Chapter 1: Survival of the Fittest
It was pain that woke him.
Clawing through his mind. Shredding his heart and soul, gnawing at him from the inside out. It burned through his nerve endings, making him very aware of all of his myriad injuries...both physical and psychic. He took a labored breath, feeling somewhat disappointed that he was in fact, breathing.
Failure.
"Time will not wait..."
Fool.
"I will show you such dreams..."
Useless
"..KILL THEM ALL!"
Betrayer.
"...you're being manipulated Seifer.."
"No..." he whispered weakly, curling into a fetal position on the baking desert plain. Curling around the throbbing core of pain, the emptiness left behind by the death of his Sorceress. Tears leaked from his eyes as he sobbed silently into the ochre dust.
The...sickness...that had infected his mind and heart when he'd foolishly followed his "Romantic Dream" to wrack and ruin was gone, scrubbed clean from his psyche with Ultimecia's death. But the pull to join her in oblivion was nearly too strong for him to resist.
It would be easy. All he had to do was wait and it wouldn't be long before the injuries Squall had inflicted upon him in their last battle claimed his life. He could feel his lifeblood spilling out of him, weakening him with every passing second. Not even his GF could stave off this final outcome, if he chose to let it continue.
He nearly did. He felt cold, despite the blazing heat that baked him, and couldn't seem to get enough air. He felt dizzy and lightheaded and he knew, if he didn't do something...cast a healing spell or take a potion...he would lose consciousness and never wake up. His heart labored mightily to pump the increasingly low volume of blood that remained in his body, thumping, stuttering, straining to keep its rhythm...
"Master..do not go..."
I'm so tired...he thought to the entity that still shared his mind. Let me sleep and you can go free.
"You will not wake. And I do not want to be free of you."
Unbidden, a memory of Fujin's white, tear-stained and fiercely angry face came to him. She would be disappointed in him. Hell, she already was.
So why not just let it go and end my miserable life already? It hurts too much to live...
"You cannot master. I will go too, and I do not want to be parted from you. Here. The potion of healing is here, but you must drink it yourself. Please. Drink."
With great effort, Seifer opened his eyes to see the small vial that his GF had fetched for him. Without thinking, he reached a trembling hand out and picked it up. Drink, and he would live. Maybe. Or maybe it would simply prolong the inevitable, making his dying even more painful and drawn out than it was already.
But even as he was debating with himself over whether or not he even wanted to live, he'd already uncorked the bottle and downed the contents. Force of habit, ingrained into him through countless pitched battles and close calls. He'd taken the medicine without even consciously thinking about it...otherwise he might have simply tossed it away and waited for the end.
Coward.
"No, master. It takes more courage to live than to simply give up and die."
Glad YOU think so...
He sighed as the potion took effect, stopping the bleeding and healing the worst of his injuries. It didn't heal all of them however, and even though he wasn't in immediate danger of dying, he wasn't precisely safe from it, either. He still ran the risk of infection unless he could find a higher level healing spell or potion to heal the rest of his injuries. Add to that the undeniable fact that he was currently lying on the baking hot dirt in the middle of the Estharian desert.
As the immediate danger receded, his mind began to work, assessing the situation and concluding that it was Definitely Not Good. He was actually surprised that he'd been left unmolested thus far, because he had a very clear recollection of Esthar being inundated with a flood of monsters from the Lunar Cry. The sky still held a lurid cast, and he could hear howls, growls, roars and cries in the distance, telling him plainly that even though he was alone for the moment, he wouldn't be for long.
He was too weak to fight. Too weak really, to even stand. But he couldn't stay where he was. He was too exposed to the elements and to the creatures that had flooded the land during the Lunar Cry. If he didn't move, he'd be taken for carrion, and be turned into it in short order. He needed shelter, food, and above all else, he needed water, or he would die sooner than either he or his GF wanted.
"Not dying today..." he mumbled, willing himself to move. He might still, and the jury was out on whether or not this was an outcome he desired. Still, dying at eighteen wasn't necessarily on his to-do list, so he grit his teeth, concentrating fiercely, and moved, slowly, groaning in pain.
