Prologue:

The King Who Would Not Die

And so the next stage of the epic comes to life in Granseal. The fact of an SF2 fic is not very remarkable, I'd say that about 60% of the fics currently up are SF2 based (although that may have changed now that MartinIII has been publishing) but this is my first venture into SF2. A few technical notes must be noted, I own the plot, dialogue and all original characters. Sega and Camelot own bits and pieces of everything else. Oh, and this is AU, which should be self-evident given the continuity this has with "Shining Legacy." Enjoy.

Baby, I've been waiting,
I've been waiting night and day.
I didn't see the time,
I waited half my life away.
There were lots of invitations
and I know you sent me some,
but I was waiting
for the miracle, for the miracle to come.

I know you really loved me.
but, you see, my hands were tied.
I know it must have hurt you,
it must have hurt your pride
to have to stand beneath my window
with your bugle and your drum,
and me I'm up there waiting
for the miracle, for the miracle to come.

Ah I don't believe you'd like it,
You wouldn't like it here.
There ain't no entertainment
and the judgements are severe.
The Maestro says it's Mozart
but it sounds like bubble gum
when you're waiting
for the miracle, for the miracle to come.

Waiting for the miracle
There's nothing left to do.
I haven't been this happy
since the end of World War II.

Nothing left to do
when you know that you've been taken.
Nothing left to do
when you're begging for a crumb
Nothing left to do
when you've got to go on waiting
waiting for the miracle to come.

I dreamed about you, baby.
It was just the other night.
Most of you was naked
Ah but some of you was light.
The sands of time were falling
from your fingers and your thumb,
and you were waiting
for the miracle, for the miracle to come.

Ah baby, let's get married,
we've been alone too long.
Let's be alone together.
Let's see if we're that strong.
Yeah let's do something crazy,
something absolutely wrong
while we're waiting
for the miracle, for the miracle to come.

When you've fallen on the highway
and you're lying in the rain,
and they ask you how you're doing
of course you'll say you can't complain --
If you're squeezed for information,
that's when you've got to play it dumb:
You just say you're out there waiting
for the miracle, for the miracle to come.

Written by Leonard Cohen and Sharon Robinson, Stranger Music Inc. (BMI) and Robinhill Music (ASCAP).

It was an unseasonable rain. The sky was dark and thick with its fury, and the wind stirred the rain as well, driving the water where it would. All things considered, it was not a night to conclude a bloody conflict, let alone other less extreme matters. But it was the only night available to them. The only night available to Grans.

Bowie knew that all hope for the future resided with this single venture, that death or life for Grans rested on the outcome of this night alone. He remembered dazedly that he had advocated this plan, argued fiercely, determinedly, even desperately for it along with many of the others, though not all of them. He remembered that. And now the moment was upon them. The moment to act. The only moment.

The moment had been upon them already, he realized abruptly, as his sword clashed with another one. At a glance, Bowie could see that he had encountered a nobleman of some sort, by the relative richness of his armor, and the skill of his sword. And that meant… Squinting through the rain, Bowie could just manage to see his target. Blocking another cut from his opponent, Bowie roared, "Galam! It's you I want, you bastard!"

"No," shrieked the nobleman, furiously whipping his blade around to catch Bowie's, throwing him back slightly. "You dare," he gibbered, his eyes glowing with passion. "Die you foul Gransi!"

Bowie grunted in pain as the sheer weight of the attack forced him back half a step. Twisting his leg around, he sharply dragged his own blade down the edge of his opponent's sword, forcing the edge down, nearly slashing the nobleman's foot.

The noble lept back, awkwardly, hatred twisting his features. Bowie moved forward, confident, cat-quick, but the noble was fast too. He barely managed to flick his sword back up to catch noble's sword. Striking hard, he pushed back, to keep his opponent off-balance.

Stumbling and desperately trying to bring his blade down from overhead the noble spat out a string of obscenities. Bowie stabbed him through the chest. He squinted through the poring sheets of rain. Was Galam still there?

He advanced cautiously, unable to see very far ahead. His foot slipped on a stone. He cursed, righting himself. The field seemed to be deserted, but he could hear the conflict still raging, as though from a great distance. But where…?

