Celes sat at a thick wooden desk, pouring over a tattered parchment. Haphazard heaps of maps and sheaves of paper were stacked in every corner of the command tent, but the desk itself was free of clutter. A pile of neatly stacked reports sat in the corner, weighted down by a dozen wooden disks and a handful of ornate Figaroan coins. She sighed and let the sheepskin fall to the scarred desktop as she rubbed her eyes, trying to figure out how she would convince the mayor of the city that she had already stretched her supply lines to the limit. This occupation was getting more and more difficult every day, and the lack of resupply from Vector and the sorry state of her army helped matters. She had barely a hundred soldiers available to her that were uninjured and healthy enough to fight - half a thousand, if she counted the walking wounded - and only a dozen suits of Magitek armour in operational condition.
The battle for the city had not been particularly fierce; a regiment of light cavalry had harried her column for the week of her initial march from the sea. When the Imperial forces had finally arrived at South Figaro, the Figaroan light cavalry had formed a cordon around the city and sent small skirmishing parties against her, but always retreated. She'd feared an attack by dragoons and heavy chocobo or, worse, some secret mechanical creation of the Royal Workshops, but after two days of bloody but inconclusive skirmishing, the Figaroans had retreated, leaving the city undefended.
During the initial weeks of the occupation, she'd heard rumours that a mercenary calling himself 'Shadow' had been hired by the King of Figaro to sabotage her forces, but none of the spies she'd put into the populace before the invasion had been able to ferret him out and now, a month later, they were still unable to determine if he was even in South Figaro any longer. It was an irritation she could ill afford, especially with the continued sabotage of her Magitek suits.
The Figaroans were, at least on the surface, the perfect example of a conquered people: Docile, welcoming and accepting of Imperial rule. Of course, that was, in almost all cases, an elaborate ruse. A third of the soldiers in her army had come down with cases of the scours within the first week of of the occupation. The medics had no doubt they were eating tainted food, although Figaroans who shared meals with them had all seemed fine. The few Magitek suits she had with her were constantly in for repairs, their gears and joints mysteriously seizing or falling apart completely. No matter how many soldiers she had guarding the armoury, every morning her engineers were forced to make the choice between repairing newly damaged suits or cannibalizing them to keep the rest serviceable.
An errant gust of wind blew through the tent, spilling most of the wooden disks across the tabletop. She examined each one as she re-stacked them, committing the names there to her memory; Arvis, Bannon, Cole, Gabbiani, Garamonde, Figaro...Branford. All of them either confirmed members or suspected sympathizers of the Returners. All of them powerful enough to cause the Emperor to issue these chits to his Generals.
Each chit was stamped with the Imperial Cog and as good as a death warrant for the rebels whose names were carved on them. The vast majority of them would be easy enough for the Empire to find and kill, being unimportant enough in their public life to not warrant a dense and omnipresent bodyguard. King Edgar, though, would be difficult enough to get an assassin near, let alone kill. With the news that Terra had defected to the Rebels, the general consensus amongst the leaders of the Emperor's assassins was that either he or Bannon would have her near them at all times. That meant either the assassins would be dead before they could complete their mission or, less likely, that they would fail and the defences around both Bannon and Edgar would be redoubled.
Celes absently fingered the jewelled pommel of her sword and grinned devilishly as she considered the possibility that Geshtal would request that she accompany one of the assassination teams. If the team succeeded, the entire organization of the Returners would be thrown into disarray. Bannon was their military head, but Edgar Figaro was the one who bought them political capital. Without the old man, their strikes into the heart of the Empire would stop. Without the young king, the Free Cities would flock to the Imperial banner. It would be the opportunity of a lifetime, one she couldn't pass up. Even if it meant that she would have to kill Terra. The girl may have been a friend, once, but she'd betrayed the Empire, and treason was punishable only one way.
The last time Celes and Terra had spoken was two years past, just after Kefka took the girl to be his apprentice. Even then, she'd been a changed person. She had become cold and distant, ignoring all but the most direct of questions. They had been at the Iron Palace in Vector and Celes had just returned from Doma, where she had been an aide to General Christophe's embassy there. Terra had ignored her, instead sitting beside Kefka, idly creating fire at the tips of her fingers and pressing them against a small, furry creature she held in her hand. The thing was alive, although it didn't make a sound when Terra pressed the flames into it's fleshy feet. As Kefka left and took his apprentice with him, Celes caught sight of the creature; it was a baby Lobo, it's eyes and mouth covered in burn tissue. Celes shuddered at the memory. The Terra she remembered had been stolen and in her place was a soulless thing that had betrayed not only the Empire but the friendship they had forged as children. Whatever Kefka had done to her, the Terra she remembered was dead.