He could feel his GF supporting him with as much of it's strength that it had left, and he sent it a rush of weary gratitude, knowing the creature would appreciate the sentiment. A meager enough meal, but better than nothing. Seifer's energy was at such low ebb, all he could manage for the poor thing was that tiny trickle of emotional sustenance.
"It does not matter, Master." it assured him.
He simply grunted acknowledgement, and concentrated on getting at least to his hands and knees, sweating from the effort, as well as from the heat. He managed it, but only just, swaying and panting, on the verge of collapse. He paused for a long moment, panting for breath. Gods help him, if anything came upon him now, he'd be a goner.
He slowly worked his knees under him and sat back, nearly falling over as his head spun. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back, hands falling limply to either side of him. The sun beat down mercilessly, causing more sweat to pour down his face and dampen his tattered, bloodstained overcoat and vest. Blindly, he dragged his right hand through the dirt, searching.
Panic stabbed through his chest and stopped his breath until his groping hand encountered sun-warmed metal and wood. He let out a mighty sigh in relief, swaying dizzily as his fingers crawled over the hilt of his gunblade and fitted themselves into the grooves made for them. He gripped it with what strength he had, but was unable to lift it.
Instead, he dragged it to him, wincing inwardly at the sound of metal scraping over dirt and what it was doing to the blade. Once he'd gotten it close enough he was able to lever it upright, digging the point into the ground in front of him and gripping the handle with both hands. He had to pause then, panting, resting his forehead against his hands and closing his eyes, willing away the black spots that danced in front of them. He sent a mental apology to Hyperion for his less than respectful treatment. It wasn't as though he'd had much choice.
"Get up." he whispered to himself. He really didn't think he had the strength, but he knew..."Get up, Goddammit, or die right here!" He would, if he didn't get up, didn't move... Gritting his teeth, and using Hyperion for support with another internal wince, he gathered himself and stood, swaying and blinking in the bright sunlight.
Right. So now what? Food. Shelter. Water. That, most of all. And before he actually moved, he had to have a direction or he'd just waste what little strength he had left. He cudgeled his less than cooperative brain to recall how one located a source of water in what appeared to be a completely waterless environment. He'd taken survival training; all SeeD trainees did, and desert survival was covered, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to think through the other messages his body was sending his brain.
Look for vegetation or dry washes or riverbeds. A vague memory came to him then, and he scanned the stark landscape around him. Dirt, in an endless variety of dirt-colored hues. Rocks of various sizes. Sparse, dried, and dead grasses and brush. Terrain that was seemingly flat and featureless, though it did appear to have some kind of variation in the distance that suggested low hills.
So, try for the hills then. He tried to take a tally of what gear he had remaining to him, and it turned out to be damn little. No tent, no food, no water of course, though he did have a couple of water spells he could call upon in a pinch. No water bottle though so he couldn't really capture any of it so it would be largely wasted. No more healing potions; his Guardian had given him the last one.
It was Basic Survival 101 again; dropped in the middle of nowhere with just a knife, his weapon and whatever GF he had with him. And his wits, which were sadly lacking, just at the moment. It felt so, at any rate, though objectively he knew that his dangerously poor physical condition had alot to do with that.
Still, he'd never been one to go down without a fight, momentary temptation to the contrary notwithstanding. Setting his jaw in grim determination, he focused on the distant hills and began to walk.
He stumbled. He fell. He staggered to his feet, dragging Hyperion behind him and sometimes using it as support, but still...he kept moving. That was the only thing in his mind. Keep moving. Keep walking. Movement is life. He couldn't think about the monsters that had flooded Esthar and were probably homing in on him. It was enough to just keep walking.
"I can warn them off, all but the truly strong ones," his Guardian reminded him.
Do that then, Seifer replied with a slight snort at his oversight.
His chances for survival weren't looking too good, not if he could barely function well enough to remain upright and doggedly place one foot in front of the other. He only had the vaguest of ideas of how to find water and shelter, despite his survival training. He hadn't been through the toughest fight of his life and nearly died of it, hadn't had to deal with the effects of injury and blood loss on top of exhaustion, dehydration and heat while being trained. They'd dropped him off in the middle of nowhere with just the most basic of supplies and his weapon, true, for his survival final, but he'd been in perfect shape then. He laughed mirthlessly at the thought that his training had been barely adequate after all. It was impossible to duplicate the uncontrolled conditions of actual combat in a controlled training environment without doing significant damage to the trainees.