He shook his head dazedly, frowning at the fog curling up around him. Where had the fog come from? The thought was slow and he could almost see it, sluggish and viscous in his mind… "Muddled," he muttered thickly. "Muddled," he insisted a bit more easily.

The fog was… receding? No, he realized. There was even more coming in. A blinding flash snapped across his vision, and the sensation of it was as hard as a slap. He winced, blinked, and stared dumbly ahead for a moment.

The mist was gone and the shouting louder. And ahead of him was unmistakably the royal back of King Galam of Galam. And there was… Rhode, he thought numbly, but strangled the impulse to cry out.

He charged forward, his blade out and at the ready. This war would end here. It had been ending for months, ever since Zeon had taken the majority of his forces to Rune. King Galam darted forward; spinning a staff… there was another explosive burst of light from Rhode's cannon.

Galam's staff slammed directly into the oncoming missile, and the burst of light turned back…"RHODE," screamed Bowie as Rhode's own missile rebounded into him. Bowie's blade was a brilliant flash of metal, streaking out to cut Galam in two, when the king turned impossibly quickly, his staff catching the sword and pushing it back.

Bowie stared in horror at his adversary. Galam was scarcely human looking. Where once he had been an old man, his face was cracked, dry, twisted as though it were a very flexible piece of wood, and the strength of that block! The speed of his movements!

A grating deep chuckle found its way past the twisted lips. "The king," it laughed mockingly. "The king of nothing."

"You," Bowie snarled helplessly, lunging in again. "You've killed my friend!"

The demon's eyes gleamed coldly. "We are the only ones here, king of nothing."

It was, Bowie realized abruptly, absolutely true. He was back in the misty… grey place. He and King Galam. He gritted his teeth, staying down in a defensive position, his blade warily menacing the demon. "What is this?"

Galam made no move to attack. "Your destiny. My destiny." It laughed. "Somebody's destiny."

Bowie lunged in at a lower target this time. The staff flashed down, easily blocking the cut. "You persist in your hatred. Is this what you want, king of nothing?"

It was baiting him. He knew it was baiting him. But neither was the possessed king attacking him. Bowie lunged forward a few more times, attempted a few slices, but King Galam easily blocked them all. "Why," Bowie said at last, keeping his sword point directed towards the king's chest, "do you call me a king?"

"Ah," cackled Galam. "An interesting question at last! It is because I see, boy. I see."

Bowie abruptly flung himself forward, his sword wrestling past the staff. Galam's blow nearly tore the blade from his hand. He cursed helplessly, well aware that he was overmatched.

"Yes," the demon whispered. "I see, boy. You are filled with dreams of the world. You see how it should be. Even as we have seen how it should be. Join that dream. Join the power that awaits the king of nothing!"

The words swept over him like a cracking whip. "No…" grunted Bowie.

It was a bright morning. Bowie walked slowly through the streets of Granseal enjoying the early hour. He took a swift look around, making sure there were no citizens nearby. There would be no need to chafe under their unkind eyes this morning.

A grin opened on his face. It was perfect. It was still a few hours before he'd have to get to the school and listen to that old goat Astral drone on and on about things he only half-understood and didn't care about.

He whistled lightly, making his way to the apple orchard. He'd be exhausted come the evening, but it would be worth doing this for the next several months, if that was what it took. He'd train as long and hard as it took. He would train until he was just as good as the guards. Until he was better. He was better.

Bowie came to a halt, and slowly drew the sword he'd taken from home. He wasn't actually supposed to take it, but what did that matter? His father was long dead, and he had been a great warrior, Bowie knew that. And even though he'd never known his father, his voice was the most critical in Bowie's mind. Why was Chester already better than Bowie? He could hear his father whispering these barbed slurs, and it spurred him on to do better. He would train in the apple orchard, out of the sight of all of the others as long as it took.

And only then, only when that succeeded could he have what he wanted, what had always been denied to him. The respect of the world.

"NO!" Bowie shook uncontrollably at that buried, years old memory as it surfaced in his mind. "It wasn't like that!"

