Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy 3 or any other of the Final Fantasy.
Taking some liberties with the Final Fantasy Worlds and mixing them together somewhat.
Since reading the manual before starting the game, I decided that Ingus' crystal pendant had to have some important meaning in the game – whether it was something that triggered a certain job class or something else entirely. I was rather disappointed that once completing the game – and all the Mognet mail triggered sidequests that it meant nothing...
Sulking over that fact one night, the plot bunnies came and walloped me on the head... and this fic was born... along with something that came with a 'OMG I just realized moment' between a character in game and a NPC – both in FF3
Multiple and cross Final Fantasy pairings and don't take anything that is hinted at face value...
...and yes, I do question my sanity...
And FYI – this is the only disclaimer I'm giving – unless something out of the realms of Final Fantasy is mentioned, in which case I'll disclaim if it is not original and if you ask me questions in your reviews, I will respond to them in the next chapter.
And whilst this is a major update of seven chapters, it is only happening because I split up a started story into seven different places and edited it to fit this story arc instead of the one I was going with...
I used to operate under the Username Jenza1202 – but I forgot the password and the email address for no longer exists.
…the Forgotten Continent…
Darkness was beginning to descend, his vision was turning blurry as pain shot through his head again. Every single breath he took was absolute white hot agony. His helmet had done little to lessen the force of the blow he he had received to the head... although it probably had saved him from instant death... His armour had done little to protect him from the swift and brutal kick he had taken to the chest – the blow that had sent him across the room and into the rock strewn corner.
…Maiden Sari…
He was half cursing himself for making use of the 'Soul Eater' ability the Dark Knight Job class had made available to him. The dark spell allowed him to transform his energy into pure dark energy, which always caused heavy damage to the enemy, but slowly sapped his strength and energy... the more he used it, the weaker he became. In the battle that was currently ranging, against the fiery demon, he had been using the ability as much as he possibly could. Everyone knew that they were out of their depth. The demon was much stronger than anything else they had ever faced in battle.
With Arc casting spells, Luneth attacking with a barrage of Arctic Winds and Bomb arms. Refia had her hands full with keeping everyone healed. He had instructed Refia, to concentrate on keeping herself, Arc and Luneth healed – stating that he would use X-Potions and Hi-Potions to regulate his own health levels. It was only fair... he was the one sapping his own strength...
…Village of the Summoners…
He had paid dearly for his decision. As he had been reaching for an X-Potion, the firey demon had turned its orangey yellow gaze upon him – a strange expression of intent and remorse in its eyes. It had then unleashed three devastating attacks on him.
The first had been a Firaga attack, which caused the very air around him scorch and burn, making him collapse to his knees, lungs burning and eyes watering as he struggled to draw breath. The blow to the head had quickly followed, leaving him dazed and seeing double, with Refia's screams and Arc and Luneth's shouts echoing in his ears... shouting at him to move. Then came the kick to the chest, a talon clad foot smashing into his ribs, knocking him across the room, his armour still smoking slightly from the Firaga attack.
…Home…
He could feel himself slowly drifting, and he knew that he was slowly loosing the battle to remain conscious. His allies, his friends, were still battling on, and he could hear shouts and roars of echoing all around him, and through his blurred vision, he could see flashes of magic, from the spells that Arc and Refia were casting, as well as the flashes of bright steel from Luneth's twin axes.
…Alex…
Carefully he moved his head, cursing silently as his world spun. Gingerly, he pressed the open part of his helmet against the cold marble floor, grateful that, at least some part of his battered, burning body, could leant against something cold, and the pain relieved slightly.
...My little Alex…
He let out a moan of pain, and forced himself to keep his eyes open. He knew that the group couldn't spare any Phoenix Downs, nor any avoidable revive or raise spells. If he could, he would stay awake, and therefore improve his chances of not slipping into the 'void' between life and death. He was hoping that he could stay conscious long enough, for the others to finish the fight, so that Refia could cast a curative spell, or for Luneth and Arc to hand him a few Hi-Potions.
