A/N: This is my first submission to this website. :) This is a chapter form of Shining Force II: Ancient Sealing. I did change the title, and the dialogue is varied from the game. I hope you like it! Please subscribe and let me know if I can change anything, content-wise or style-wise.
Also note that I do not own any part of this game. The game and original storyline belong to Sega. :)

Chapter One: The Tower is Open

The lock to the Ancient Tower jiggled and clinked midst the near-silence of a warm midnight. A storm was brewing outside – an evil storm, one that would rattle your bones and send a shudder down your spine were you anywhere near Granseal.

All Slade worried about, though, was getting into the Tower before anyone standing guard noticed. He jiggled his set of lock picks again. "Come on. Come on…"

The lock opened and started to fall. The two men behind him gasped, and he shot his hand out and caught it before it hit the ground. He tucked it in a pocket in his tattered tunic.

"Come on, Yannic; Irand." He motioned the brutes behind him forward, his voice below a whisper. He opened the door, wincing before he heard the creak. He stepped forward, placing his toes down before his heels, testing for squeaky boards or booby traps. He wiped his furry snout. It's not easy being a rat. He fingered his whiskers and scratched his twitching nose. He could see easily enough; it was what he could smell that bothered him. Dead rats, dead bats, dead bugs and rotting wood.

The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can be outta here. He motioned for the thugs to stop. "Wait here. I'll scout ahead."

Yannic nodded. Irand actually spoke. "Yeah, Slade; we'll be right here."

Slade whirled back around and glared. "You idiot!" he hissed. "I didn't pay you to talk to me! I paid you to shut up and follow orders! If we are heard, we shall all be hanged." He drew his dagger. "Now, stay quiet, or I'll make it so that you'll never speak again. Are we clear?"

Irand nodded, his eyes wide and frantic. He kept his lips squeezed shut.

"Good. Now stay here, and don't move." He looked around as he sheathed the blade, his red eyes trying to take in everything around him. He could sense the eyes of many a scavenging creature on him as he walked around. He turned to the right and moved toward an opening in the wall. He reached the end of the corridor and put one of his ears to the stones. He tapped on a stone with a long fingernail.

Nope. Nothing here. Maybe the other side… He turned around. The scampering of mice echoes through the great hall. He shuddered for just one second, wondering if something was wrong.

Thunder roared outside. The Tower shook. He could hear stones fall off the top of the Tower, to fall some 200 feet or so to the ground. He jumped and took out his knife back out. He could not help but feel like… something else was watching him. Something besides the rats and the bugs that infested this hellhole.

Something was telling him where to go. Where to find the jewels he read about in the church. He shuddered again. This is bad. This is really bad, Slade, and you know it. This isn't for the poor. This is for someone… something else.

But he kept walking. He kept walking to the other side of the room. Another corridor led to a door – a great stone door with strange, elaborate carvings all over it. He put his hand on the door, and it slid open without any sound. Behind it was a huge, elegant spiral staircase.

That was too easy. "Yannic! Irand! Come over here!" he whispered as loud as he dared. He looked over to where he knew the men were, and then he looked at the door. "I think I've found it." He pushed the door open all the way, and all his premonitions about this being wrong faded into nonexistence. He walked up the stairs, into the new room and quickly surveyed his surroundings.

The room was old, covered with dust and littered with dead things. He brushed the cobwebs out of his face and went further in. "Yannic, come on! Irand! I think I found the room!" He turned to the side and saw what he was looking for.

Two jewels sat undisturbed in an elegant glass case. The one on the left was the color of blood, and the other was as the sky and the heavens.

His heart filled with the joy of greed and contempt. "So this is what they've been hiding. After all these years…" He rubbed his hands together. "Yannic, come here. I need you to grab the jewels. Now, before anyone finds us."

Yannic stepped forward. "Yes, sir." He lifted the case and took hold of the red jewel. He tugged once. Twice. Three times.

"Slade, they're stuck! I…" He pulled again. "I can't get them!"

Irand stepped forward and pushed Yannic aside. "You dolt! Let me try." He grabbed the blue jewel the same way and pulled once. Twice. A third time. "Ugh! Yannic was right. These are stuck tight! I…" He tugged once more. "I can't do it either!" He tried one more time, and cut his hand. He grunted and pulled back. "Ow! They're sharp!" He clenched his fist and tried to staunch the slow, steady flow of blood.

Slade snarled and rolled his eyes. "You moron. Move." He strode up to the stones and pushed Irand out of the way. "The only reason I do not kill you now, is because of three reasons." He held up one finger in front of Irand's pale face. "One: I paid you both a heavy sum of gold out of my own pocket to have you brought to help me." He turned to Yannic. "Two!" he growled, holding two fingers in front of Yannic's chubby face. Yannic started and paled as well. "You two dolts got me this far, and I can't leave any evidence of us being here, unless I want to lose my neck." He whipped toward the jewels once more. "Three," he whispered, "I do not have the heart, or really the power, to kill anyone, most especially those as innocent and helpful as yourselves." He cleared his throat and wrung his hands.

"Alright. Come to me, pretties." He laid his furry hands on the red jewel and tugged. He grunted as it sliced clean across his palm. "Augh!" he hissed, and he clutched his hand. He swore and glared at the stones. "Nasty little buggers, aren't they?" He chuckled and flexed his hand a few times. "Come on, little ones. Evil little jewel, trying to cut me –" He stopped. "Ah. I see." He flexed his hands and put them on the jewels again – this time, both of them at the same time. "One…" He took a breath. "Two…" He tugged the hardest he'd ever pulled on anything. "Three!"

