy Tactics, though I hope, someday that there will be an anime based on that most honored game. I write this story in hopes that, one day, that this idea will catch hold – and lay the foundations for a good story to be told. I have not played the game, so I ask tolerance for any discrepancies I make.

This story is told in the moments prior to the final battle between Ramza and his party and the Bloody Angel Altima. I hope I have managed to capture the essence and character of an unholy being like the Bloody Angel.

X X X X X X

The Graveyard of Airships is like a borderland between this world and the Underworld, the remnants of a once-glorious civilization stretching for as far as the eye can see. Thick, cold mists, reminiscent of the sleeting winds of Cocytus, shroud the entire region like a blanket of ice filled with barely-contained malice and danger. Here, once upon a time, a battle had been fought. The thunder of battle and the battle-cries of a hundred thousand ghosts resound in the silence; the oaths, the crash of great guns, the screams of the dying. Even though that event had faded into the mists of time and legend, I can feel the intensity of that distant, bygone age.

They would come soon, my adversaries, those who would deny me my resurrection. They have stridden the length and breadth of the continent, fought against adversaries mightier than them, and been cast out and down by those they loved and sought to protect. And still they came. Their determination is commendable, but it will be for naught. I pull my robes about my body, warding off a cold I could not feel. My silver hair cascades to my ankles, and over the lush curve of my breasts. I did not need to look into a mirror to know I was beautiful in the way that would have made legions of men like Ramza Beoulve spill blood for my affections. I remembered the first time I died, centuries ago, in the dungeons of Golgorand. I remembered Germonik betraying me to the Yudora Empire for the sake of 30 gold crowns. I remembered the filthy hands of the guards and their sick, unrelenting lust as they violated me again and again in the night before my execution. A filthy woman, they mocked, had dared to challenge the monarchies and undermine the authority of the Fara Church. Let us humble her! Let us defile and break her so that she shall learn the error of her ways before she swings from the end of a rope!

My eyes narrow. The hate and humiliation I felt then in my final moments had not faded with the passing of the centuries. I desired power, and I was willing to pay the price that it demanded. Were those foolish kings and arrogant priests in that era so different? They would sell hundreds of lives without a thought if it meant that their goals were made easier to accomplish. Yet, for all their pretences of honor, nobility and martial skill, they were nothing more than dogs in the skins of men. If I were to compare Germonik, after my servants had filled me in on why he had done what he did, I would hold my treacherous disciple in higher standing than they. He knew what I was planning. He knew that I was planning to awaken the Lucavi, the ancient demonic generals who had once followed a mighty Archangel of God who had led two-thirds of the Holy Host in rebellion against God, and had acted accordingly. The Yudora Empire's rewarding him and their original task of them having Germonik spy on me was irrelevant when all was said and done.

Germonik had his convictions, and betrayed me because of them. In that cold dungeon, I remembered his eyes and his face, warm and kind. He was the last person I would have expected to betray me. I had planned to use him and then discard him when that usefulness had ended. But, I hesitated. Why? What was it about Germonik that caused me to hesitate? I've done away with men – and no few women - better than him. I should have. If I had, I would not be here now, trying to regain everything I have lost because of him.

But, things would be easier now. The Glabados Church is nothing more than an extension of my Will. Its followers – save those high in its hierarchy – is blind to the truth. They name me a 'Son of God', and make legends of my actions. I cannot help but snicker at the irony. I was executed a traitor, and revered later on as a Saint of the highest order. My servants ensured that those who further my aims were properly rewarded. Well-crafted lies forged a religion whose power and influence outstrips that of the rulers of the land. All I had to do now was defeat the boy and his small army that I sense approaching.

I feel his sister struggle within me. She, too, knows that he is coming. Sweet little Alma Beoulve, pure and lovely – you love your brother not as your kin, but as a woman. Ah, do not lie. I know you, my little dove. I know your every sin and your every secret. I know how much you fantasize about your darling brother having his way with you. You are jealous of the women surrounding him. And why should you not be? Each and every one is the woman you long to be. Agrias Oaks, regal and proud, the pride of her father and her House, is Justice incarnate – lovely in the way that the first morning could be, and deadly as the swords of the Tyrant God's divine servants. Then there is Meliadoul Tingel, who is Faith, and who had once stood among my Faithful and had persecuted your brother for his daring to stand up against my Church. Hers is the battle-cry that has echoed through the long centuries, praising the Tyrant, even as her sword arm and Charms do my will. Then, there is Miluda of the Death Corps, who embodies Fortitude, from whom your brother had inherited everything from his way of commanding his soldiers and the way he faces each and every battle and whom he wishes to cross swords with again when he meets her in the afterlife.