The sun beat down on him mercilessly, and sent sweat trickling down his face, carving rivulets through the grime. He had to cover his head, somehow that seemed important. If for no other reason than to shade his eyes from the sun's blinding glare. So thinking, he shrugged off the ragged overcoat and pulled it up over his head, contriving to tie it with the sleeves so that it wouldn't fall off. It helped a bit, to keep the sun off the back of his neck and scalp, both of which prickled uncomfortably with incipient sunburn, as did his nose and cheeks.
He blinked stinging sweat from his eyes, and frowned down at Hyperion . He really needed to put the gunblade away rather than dulling the blade by dragging it through the dirt, never mind the insult of such treatment to his noble weapon. He sent an abject apology to its spirit, promising to properly care for and honor it if he should survive this ordeal.
If he didn't? Well, then it wouldn't matter. Hyperion could rust in peace alongside his bleaching bones.
He kept on, staggering drunkenly, stumbling and falling again. The rock-strewn dirt bruised and abraded his hands and knees as he landed heavily upon them, barely managing to prevent a full-on faceplant. Blinking sweat from his blurring eyes, he simply breathed, waiting for his head to stop spinning.
"Fuck." He whispered weakly. He wasn't sure he had the strength to stand again.
Then fucking crawl, he thought fiercely. Don't you dare fucking puss out and die. Don't. You. Dare!
In the end, it was will that drove him. It was always will. Upon regaining that will, he realized exactly what his "Romantic Dream" had cost him. He'd been reduced to a fawning pet, completely in thrall to Ultimecia's power, his will stripped away. It was a relief for him to feel that inner core of strength start roaring back, along with his attitude. Maybe it would save him. Maybe.
So, fuck it then. He started to crawl.
The ground was sun-baked and hot, the dirt powdery and interspersed with sharp-edged rocks. His hands both burned from the heat and from his abrasions, as did his knees. He didn't care, he kept moving forward, each inch costing him in pain. Crawling forever it seemed, crawling like that bitch had made him do. He'd have spat at the bitter taste that rose in the back of his throat, but he was too dehydrated.
"Master, stop."
Siefer paused, blinking his sweat stung and sun-dazzled eyes, and panted, "What, Draken?"
"Draw point. Perhaps a healing spell?"
"Don't be silly. This place is too barren for that kind of energy to build up. Probably something useless like an Aero spell or something." He shook his head. "I don't have the strength to draw much.."
"Try anyway. It may help."
"Okay, fine." Seifer sighed, and closed his eyes, attempting the draw. He was right, he was too weak to draw much, and it was Firaga, and only a small amount at that. Virtually useless to him. Firaga was junctioned to his strength, and the few spells he'd drawn had boosted it a little, but not by much.
"Not much Draken." He sighed.
"Even that little boost in strength may make a difference."
Seifer didn't comment. He simply grunted and pushed onward. After the Gods only knew how long, he began to see changes in the sere surroundings. Dessicated, pale ochre grasses began to spring up in sparse, crispy clumps here and there. The flat surroundings began to show folds and humps, and in the distance, distant patches of thorny bushes, cacti, and of course, more rocks. Small, desert-dwelling lizards skittered off as he passed. A sand-colored gecko froze on a nearby rock, it's mottled coloration making it virtually invisible as it stared at him.
Squinting back at it, Seifer mumbled, "what are you lookin' at?"
The lizard blinked at him, then was gone in a flash.
Seifer snorted, "Yeah, you'd better run. Pussy."
A mental nudge from his GF got him going again. The dizziness was getting worse, harder to ignore. Bad enough that he couldn't even think of attempting to stand. Even creeping along on all fours was becoming more and more difficult. He didn't know how much longer he could keep it up, but keep it up he did. If he collapsed now, it was all over.
"Almost there, Master."