…My little Angel…
He coughed weakly, his ribs protesting the action. Blood splattered onto the dirty and cracked marble floor, showing him that he had at least one broken rib that had punctured a lung. Weakly, he tried to raise his head, the human part of him wanting to call out for help, the soldier and army trained half of him wanting to try, once more, to stand and find his blades, so he could return to battle.
…My poor little Angel…
His strength failed him, as the smallest of movements sent abject agony flaring through his battered and exhausted body. For the first time, he felt fear run through him, fear that he was going to die. That he was going to die in some godforsaken, abandoned mansion. That he was going to breath his last, lying on some dirty, cracked marble floor, thousands of miles away from the place he called home, thousands of miles away from everyone he knew… everyone he loved…
…I'm sorry….
He let out an almost inaudible sob, giving into the pain, the pain radiating through his body slowly growing, the burning pain not leaving him, nor the pain in his head or his ribs. In all his years, he had never known pain like what he was feeling now. From the horrific migraines he used to have as a child – the headaches which left him physically sick, lying in a darkened room unable to bare the slightest sliver of light, sounds or touch, to the time he badly poisoned – when the scouting group he had been with had no antidotes. He'd been delirious with pain by the time they had got back to the castle, believing he was speaking to the dead spirits of Sir Gallion and Sir Hart – two legendary Knights who had died 301 years ago.
…I'm so sorry…
Again he forced him to open his eyes, trying to concentrate on the fight, inwardly trying to mentally map out how the rest of the fight would run – who would win, whether or not any of the others would be on the receiving end of three horrific attacks. One thing stood clear though – and it was confusing. The fiery demon, was no longer attacking with its full strength – it was now defending more – only putting up the occasional attack. Since he had been eliminated from the fight, it had become almost passive, and had been sending concerned and sorrowful looks his way – as if it was sorry for hurting him…
…Don't be scared…
He turned his thoughts away from the fight deciding that, if he was going to die here, then he wanted his last earthly thoughts to be of something pleasant, not of the fight. He thought of the kitchen staff that he had, many a time, helped whenever there was a large feast coming up. Practically everyone in the Kingdom knew that if he wasn't on guard duty, in a training session or sleeping – then he'd be in the kitchen, doing what he could to help out whether it was by moving heavy pots and pans for the more elderly members of the kitchens, or by simply sitting in a corner, peeling a pile of vegetables. He thought of the times he had spent in the barracks, laughing and joking with the other soldiers and guards – the friendly rivalry that had been shared there – and the times they spent on the training fields, running through the well known motions with a training sword. His next thoughts of the times he had spent out on duty, in the late afternoon, on the walls near Princess Sara's apartments, listening to her practise her singing.
…all will be well…
As the thought of Princess Sara singing crossed his mind, he slowly realized that he could hear magic drifting around him. It was a gentle song that felt strangely familiar, although he couldn't recall where he had heard it before. The voice was female, the tone and pitch hauntingly familiar, as if he had heard it before…long, long ago, with all memory of it shrouded by the misty past.
…And if I should leave this lonely world behind, your voice will still remember our melody...
He closed his eyes, the music and the song making him feel at peace, and sleepy. The pain he was in was slowly lessening, the burning pain slowly giving way to a warm and gentle aura, leading him to think to himself, that if this was dying, it wasn't all that bad.
'No!' he told himself. 'No! Open your eyes you damn coward!'
He forced his eyes open again, his vision blurry – the double vision hard to separate from one another. The hazy duplicate forms of Refia and Arc were running over to him, concern and horror on their faces. The song was continuing, the siren's call of unconsciousness was still beckoning to him, the call far to mesmerizing to resist. He allowed his eyes to close, letting himself drift off into the void – completely oblivious to the sound of Refia screaming out his name.
As he drifted into unconsciousness, he realized he had recognized the fiery demon they had been fighting.
…Come circle round and grow deep in our hearts. As long as we remember…
As he drifted into unconsciousness, he realized that he had recognized the fiery demon that they had been fighting... and what was more – the knowledge of what the demon had done to him made him feel exceedingly betrayed...
...and he couldn't quite grasp why...
"…Infrit…" he whispered, before allowing himself to fall into oblivion.