And there are others as well. There are female soldiers among his host who love him and will follow him to their soul's dying breath. And they have. And he knows that to turn back now would be to dishonor the memory of all those who have died for a tomorrow they will never see. I know what those in power will say of Ramza Beoulve and those who follow him. They will call your brother, dear Alma, a servant of demons, a heretic and a traitor. Should they capture him, a slow, agonizing death is all the reward he will be given for all his pain. In time, the truth of his actions will be known. But, it will only be long, long after he draws his last breath. I am doing him a mercy, darling Alma. I will kill him here and now, and save him all that. Yes, even his friends.

But, maybe, I will turn him. Making him mine, to completely pervert this pure-hearted soul to my cause, will be far more delicious. His is a soul that would raise my standing in the Unholy Host, even as I show and teach his pleasures of the flesh and conflict that his foolish ideals could never envision or grasp. Ah, why such anger, dear Alma? I am using your body for the act, after all. Is it not your wish for your brother's seed to fill your womb, and birth his children? The desire for the forbidden, like I have said before, is something I understand.

Ah, here he comes now, my little dove. Go on, look at him. It will be the last time you do so. Urggh…you're still fighting me? Give up, little brat. You're mine – body and soul. I, who was once Adjora Glabados, will not be denied. I will be reborn, and this world shall be mine. I will not let the Tyrant or His dogs cast me and my kin back into the Pit a second time. Stop it…!

I hear the hiss of swords being drawn, felt the heat of the holy power imbued in those weapons Ramza and his lackeys have used to strike down my loyal servants. There are over fifty of them. I laugh. Even if they brought a thousand, it wouldn't be enough. My power had once sundered the army of this world here, in a bygone age. What can these pathetic fools do to me? But, it is because of that that I am intrigued. These men and women are mightier than those who cast me down. They are fewer in number, but their strength is immeasurably stronger. I feel the wrath and bloodlust in my soul roil with the force of an apocalyptic hurricane.

Don't think you can stop this, Alma Beoulve. I WILL kill your brother and his companions before I consume your body and soul.

"Fools," I glare at Ramza, who was surprised to realize that I was a woman. He, like many others, believed that St. Adjora had been a man chosen by God to lead people into His embrace. Heh…if only they knew the character of the Creator. His ego and arrogance is astounding, surpassing even that of the Archangel who fell because of the same sin. Was it so surprising that the flaws of the Creator could be found in His Creations? It is proof in flesh that God is not perfect. And these fools believe He is.

"You…cannot stop my resurrection," I hiss venomously, my voice echoing throughout this endless, misty underworld, "You do not have the power…"

I smile. They are afraid. They have faced all of my Servants and, as such, know what is about to happen. You have come this far, Ramza Beoulve. I think you deserve to see me in all my glory. As I gather my powers, Alma Beoulve begins to fight me, and the connection I had to her soul was severed. I drop to my knees, clenching my teeth as she practically tears a portion of my soul away and materializes a hundred yards from where I am.

Damn that girl! I underestimated her!

"Brother…kill her! Kill Adjora before…it is too late…" she whimpers.

"You will not prevent my resurrection, foolish girl! It is too late. You have merely delayed the inevitable! Prepare…to meet your doom!" I shout, "Come to me, my Servants!"

And they come. Several of them take an involuntary step backwards. I cannot blame them. It would be foolish to not fear the boy and his ragtag army of would-be saviors. At that moment, I allow the terrible cosmic forces to flood my veins, and a blinding light erupts from my heart and the Virgo Zodiac Stone. The sound of deafening thunder is the sound that had once been the first heartbeat of Creation, and the light was the one that had once sent the Darkness reeling by the command of the Tyrant. When the light clears, I open my eyes, and I tower over Ramza Beoulve and his fellows, garbed in a tight crimson bodysuit and hip-high boots. The wings on my head and on my back flash out, and I enjoy the look of awe, shock and horror in Ramza's eyes. It was utterly intoxicating. Did he expect a monster like Queklain or Hashmalum, perhaps?