Almost where? He asked mentally, then found out in the next instant as the ground suddenly disappeared beneath his questing hands, pitching him headfirst into space. Instinct had him reaching out his already bruised and abraded hands while twisting to break his fall and absorb the energy of his body impacting the ground. Had he not done so, he'd have broken his neck. As semi-controlled falls went, it was inelegant and brusing, and he did not emerge from it completely unscathed.
Several words of a definitely adult nature chanted profanely through his mind as he lay stunned on the ground, trying to catch his breath and gather his wits.
First thing he noticed was that he'd landed on sand, which was considerably softer and less injurious than rocks. The second thing was that he'd fallen into a wash or gully of some sort. After taking an internal assessment, he decided nothing was critically injured...or at least nothing else was critically injured. Several of his more serious and only partially healed wounds however, had been reopened and were bleeding again. The third thing he noticed was the bank he'd fallen down had been eroded at some point by flood, forming a small, undercut cave. It was barely big enough to fit him, but it was shelter.
So. He had shelter of a sort. It would serve in a pinch anyway.. Now he needed water.
He sat up slowly, grunting and grimacing at the sensations that resulted. A sibilant hiss from the dark recesses of the cave sent a chill up his spine. He froze and watched in repulsed fascination as the hissing grew louder and was accompanied by the furtive slithering of something very large.
"Fuck." He whispered.
It was an anacondaur. A small one...for an anacondaur.. but large enough to make a meal of him. He didn't bother with wondering why a fucking anacondaur was in the middle of the Estharian Desert instead of the Dollet hills where they were normally found. The Lunar Cry had dropped a whole shitload of the worst monsters in existence, anacondaurs included, right down onto the heads of the hapless residents of Esthar. None of the normal rules of behavior for these imports would apply, as they were newly arrived and...hungry.
He didn't know if it saw him or not, or if his GF was able to do whatever it did to deter the wandering nightmares from attacking him in broad daylight. He did know that if he moved, he was dead, GF or no. He was less than three meters from the thing, and while small, it was still a good five meters in length. He was well within striking distance. One bite, and he'd be dead in minutes. Slow, agonizing minutes, as the anacondaur's hemolytic venom did its work.
The snakelike creature undulated fluidly from beneath the overhang, and Seifer saw that it was actually deeper than he'd thought at first. The reptile's mottled patterns of browns, golds and tans had camouflaged it so well that Seifer had taken it for part of the earthen wall that it had hidden against. Despite the heat, cold sweat trickled down his sides as he watched the creature's movements as closely as he could without moving himself.
Draken? He sent to the GF, hoping the cold lump of fear in his guts was enough to clue the guardian in on the rest.
"I am watching. It senses you."
I know it fucking senses me. I'm RIGHT IN FRONT OF IT. If it can't smell me, it can sense my heat. Like any pit viper, the anacondaur had heat-sensing organs in the pits near its nostrils. There were limits to what his GF could do in terms of shielding him from predators. Proximity was one of those limits.
"Drake?" Seifer said softly, swallowing as the reptile slithered into a coil and raised its head, tongue flickering. Had it heard him? He couldn't remember if they were more like lizards or snakes. Were they deaf or not?
He shifted slightly, trying to keep the monster in sight as it shifted out of his field of vision. It immediately zeroed in on him, spreading its hood and hissing sibilantly, tongue flickering madly. Seifer froze, heart pounding.
Shit..
"I am coming."
Good. Because I don't think this thing is just gonna go on its merry way and leave me alone.
Seifer felt Draken's wry acknowledgment along with the surge of power that hearalded the firedrake's summon. Another fire elemental, Seifer had junctioned with Draken for at least as long as Squall had had Shiva. Few people saw it however; like Squall, Seifer had already had the Guardian with him when he'd first arrived at Garden. It was his own, and while registered under his profile, was never made available to anyone else. Much like Fujin and her wind elemental, Pandemona.
Reality suddenly blurred as the Guardian opened the dimensional portal and exploded into the sky above him, folded its wings and dove like a falcon on the attack. It was truly an impressive sight, and Seifer wished he dared look up to see it. Draken was one of the more beautiful of the Guardians, its appearance a cross between a wyvern and a phoenix. Scarlet scales and golden feathers wreathed in flame, snapped to a hover above him while a precisely targeted stream of flaming plasma immolated the anacondaur in an eyeblink.