She grimaced and shook her head at the thought of Kefka. The fool was dangerously unstable; the fact that the Emperor had given him an entire army group was something that still mystified her. He'd had no formal training, nor any experience in the Army. The sole fact that could have influenced the decision was that Kefka had, along with the help of Dr. Del Norte Marquez, designed the Magitek and Sky armours. Regardless of his technical brilliance, though, he was dangerously unpredictable and mercilessly vicious. Worse still, he enjoyed the pain and destruction he caused with his creations. Celes was convinced that Kefka was mad and that his madness had somehow infected Terra. She considered briefly that madness was what came when one concentrated on the study of magic to the exclusion of all other things.
She shuddered at the thought of having to deal with the man again, grateful that the Emperor had appointed him as the head of the Fifth Reserve Army. They - and he - would likely be on their way to Doma, to help General Christophe break the siege there. She frowned at the thought of the Doman Royal Family and their household being dragged in chains to Vector. The King's retainer had been exceptionally kind to her when she was there, and she cursed herself for forgetting his name, although she was certain she'd recognize the moustachioed knight when she saw him again. If he survived the siege
Her reverie was broken by one of her guards clearing his throat as he lifted the flap of her command tent. Looking up, she waved the green-uniformed soldier forward.
"Come in, Faerin," she said, setting the disks down.
The soldier entered and saluted briskly.
"Ma'am, General Palazzo is here to see you," he stated in his flat, Vector accent. "He says it's urgent."
"Palazzo?" She said, barely suppressing a shudder. "Send him in, soldier."
Faerin saluted again and opened the tent-flap as a slim, garishly dressed man pushed him aside and entered.
"Ah, Celes," said the man airily as he leered at her. "How goes the occupation?"
"It's going well, Kefka," she replied icily. "What are you here for?"
"So direct," he said with a sneer, the thick white paint on his face cracking and flaking with the movement. "I always admired that about you."
"And I've always hated the fact that you never answer questions," she ground out. "Now, what brings you to Figaro, Kefka? Shouldn't you be headed to Doma?"
Kefka did not reply, instead he walked around the command tent and stopped behind Celes. She stiffened as he put his hands on her shoulders and leaned close to her.
"The Emperor," he whispered, "Wanted me to deliver a message to you, personally."
"Well, then give it to me," she growled.
"Of course, my dear," he said, dropping an envelope onto the table.
Celes scanned the letter, her face paling as she absorbed its contents.
"I...I don't understand," she said as she stood and wheeled to face Kefka. "Why would-"
"Of course you understand, my dear," the slim General replied coolly, his grin spreading to a wide, predatory smile. "It's just like the letter says. You're relieved of command. Effective immediately."
"He can't do this!" She shouted as she gestured to the papers on her table. "The occupation is moving faster than we had planned and apart from the supply issue, there's been next to no-"
"Moving too slow, with too much resistance," Kefka said, waving his hand dismissively. "The Emperor wearies of this...what did you call it? 'Hearts and minds?' Well, he wearies of it. So he sent me instead. To get the job done properly. Now, if you'll excuse me, I do believe you're in my tent."
"No," she said flatly, her hand going to the grip of her sword. "This makes no sense, and I'm not going to let you take command of this operation, you lunatic."
"Oh, I think you will, my dear," Kefka said with a laugh. "You see," he added, a sphere of crackling blue energy forming in his hand. "If you don't, I'll have to kill you."
"You wouldn't dare." Celes said as she drew her blade and settled into a fencer's crouch. "My men will-"
"Still be laying in their graves." Kefka said, grinning wickedly at Celes' stricken expression. "Oh?" said, his voice dripping with enjoyment, "Did you not hear? There was an attack on the barracks this morning by the resistance. Terrible business." He stepped out from behind the table and bowed quickly to Celes. "Fortunately," he said, "My Magitek regiment was able to put down the attack. We had to burn the barracks to do it, though. We killed them all. Alas, none of your men survived. A pity."
Celes advanced on him, the tip of her blade probing toward his chest. "You son of a bitch," she snarled as he evaded the bright steel blade.
"We did find the families of the perpetrators, though," Kefka said, his voice still thick with enjoyment, "You can watch the executions with me, if you want, my dear."