A gleaming red breastplate adorned with unholy sigils, dragon-faced leg-guards and clawed-gauntlets crackling with unearthly energies materialize, encasing me in their protective embrace. I turn and grin at Alma. My unspoken message was clear to her: I cannot be stopped. What she has done is only delay the inevitable. I can barely control myself. The lust I feel is about to erupt in an explosion like a newborn star. I feel Ramza Beoulve's every heartbeat through the Virgo Stone that is seared to my own heart.

"Now, prepare to meet your end, powerless ones!"

With a thunderous battle-cry and a pound of massive wings, I bear down on this daring mortal. He does not flinch. His sword, a familiar sword I dimly remember, slices up to meet me. My bodyguards rushed forward at that instant, the signal to join the fray given. The boy's companions respond in kind. Almost instantly, over a dozen of my servitors were sent flying as thunderbolts and divine magic smash them from their feet. My lips pull into a grin as I begin unleashing one blow after the other on this sweet, innocent youth, the purity of his soul driving me insane with desire and hunger. So close, so very close…! I can almost taste him!

He gave a strangled scream as one of my taloned gauntlets rip past his breastplate and into his shoulder. Blood sprayed from the wound, and onto my face and hair. Even the scent of his blood, the taste of it, drove me even further into insanity. I unleashed blow after unrelenting blow on him, each stroke capable of killing breaking down a castle wall. But, still he defied me. Excalibur cut deep, and I could feel the holy wrath imbued in the blade through the haze of my blood-rage. A thunderous blow causes me to reel, and I glare at the culprit.

Older than most of the men and women he brought, Orlandu Durai, or Thunder God Cid, was perhaps the mightiest warrior on the continent. Though old, his fighting skills were just as, if not more, formidable than when he had been three decades younger. My brief distraction cost me dearly, as Ramza soon sent a terrifying blow that sends me backpedaling. At that same instant, the Thunder God smashes me off my feet, and into what had once been the Airship's main laser cannon. The steel housing crumples like paper from the ensuing impact. I laugh, joyous. Yes, like this! This was what it felt like, centuries ago, when some foolish boy name Ruglia…

…wait. Ruglia. I get to my feet, forcing the blood haze back enough to allow me to focus. I see, for the first time, how badly injured the boy is. More than thirty of his companions have fallen, and several of my finest have been consigned to Final Death. I felt a thrill rush through my veins. I see the look of despair in his eyes when he realizes just how many of his friends will never feel the sun on their faces again. He whispers their name, and I hear the agony in them. Yes! Yes! That is the same look my conqueror over a thousand years ago had when his friends fell about him! I know you now, Ramza Beoulve. Your blood, your soul…you are the descendant of the one who defeated me so long ago. I had long, long dreamt of a rematch such as this. In my dreams, I had wanted this more than anything. I have never fought to the full extent of my powers; I would cut down my servants as well as my enemy should I do so. But now, I am beyond caring.

"I see…" I whisper through bloodied lips, "You…you are the descendant of the one who defeated me over a thousand years ago."

A look of confusion fills his eyes. I will not enlighten him. There is no reason for me to. I raise my bloodied fists up, and the boy's eyes sharpen. We will dance as your ancestor and I had danced, to the music of crashing steel and Battle Skills. We would fight as he and I had, putting blood and soul on the altar. God cannot make anything purer than struggle, because in that moment, we are closer to Him than ever.

I try to rise, but I realize that I cannot. My wings are broken, and my injuries are beyond terrible. Not even a prince of my kind can take such injury and live for long. I threw up blood. No…not like this. Not a second time! I refuse to admit defeat. I raise one hand, power and light erupting like a supernova. The boy's eyes widen, and I laugh. I had mastered this spell centuries ago, boy. I knew it long before I was elevated to 'sainthood'. He and his companions charge forward. Thunder God Cid and the Divine Knight Meliadoul reach me first, and their blades slam into my body. The boy, unleashing a battle-cry, attempts to cut off my arm.

Too late - I bring it down; Excalibur misses, but the boy brings the holy blade down almost immediately at a right-angle, cutting deep into my flesh. My eyes meet his, telling him that it was all for nothing. Not even God could save him now. The entire world erupts in a conflagration, my voice shouting out the name of the Charm that would devastate everything within ten kilometers of where I stand. I did not care if I had to slay my own servants; I will not fall here. Not to this boy, the descendant of the one who had humbled me so long ago!