Or nearly did...for some unknown reason, Draken reabsorbed the flames, leaving the anacondaur charred and very definitely dead, but not burnt to ash. Instead, it appeared to be...cooked.
Siefer looked up at the GF as it landed briefly in the sandy draw and extended a clawed talon to prod the dead creature. It then flipped its wings onto its back and cocked its dragonlike head in an almost avian gesture that meant that it was pleased with itself.
"I'm pretty sure it's dead, Drake." Seifer said wryly.
"Yes. It is now meat for you."
"Wait. You expect me to eat that?" Seifer asked, eyeing the decidedly unappetizing thing with a jaundiced eye. Not only did it not look like something he'd want to eat, ever, it didn't even smell remotely edible. Instead, he smelled nothing but the acrid stench of burnt flesh.
"Yes, you need strength. Meat will give you strength." Draken answered, shaking its head and fluffing out its golden crest feathers before smothing them back against its reptilian neck.
"I need water more, Drake." Seifer replied.
The guardian considered that, blinking. Then it walked a few paces into the draw, until it reached the deepest part of the river of sand. Once there, it dug a hole, scooping the sand out until it had a good sized basin. Then it launched itself back into the air, hovering over the hole it had dug, gathering power.
"Drake, what are you doing?" Seifer asked, puzzled.
The firedrake didn't answer, instead it fired an incredibly powerful, concentrated burst of plasma heat into the basin it had dug, melting the sand into glass. Seeing that it had achieved the desired result, Draken then retreated to its home dimension.
"You may now cast the water spell, and it will not be wasted. The basin will keep it for you." The GF replied.
"Oh. Thank you." Seifer said. Despite having partnered with Draken a good portion of his life, he was still surprised on occasion by its initiative. From what he'd gathered in talking with other cadets and reading up on all of the known GF's and their behaviors, this was actually pretty rare. Most guardians simply appeared when summoned, did whatever attack they were ordered to do, and retreated back to their plane of existence.
Some of the more intelligent of them would speak to their masters, but even those GF's would only take action when summoned and ordered to do so. Seifer hadn't actually even summoned Drake...not formally, at any rate. He'd simply told the guardian that he needed help, and the creature had shown up and rendered such aid as as it felt Seifer needed. Independent, or semi-independent, action from a GF was very rare indeed.
Then again, Draken was...unique...among the guardians...at least so far as Seifer was able to tell. Everything he'd read or learned about them at Garden told him that the GF's were simply tools. And like tools, they did what they were designed to do without question. Or commentary, or occasional sarcastic backtalk. It was obvious that through long association with Seifer, this particular GF had absorbed certain aspects of his personality.
Its appearance was strangely beautiful as well. It blended both bird and dragon in its shape, with two taloned, raptor-lke legs, golden feathered wings, scarlet scales covering all, including a sinuous, snakey neck, and a head reminiscent of a small ruby dragon with golden crest feathers instead of horns. It's tail too, combined both bird and reptile, with feathers that could spread wide while flying and lie flat when it was landbound.
All in all, Draken was as good a companion and guardian as Seifer could get, and it was no less powerful than any he'd seen the other SeeDs deploy..with the exception of Squall. How that little bastard had managed to snag an actual fucking dragon as his guardian, Seifer would never understand. Something that powerful would only bow to someone who could defeat it in battle and Squall... Well, it was obvious that he'd seriously underestimated his erstwhile fellow cadet.
Seifer waited until the heat that he could feel radiating from the basin, had cooled to the point that he felt confident it wouldn't crack or the water boil off when he cast the water spell. Closing his eyes, he gathered what strength and energy that remained to him, and cast the spell. Hissing and a small amount of steam resulted, which quickly abated. The water would likely be too hot to drink right away, but not to hot to clean up his injuries.
Dragging himself to the edge took all that he had left, and he collapsed, head spinning, and spots dancing before his eyes. He lay still for a moment, waiting for the world to stop moving so fast, every inch of his body aching. Heat baked him from below as the sand had absorbed the sun's energy, and above as it continued to hammer him. He'd never experienced such heat before; he felt as though he was lying in an oven, being consumed by flame. The fire cavern pre-test had been a cakewalk compared to this.