"You sick bastard!" she shouted as he sidestepped a second thrust. "Those are innocent people! You can't just kill them!"
"Oh, I can and I will," he said, an exaggerated frown replacing his smile. "Alas," he added sadly, "The more I think on it, the more I realize that your company would only ruin the moment." He snapped his fingers and waved to Celes. "Guard?"
Faerin stood, frozen, in the entryway to the command tent, his hand convulsively gripping the haft of his mace. "G...General?"
"Arrest this...woman, would you? She attempted to strike a superior officer."
Faerin shook his head and stepped back. "I need to see the order relieving her of-" his voice died in his throat as a blue glow filled the room. A bolt of electricity arced from Kefka's hand to Celes' blade, melting the rune-etched mythril down to the hilt. A second bolt of energy lashed out and struck Faerin, throwing him against the canvas wall of the tent. Celes' stare went from the smoking ruin of her sword blade to where Faerin lay, a smouldering hole in his chest.
"Why must it be so difficult to find good help?" Kefka asked, his hands still smoking with residue from the bolt of energy that killed Faerin.
"You won't get away with this, you son of a bitch," Celes said as the temperature in the tent began to fall. A jagged shard of ice crystallized in her hand and shot out toward Kefka's chest.
"Oh, please," he said as we waved his hand and the ice shard burst into a cloud of steam. "Your pathetic displays of power grow tiresome, Celes. Guards?" A pair of brown-shirted Magitek troopers stepped in. "Arrest her."
Celes struggled against the two soldiers as they grabbed her arms. Kefka stepped close to her and dragged a gloved finger along her jawline. "Don't worry, my dear," he said with a grin. "I'll make sure they take excellent care of you." He waved his hand and the two troopers dragged her away. "Make sure you keep her hands bound," he shouted after them, "So she won't be able to cast anything!"
Looking around the command tent, he capered a few steps and sat heavily onto Celes' camp chair. He scattered the neatly stacked reports as he swung his legs onto the table and leaned back. "Valen!" he shouted, "Get in here! I have orders to dictate and whatnot!"
A pinch-faced man scurried into the tent and saluted Kefka. "Sir?" he asked.
Kefka sat up and leaned forward, resting his elbows on Celes' desk. "First," he said as Valen nodded and began scribbling in a worn notebook. "I need someone to get rid of that body; it's starting to stink. Second, tell that moron Nunzio that he's going to be in charge of the occupation. I have a list of dissidents he needs to round up and execute, and make sure that he doesn't screw this up like he did in Miranda. Third," he added as he stood up and began to pace, "I need to have my Poisoners ready to move by the end of the day; we've got to get to Doma and bail that pinhead Christophe out of the trouble he's found himself in. Read that back."
"Uh, yes, sir," Valen said, his voice shaking in undisguised fear, "First, a body removal detail for this tent. Second, Colonel Nunzio to assume command and repress any attempts at resistance - names of suspected resistors provided. Finally, the Chemist Company will be ready to mobilize by the end of the day for transfer to the Doma front to relieve General Christophe. Uh," he added meekly, "Is there anything else, sir?"
Kefka looked at Valen intently for a moment and then smiled, flakes of thick, white grease paint falling from his face. "Yes. Make sure that bitch Celes suffers for her insolence; have Konrat practice on her. Tell him to have fun."
Valen gulped and scribbled into his notebook.
"Now," Kefka said, "Read that one back to me."
"Yes, sir." Valen squeaked. "General Chere, being accused of treason and relieved of duty, is to be interrogated by Sergeant Konrat as to the extent of her betrayal. The Sergeant is reminded to not allow the General's rank restrain him."
Kefka's eyes narrowed as a halo of flame formed around his head. "I didn't hear the word 'suffer,' Valen," he growled.
"Uh, sorry, sir," Valen said as he shrunk away from Kefka. "Sergeant Konrat is to ensure that the General, uh, suffer, during the interrogation."
Valen flinched as Kefka smiled broadly and clapped his hands, the halo of flame disappearing. "Excellent! Now, get out of here, I have important Generaling to do!"
Valen nodded gratefully and ran out of the tent as Kefka sat back down and rifled through the scattered reports on the desk. He picked up the stack of wooden disks and rifled through them, pausing at the one marked 'Branford.' "You bitch," he growled as the disk burst into flames. "I'll show you what happens to people who betray me."
Kefka walked out of the tent and threw the burning disk behind him, cackling as the reports inside caught and burst into flames. "Valen!" he shouted, "Get someone to deal with this mess!"