Note: I do not own either Kingdom Hearts one, two, or Final Fantasy. The rating may change in later chapters.
The True Champion
The Olympus Coliseum is home to the warrior, the hero, and anyone able to harness their fighting spirit. Spectators from all over the world, and occasionally from other worlds, gather here to see their favorite gladiators fight for their lives in the fabled arena. Heartless, Nobodies, monsters, Titans, and even gods are only the tip of this most dangerous iceberg. If the combatants can brave the perils of the arena, then they are rewarded with the ultimate prize.
Glorious victory. For this, men have killed, sacrificed, and died to obtain.
There were none braver, stronger, or more skilled than Hercules.
The Son of Zeus. Demigod. Wonderboy. His strength is only outmatched by the power of his heart. He's the man every man talks of in reverent tones, the man every woman adores, every child's hero, and every opponent's worst nightmare. His matches always draw legions of cheering fans from all parts of the galaxy. His skills are what make his matches memorable for his fans, and the bruises those skills bestow are what makes his challengers tremble.
A fight against Hercules was akin to fighting Mount Olympus itself.
Today, the Coliseum is packed with over a thousand screaming fans. Each eyed the enormous bronze doors eagerly, hoping to catch a glimpse of their hero. For now the battle platform is empty, but it will not be for long.
The next match is in ten minutes and Wonderboy was up next.
Philoctetes sat on a stone block across from his pupil in the Coliseum's lobby. His hoofed feet clacked restlessly against the smooth rock he was perched upon. He looked like and immensely depressed, under grown owl. The Satyr lifted his horned head slightly as he drew in another deep breath and immediately released it in a long sigh. Clasping his hands nervously, he began, for the fifth time in this hour alone, the mantra that Hercules had been forced to listen to for the last day and a half.
"They say he's undefeatable," he began worriedly.
"Ninety-eight, ninth-nine, one-hundred," Hercules said, finishing his warm up exercises and pushed himself up into a sitting position and tried valiantly to keep the irritation out of his voice, " I know Phil."
A shudder ran though the little man's furry body, making his hooves clack louder against the stone, " He's a newcomer, but no one's been able to touch him yet."
"You've told me this before Phil," Hercules informed him.
"They say he's-"
"Phil!" the hero shouted. He'd had more than enough of this.
The goat man nearly jumped off the rock, his face flushing darkly as he cast the warrior an apologetic glance," I'm sorry kid. I don't mean to go on like this, but I want you to know what you're up against here."
The Son of Zeus felt a moment's guilt, his friend was trying to help him after all, even if he was carrying it a bit too far. He knelt down to eye level with Phil and mentor and placed a friendly hand on his shoulder.
"I know Phil, but you don't need to worry that much. I'm undefeated too remember? Besides," Herc gave him a nudge and a wink," I was trained by the best. He wasn't."
Philoctetes sat there for a long time, staring at the floor, and considering those words. Then he raised his horned head, a bit of the old Phil glimmering in his eyes, "Yeah! That's right! You're Hercules! The best of the best trained by the best! There's not a chance in the Underworld that you could lose!"
"That's right," Hercules agreed as he gave his mentor's shoulder a friendly squeeze.
Phil had almost rubbed the soreness out of the muscle when the gong rang throughout the lobby, signaling that the match was about to start.
Phil flinched and jumped off the block, "Okay kid this is it," he ushered his protégé out the door, "remember rule number eighty-three: don't underestimate your opponent."
"I'll remember Phil," he said as he buckled on his sword belt.
As he was pushed through the doors he heard something that made his stomach lurch violently below his chest.
"Kid, I got two words for you. Good luck."
Things had to be bad if Phil actually managed a correct count.
Hercules stepped out of the dark lobby and into the bright sunshine. He was greeted immediately by the roar of a thousand screaming fans, waving humbly and offering a cheerful smile as they clapped, cheered, and stomped their feet. They screamed his name and whistled at him, causing him to flush in embarrassment.
Thanks to Phil's training, the demigod was in top physical form. He was over two-hundred pounds of raw power and strength. Iron dense muscle graced his form, revealing a lifetime's worth of punishing exercises that would have killed most others.
The Son of Zeus could smash boulders with a flick of his wrist, move the earth beneath his feet with his bare hands, and outrun most of the royal horses at dead sprint. His strength went beyond that of any mere mortal and even a few of the lesser gods.
He was dressed as a gladiator; tooled leather breastplate, bracers, laced sandals, and a leather kilt cut into strips to allow freedom.
of movement, and a short azure cape that ended at the small of his back.
Wonderboy hopped into the arena and eagerly awaited his opponent. The crowed fell into an anxious silence as Hercules drew his sword. The atmosphere was charged, making the hair in the hero's neck stand on end. Excitement glittered in the eyes of combatant and spectator alike.
Long moments passed, and nothing happened.
Then, everything was lost in a blast of glorious white light.
Several faint of heart in the crowd screamed, most shielded their eyes before the glow could pierce them. Hercules turned his head away, but not before he thought he could see bright and rotating symbols trace themselves in the air. The hung there, three of them connected, poised, before erupting into a pillar of fire that shot down into the arena like a comet. Everything brightened, and Hercules was forced to shield his eyes or risk losing his sight permanently.
As quickly as it started it was over. Hercules blinked tears from his eyes and looked around blearily as he tried to adjust his vision.
This was how he became aware of the man in black.
He knelt, less than eight feet away. The crowd gasped when their eyes refocused and they saw him rise slowly, almost gracefully. The armor he wore was black, trimmed in crimson and silver. A corona of molten silver hair cascaded down his back and past his waist. A dark cape, clasped firmly by black shoulder guards, rested around his ankles. His eyes were cold, glittering the color of frozen ice, which held far more warmth that his gaze. All of this he dimly recalled later, for it was not what held his attention.
What captured his attention, was the single black wing that sprouted from his shoulder, like that of a giant raven, extending as the man rose to his full height. He drew a long sword from the scabbard at his waist, a sword that was more than twice Hercules' size, and he was as big as an ox.
This was no man before him. Here stood a warrior. In every sense of the word.
Wonderboy wrenched his eyes from the angelic wing and asked, "Are you my opponent?"
The Son of Jenova regarded the Son of Zeus so coldly, that Hercules literally felt his heart stop for an instant. Frozen in his chest by the man's cold, emerald eyes.
"I am Sephiroth," he answered in a silken tone.
For the first time in all his experience of facing titans, monsters, Heartless, Nobodies, and even the occasional god or two, Hercules trembled.