The jewels came loose, and he flew across the room. His head cracked against the stone. Stars swam across his vision.

"Slade!" Yannic and Irand rushed to his side and wiped the blood from the back of the rat's head. Cracks spidered across the stone he had hit, and he had a skull to match.

Slade groaned and opened his eyes. "Ugh, I'm fine, you twits! I'm fine!" He brushed them off and stood up. "I'm Slade! I can hit walls and survive just…" He staggered and put a hand to the wall. "Just fine," he finished, out of breath. He looked at the stone he hit and shook his head. He cursed. "Well, I'll be fine. Just a few splinters, that's all." He staggered again and leaned on Yannic's shoulder. "Sorry. Just… Just get me out of here. Let's go." He swallowed. "We got what we came for."

King Gransel looked out the window for the hundredth time that night. "'Tis a very stormy night, Minister," he sighed. "Much worse than any other April storm I've ever seen."

Minister Jarrys nodded once. "Indeed, sire. Much worse." He noticed the disturbed look on the sovereign's face. "Sire, is everything… Is everything alright? You seem agitated."

"I had each window fitted with glass for this very reason, Jarrys. Do you remember?" His voice was quiet, almost contemplative. "We had a storm not quite as bad as this one a very long time ago." He stroked his long white beard and put all his weight on the elbow he rested on the armrest of his glorious throne. "When I was a young, much sprightlier prince." He chuckled and shook his head.

Jarrys smiled, if only to indulge the king. "I cannot imagine your Highness as a young prince," he teased, folding his arms.

"Ha! I was, once, old friend. But no more." He sighed and stood up, his gnarled hands shaking with age and cold. "Time for bed, I think." He faked a yawn to be more convincing.

Jarrys wasn't fooled. "My Lord, what is wrong? You've not been yourself lately."

Gransel cocked an eyebrow. Good old Jarrys. Never fooled. That's why you're minister, and no other. "There is something about this storm, Jarrys. Something… Something evil. I can't quite put my finger on it." He sighed. "I don't know."

Lightning flashed outside. Stones from the top of the tower plummeted to the soggy ground far below.

"Hm…" Jarrys muttered. "The Tower is becoming weaker by the year."

Gransel smiled. "It's been around since my own childhood. As far as anyone knows, it is impervious to any damage thrown at it." He chuckled. "Don't worry, Jarrys; nothing will come of it." But a shudder crept up his spine despite his comforting words. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong…

"King Gransel! Minister Jarrys!" A knight ran into the throne room at full speed and fell to his knees before the king. "News comes from the Ancient Tower!"

Gransel motioned for the knight to rise. It was clear that this could not wait. "Speak."

The knight took a deep breath and coughed. "The… The doors to the Tower! They are open, sire!"

Minister Jarrys paled and looked at the king. "What does that mean, your Highness?" he breathed.

Gransel ran his fingers through his beard. "Obviously, someone got in. That could mean many things."

"Sire, there's more."

He started. "What?" he demanded. "Don't hide anything from me, soldier, or I will see you punished!"

The soldier bowed. "It's the sealed door. It's been opened."

The king exchanged a worried glance with the minister. "That's…"

Jarrys would have paled even more, had it been possible. "That's not possible. That door hasn't been opened since…" He trailed off and turned to the guard. "Show me!"

A gust of wind blew out all the candles in the room. The whole castle was plunged into darkness.

"My king, are you alright?"

Gransel waved his hand before his face, but he could not see his fingers. "I'm fine, Minister," he rasped. "It's very dark. Just be careful not to trip or hurt yourself on the way out."

Jarrys grunted. "Too late," he muttered. "Are you going to be alright here on your own? Shall I call someone to stand guard over here?"

"No! Jarrys, go help the guard! I will be fine. I can take care of myself." Gransel took a deep breath and waved Jarrys and the guard out the door. "Go, before someone gets in there."

The two immediately left, stumbling over fallen candelabra and twisted rugs on the way out of the castle. Gransel could not help but stifle a laugh.

The laugh disappeared as he heard a strange sound behind him. A voice – not one of words, but a laugh. More of a dark chuckle, really. He whirled around to face what he knew was his throne.

He took a dagger from his belt. "Hello?" he called into the abyssal darkness. "Is someone there?" He took a few steps forward, and almost tripped on the steps leading to his throne.

Lightning flashed, and thunder roared. A dark shadow in the corner lit for a split second in the sudden flash of light, to show a figure. Gransel jumped back, but kept moving toward it.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "As king of Granseal, I order you to show yourself to me, and tell me who you are!" He slashed out, and managed to lose his hold on his knife. He cursed under his breath. "Show yourself! I command it!"

Another strike of lightning lit the room, and Gransel had just enough time to see the creature's face. It was green, with stunning blue eyes boring holes straight through the darkness. It walked forward, closer and closer to the king.

"Stop! Stay away!" Gransel begged. He turned away for a moment. "Someone, help! Come to me!"

The creature – it must have been a demon – began to chant. There was something in his voice that frightened Gransel more than the spell. It was triumph, victory.

Oh Mitula, Volcanon, save me.

A strange vortex surrounded his frail body, and he spun. Around… and around… and around. He could not keep a scream from rising to his lips and ejecting from his throat.

The spinning stopped, and the creature chuckled again. Gransel fell to the floor and hit his head. He closed his eyes and welcomed the darkness that enveloped his mind.

At least it's better than the demon…