The demon before him laughed again. "I see all, king of nothing. Your wishes are fractured, as but a child. The path is before you. Seize the dreams, king of nothing. Together, we can make the world into what it could be. What we know it should be."

"Damn you," screamed Bowie. "My mind is my own. My own! You will not touch it. It is not yours to touch!"

"You cannot have it both ways, king of nothing. It is in your blood, this madness for respect. If you do not join me you will be a wreck. I already see every thought you have had, everything you have done. Your determination to be the best regardless of the cost…"

"It was not like that," Bowie howled again, throwing himself into a frenzied attack. The demon easily parried each of his attacks, but Bowie was driven on by an almost manic need to prove himself to this foe. This one would finally see. The words poured out of him even as the attack did.

"You see, you say! Then you finally see. I had to do it. After father died, my mother had nothing, nothing! I was all that was left, and we had nothing. We had scorn! I had to do it! I had to."

"You had to," the demon nodded, keeping its flawless defense. "You had to make them see that you were better than anyone."

"No," Bowie snarled. "That was a fantasy. I had to do right by the world. I had to help them dammit." Fueled by an abrupt despair, his helpless attack slid away. "You killed my friend," he told Galam again.

The king shook his head. "We are the only ones here, king of nothing."

"If that's the case, then this is my dream, and I determine how it goes, you murderous son of a bitch!" Bowie flung himself into an offensive again, praying that it would keep Galam off balance long enough to not grasp his true plan.

Galam's eyes bore into Bowie's. "There are no crimes when you are the only one left."

The words halted Bowie in mid-attack. "What?" No crimes… It wasn't true! He struggled to speak, but found that he couldn't force the words out. If there was truly no one left then…

"Why you would to go exploring today, of all days," Bowie muttered for the umpteenth time.

Jaha, who had taken point seeing as it had been his idea in the first place, shook his head determinedly. "Why don't you see, Bowie? Today is great!"

"Today it's raining. Why explore in the rain?"

Jaha turned around, his eleven year old face glowing with earnestness. "Because that's what real adventurers do," he proclaimed a happy grin on his face. "Go out, braving the elements…"

Bowie's eyes widened, staring behind his dwarven friend. "Jaha…"

Jaha failed to take heed of the warning (or had it been frightened? Bowie couldn't remember) tone to his voice. "I'm telling you Bowie," he began again, when the giant rat burst from the undergrowth, its sharp fangs burying deep into Jaha's unprotected back.

Sputtering in terror, Bowie stumbled away from the gruesome sight, even as Jaha's horrified eyes watched him. The rat was a hideous monster, massive and fat with malicious small eyes.

Bowie blinked hard. In the end that day he had fought to save Jaha. But only after Sarah had struck the rat first, and then Chester, both shaming him into the action. And afterwards…

"You could have died, Bowie," his mother raged. "You could have died!"

"It wasn't my idea," he defended himself.

"I don't care whose idea it was! You're a smart boy, Bowie. It shouldn't just not be your idea; you should know not to do it! Jaha almost died! You even took a girl with you! Go to your room!"

The stream of images wouldn't stop. There had been the first time he'd ever approached a girl. She hadn't just rebuffed him either, she had laughed at him. Laughed at him. That had hurt. That had taken a long time to recover from. There had been the time he'd stolen the sword from home, to start his training, the disappointments he'd made his friends suffer, the disappointments he'd made Sir Astral suffer, the first time he'd ever met Kazin and what he had done then, the time he'd broken Chester's nose…

Through it all he could hear the demon grating, "There are no crimes when you are the only one left." But was that a repetition, or merely in his mind as well? And even more recently, the war against Zeon.

"May I speak with you, Bowie?"

He gritted his teeth, but acceded to the request. "What can I do for you, Zellar?"

He and Colonel Zellar went back a long way, but they had never really been friends. Zellar was a small-minded, petty, jealous man, and Bowie always bristled when he addressed him in the familiar.

"This course you've been advocating…" Zellar studied him intently.