"Ultima…!!!"

I hear his companions scream in agony. Most of all, I hear him screaming. That sound had me in rapture, and I poured more power into the Charm. That sweet screaming intensified, ending only as the light and thunder of my army-slaying spell faded. When I lowered my hand, I realized what had happened. No longer was my hand clothed in flesh, but was that horrid form I so loathed. I did not want to see my form, stripped of its beauty and grace. I shiver. I hate this. I remember the Creator's Champion looking down at me, the fiery sword in his hand, its touch blasting away the celestial flesh and beauty that had made me shine as gloriously as the stars in the night sky. I lower my hands, and realize, to my amazement, that Ramza and his compatriots are still alive – though barely.

I roar, my voice now the sound of volcanoes erupting, "You cannot defeat me, boy! Surrender and I will make your deaths swift and painless!"

Damn you, boy. Why will you not die? What will it take to kill you?

No. I am Altima, the Bloody Angel. I stood high, once upon a time, in the ranks of the Heavenly Army. I have cast down my loyalist kin and broke the backs of their mortal champions in the Great War. I will not succumb to fear and doubt. I will not bend knee in defeat. I am above these mortal parasites who believe that they can still win.

"Stop talking…" the woman called Agrias snarls, "…and meet your end, demon! You and your ilk will be cast back into the Pit from which you crawled out of!"

"I will not go alone, if that is the case, mortal whore!" I spat back, my voice like stones grinding upon each other, "I will make you all suffer for this! Die!"

I leap forward, my armored legs leaving craters with each step as I bring my steel-encased fists slamming down. My massive, red bat-wings – no longer the angelic wings of my Divine Aspect – pound powerfully, buffeting the rest of Ramza's compatriots away. The Holy Knight brings the blade down, the runes on it aflame, and a divine light all but causes me to backpedal. Then another…and another…and another. Lightning bolt, divine flame and frost slam into me, all at once. Each blow made me realize what had just happened.

I had been tricked.

And it was my last mistake. They had been waiting for me to attack her. I had been concentrating so much on Ramza that I realized that the Holy Knight had been preparing for this moment. The doors of the trap slammed shut the moment I attacked her. Holy sigils and mystical wards – damn that sister of his! – saw to it that I could neither move nor defend myself. If I did so, the Thunder God would have attacked. Had I retreated, the Divine Knight would have cut me off.

When the smoke and mist cleared, I was on my back, and I had returned to my angelic aspect. I was no longer that ten-foot tall demigoddess, but a human-sized and helpless demon princess who had fought her last battle. I was on my knees. No…no…not like this! Not again…! I raise my head, seeing Ramza stand before me, his eyes regarding me with pity and compassion. My lips curled in hate. I don't want your sympathy or your pity, Ramza Beoulve.

"More…more power…" I whisper, my eyes alight, "I will not submit…"

I will make good my promise, Ramza. If I cannot defeat you, then I will end my fear of you by bringing all of you to Hell with me.

"Ramza! Stop her! She's going to…" his sister screams.

It is too late. My physical form starts to shatter, and divine light and flame erupt from the cracks. Ramza Beoulve rushes forward, and with the last of his strength, impales me with Excalibur. It does not matter. I pull him into my embrace and wrap my wings around him, to prevent his escape. He fights desperately but, even at my weakest, I am still the mightier. I lower my head and bite deep into his throat, my fangs slicing through his warm flesh and skin like it was paper. I savor the sweet taste of his blood and his soul; it will be my final meal before I meet my end. I will spite your ancestor's ghost, boy. I will make you mine before we board the ferry.

"Brother…!" I hear Alma Beoulve's despairing scream. I hear his companions scream his name, feel their blades slam into me. I feel the boy weaken in my embrace, heard the strangled sigh as his iron will finally gave way. It was a good battle, young Ruglia. You and your companions have proven yourselves worthy adversaries. I have fought with all my strength, and yet I was still bested. You and your companions have won. The world will go on, but the price of your victory will be your very lives.

X X X X X X

And when the light and thunder that marked the passing of a celestial being faded, all that was left in the Graveyard of Airships was silence.

Fin.