He closed his eyes, and drifted...feeling his hold on consciousness slipping and unable to stir himself to care overmuch about it. A prodding in the back of his mind kept irritating him though, distracting him from drifting fully into dark oblivion.
"Master. MASTER. Wake! Do not sleep yet!"
Tired...
"Do not sleep!"
Draken's insistence woke him from his torpor, and he cracked his eyes open again, muzzily considering the basin full of water that was now in front of him. He slowly reached a hand out to touch it. Hot of course, but it had cooled enough to be tolerable. Temperature didn't matter so much when it was the liquid he was after, though it would have been nicer if it had been cold.
He struggled upright, managing to waver to his knees, and shrugged off the stained, tattered overcoat that he'd been using to keep off the sun. Filthy, abraded hands stung as he dipped them into the water, and he took a moment to wash them a bit, before scooping up some of the water and splashing it onto his face and over his hair. Despite it being warm, or perhaps because of it, he found this quite refreshing. Scooping more water up in his cupped hands, he finally drank some. By this point it was roughly the same temperature as his body, and as a result was easier to drink than he'd thought it would be.
He drank deeply, then removed his vest and did his best to cleanse his crusted injuries, wincing. Despite his pain, the warm water was soothing and it evaporated quickly, cooling him far more than he thought it would. He felt better too; steadier, if not quite as strong as he normally was.
Meat is strength. Draken had insisted. Seifer studied the charred anacondaur, wrinkling his nose. Well, he'd eaten worse. Sighing, he pulled his utility knife out of the sheath in his boot. At least he still had that. Grimly, he advanced upon the anacondaur's carcass.
Charred anacondaur wasn't actually as terrible as it had sounded...and smelled. In fact, once the charred bits were cut away, the meat itself was actually edible, if rather tasteless. And Draken was right, food did help, though what Seifer needed most was not easily obtainable.
A few dozen vials of healing potion, or a Curaga spell or two...that's what I really need now. He thought. That, and maybe a canteen or some means of carrying water with him. He only had maybe one or two water spells left, and aside from the catch basin that Drake had made for him, no real way of retaining it.
He caught sight of Hyperion lying next to him in the dirt, and sighed. No honing stone or oil, but he could at least clean it up. Trouble was, he had no idea what to use to do that. After casting about for a bit, and finding nothing, he finally decided to use his vest. It was a tattered mess anyway, filthy and stained with blood, so adding more dirt to it wouldn't matter.
So thinking, he wet the thing and wrung it out, away from the basin of water, so as not to foul it any more than necessary. Then he grabbed his gunblade and pulled it over and across his knees, using the dampened cloth to clean it as thoroughly as he could. The edge needed honing badly; the abuse it had suffered lately had certainly not helped matters. He did what he could for it, then put it back into its holster.
And then he was done. He had gone well beyond his strength, and the meager resources he had to hand were not enough to restore him. Not as quickly as he was used to, at any rate. He could do nothing more at this point but to rest and hope that it would help. Sleep called to him, and Seifer could no longer deny what his body desperately needed.
Crawling to the overhang, he shook out his overcoat and lay it down on the sand-covered floor. The ground, even in the shade, was almost uncomfortably warm, but he was at least out of direct sunlight, and the sun would be setting soon.
As soon as Seifer lay down upon his overcoat and closed his eyes, exhaustion finally dragged him down into oblivion.
Author's Note: And now for something Completely Different. Taking a slight departure from my normal Squinoa stories, I've decided to write Seifer's story for The Successor Challenge, a writing prompt proposed by Emerald_Latias exploring what happens AFTER the events of the game. I'd already explored in detail what happened (In MY headcanon) to Squall and Rinoa after the game, but didn't really consider what SEIFER might have had to contend with.
In the end credits of the game we get a shot of Seifer fishing somewhere (possibly Balamb) with Fujin and Raijin, but we really don't know how he got there, or even if it IS Balamb. Where is he then? How did he get there? How did he survive? This is what I'm interested in figuring out, and so this is what I'm going to explore in this fic. Hope you all enjoy it.