Bowie could well imagine what Zellar had to say about his plans. He always did what he was ordered, but the man had no qualms at scoffing even at the king's plans behind his back. "What of them," he asked, forcing himself to remain somewhat civil.

"You're forcing a battle we can't hope to win."

That had stayed with Bowie for how long now… he didn't know. He had justified, rationalized, but now that he was at the apex of his plan, he knew Zellar was right. He couldn't win this battle. And yet… There are no crimes if you are the only one left.

"Dammit," Bowie swore feverishly. He pushed a hand through his hair, staring at the immobile demon before him. "Leave my mind alone!"

"You hear the truth." Galam smiled and it was a hideous sight to behold. "You see the wisdom of my words. You have dreams, king of nothing. The world-"

"-Bolt," howled Bowie. The sensation of burning energy swept through him as jagged streaks of electricity struck the possessed body of King Galam.

The demon jerked backwards in surprise, and Bowie sprinted forward, his sword swinging through the momentary opening in Galam's defenses. It was rewarded by a slash to his staff arm. Bowie grunted in surprise. The flesh he encountered felt hard, as though his blade was scraping ineffectually away at a piece of very brittle stone.

All around them, the mist twisted, thinned out. Suddenly the two of them were again on the plateau as the rain beat fiercely down on them, and sword and staff dueled for dominance.

"This whole time," Galam snarled, his voice taking on a more menacing quality. "Your swordsmanship is… impressive. And this scratch you've given me…" His voice thickened somehow, deepened. "But the devils rise, king of nothing."

Bowie gasped in a panic as the demon at long last took on the offensive. He could match the battering blows, barely. It took all his concentration to meet each one, and all his strength to hold onto his sword, and that was ignoring the occasional blow that Galam struck on his arms.

Cursing helplessly, Bowie slid in the muck, straight into a blow from Galam's staff. His head snapped back, and he fell face down in the mud, semi-stunned. He knew though that the old king would move in, determined to finish this bout now. In desperation, Bowie seized hold of the ankle in front of him, lifting his face out of the mud. He saw Galam slide, the blow missing him only slightly, but the king seemed to be righting himself…

He also saw that near the king's midsection, he looked scorched. The bolt spell had weakened the old man. If he could make use of that. Holding onto the king's ankle with his sword hand, grimly determined to keep the old man off-balance, Bowie's free hand scrabbled in the muck for his sword. He came up with a rock in hand, and, acting on instinct, threw it up.

The stone struck King Galam in the face, momentarily halting his attack. Bowie tugged on his ankle harder than ever, and the king fell into the muck, at a momentary, complete disadvantage. Blood trickled off of his face.

Bowie, seized his sword up, and came in hard, intending to end it. Galam opened his mouth, and some kind of energy poured out. Little points of pain crashed into Bowie, his whole body on fire with this unholy agony. He fell back, screaming at the sky as the rain poured down on his fevered skin. He had lost. He knew it. Granseal was over. I should have joined him, he realized numbly. But truth is not negotiable. Not…

Galam's gnarled hand seized him about the throat, lifting him as the king came to his own feet. The hand was hard, sharp. Bowie could barely breath through the grip. In the vortex of dark sky, pouring rain, mud, blood, and that strange twisted quality to his face, the king smiled demonically.

"And so it ends, king of nothing!"

Bowie's eyes stung with helpless tears. It had all been for nothing. There was no power strong enough to kill this man. Not this king. This king would never die. There was a roaring in his ears. It seemed that the air behind Galam was illuminating.

Abruptly, Galam turned his staff out… Bowie jerked forward helplessly, the point of his sword directed at that blackened area of Galam's body he had noted. Using all the strength that was left in him, he jerked the blade through the king as his demonic face started to turn back to Bowie.

A scream burst from Galam's lips. "My lord! My lord C-"

Bowie ripped the blade out, widening the wound. Galam fell to his knees, but his hand remained locked around Bowie's throat. A hysterical laugh built up in Bowie, but he had no more air or strength to lose it. Still for nothing, this is the end for nothing… And even beyond that, he could still hear the old man whispering at him. There are no crimes when you are the only one left.

The world went black.