Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII, nor any of the characters that are the property of Square-Enix. I am not going to repeat this every time but it applies to every chapter.
Hello. This is my first attempt at creating my own Final Fantasy VIII fanfic. English isn't my first language, so grammar mistakes and clumsy writing are inevitable. Can't help it. If you have any suggestions/corrections, feel free to contact me about them, though.
The story is heavily inspired by altol's fantastic "Fire and Ice", and if you haven't read it, I strongly encourage you to do so. Even though my Seifer seems pretty similar to altol's Seifer, he will be pretty different, I promise ;) I haven't decided on the pairings yet, but I guess Squall x Rinoa, Irvine x Selphie and Zell x Library Girl are pretty certain. Not sure what to do with Seifer, though. Possible Seiftis and Seifuu :) And please review since it's the only way for me to know whether I am going in good destination with my writing or not.
Chapter 1
He gazed purposelessly in the window, unaware of the flowing time, lost in his thoughts. He didn't remember how much time did he spend sitting here like this. It felt like forever. Heck, maybe it was forever. Forever lost between the fleeting memories of his past, the chaos of time compression, and the pointless existence that followed.
He blinked. When did it all happen? He couldn't recall. His mind was still foggy, and thinking about what happened brought headaches instead of answers. He vaguely remembered the moment of his crude awakening somewhere in the gutter of Balamb City, unaware of his surroundings. He had a lot of luck to awaken there. If it was Esthar, Trabia, or, Hyne forbid, Galbadia, he would be caught and executed the very next hour.
Vilified.
Vilified in Esthar for plunging the city into chaos by the usage of Lunatic Pandora.
Vilified in Trabia for direct attack against their garden.
Vilified in Galbadia for siding with the dictator of the Second Sorceress War.
Was he guilty?
He almost laughed. Sure he was. He knew what he was doing all along. He obeyed her every wish. Reality wasn't kind. He didn't even have a fucking excuse. He wasn't drunk, mind-controlled or mad… at least technically. He stayed by her side even when things went totally out of control. Her attitude never discouraged him. He was her knight. A man to protect her, not from the world, since she could crush the world under her heel with little effort, but from herself.
And he failed.
He hid his face in his hands.
He wasn't entirely alone. His posse found him in the gutter, still bleeding from his last fight with Leonhart and his crew, babbling something incoherent, nearly at the edge of madness. Time compression wasn't something he took lightly. The pressure on his brain, the feeling of his thoughts mixing, combining, the maddening voices, laughter, whispers... It was more an 18 year old, highly confused boy could handle. The sorceress messed up with his brain too many times, made it too weak. Despite his intimidating appearance and behavior, he was fragile, unstable. The power that kept sweeping through his veins was gone, but the damage it caused remained. He wasn't mad. He was just torn apart from the inside.
If it wasn't for Raijin and Fujin, he would most likely bleed to death or freeze, left alone on a random suburban street of Balamb at a cold night. Despite what they said before time compression, they never left him. They only abandoned the tattered madman that he became. And the madman was already dead, slain by Leonhart's sword. The broken man survived.
It took time to heal his wounds. Raijin and Fujin took good care of him, paid for his room with their money, took him fishing to get him some outdoor fun. His body was no longer a mess, even though it was badly scarred, with a nasty cut running through his chest, where Leonhart's gunblade nearly cut him in half. His arms were still covered in bruises, the memento of Dincht's punches amplified by adamantine gloves, and his neck still stung like a bitch, in a place where Instructor's whip almost decapitated him. Fucking malboro tentacles.
He sighed. The physical wounds were gone. But as the healing took progress, the sudden awareness of other ones shocked him. The mental ones. His mind, nearly demolished by time compression, realized the truth.
He lost everything. He lost his sword. He lost his pride. He lost his dignity.
And he lost his dream.
Seifer Almasy was just a random nobody now. Not the sorceress' knight. Not the revolutionary. Not the leader. Not the hero. Not even a fucking soldier. He was a random thug vilified for his crimes, without a name. Seifer Almasy? Who was that? A bastard that lost the war, who failed miserably in his every step? It would be best for him to die. To vanish forever.
He chuckled bitterly. He thought about suicide many times, but never found the strength to do it. Perhaps if his Hyperion was still here.. he knew how sharp and powerful his old blade was. It wouldn't take long. And it wouldn't bring any pain. Only relief.
But the sword was gone, lost in the depths of Lunatic Pandora, the floating nightmare. And the floating nightmare was destroyed right after the war, disassembled, blown to smithereens, to make sure that such monstrosity would never endanger Esthar again. And he wouldn't even dream to hope that his sword survived the process.
And he definitively wouldn't dream about killing himself with the only tool he had, a blunt razor blade.
He spat on the floor.
Why didn't they kill him? He did not use protect or shell magic. He wouldn't survive any forbidden magic he knew they carried. A single ultima would blow him to pieces and end his fucking failure the way all failures were meant to end. But no. They used their weapons, as if something was holding them from blowing him apart. It wasn't mutual. He wanted to kill them. He did everything that was possible to kill them. Puberty Boy. Chicken Wuss. Messenger Girl. Instructor. Galbadian guy. Even Rinoa. They were the enemy. Monsters that ganged him, attacked in a crowd, afraid of being ridiculed in a fair duel. They were worthless fools.
They were heroes.
He spat again.
Fucking heroes.
They ended the war. They stopped the madness. They broke the time compression. They killed the sorceress.
They tore his dignity apart.
Did he hate them? No, not really. It wasn't personal. He would certainly enjoy the sight of their lives flowing down his sword back then, but it wasn't any different from killing a random estharian soldier or a trabian seed. They weren't different. They heads weren't trophies he sought. They were the enemies. Mere inconveniences he was expected to take care of.
At least that's how he used to think back then. And he was sure it was mutual. For them, he was one of the monsters to kill. Another random enemy to take down before fulfilling their destiny. He meant nothing. He was sure of it. Leonhart stated it looking in his eyes. Big deal. Who cared about what Leonhart felt or thought.
It's a fucking lie.
Everybody did.
Leonhart was the center of attention. The prime hero. The one that delivered the final blow to Ultimecia. The one that guided SeeDs to their destiny. Newspapers begged for interviews. The radio pleaded for a live broadcast. There were even attempts to make a movie based on his adventures, but he flatly refused to allow his image to be used.
Yeah. Everybody cared for what Leonhart felt or thought nowadays.
And nobody gave a shit about a man called Seifer Almasy, or whatever was left of that man.
Seifer threw himself at the bed. If there were any real losers of that war, he was the biggest one.
knock knock knock
"Who the fuck is it", he screamed. Times when he cared for etiquette were a melody of the past, no doubt.
"Excuse me sir", a frightened voice came from behind the door, "there is a woman who asked to meet you."
"Tell her to get the fuck out. I'm busy", he roared, rubbing his scar irritably.
"It's me, Seifer", the beautiful, calm feminine voice ringed in his ears. The one that serenely sang him lullabies when he was a little boy. The one that encouraged him to make her proud when he was going to the Garden. The one that told him to say farewell to his childhood. The one that brought his dreams to life. The one that whispered to him at the morning after a crazy night of lovemaking.
The one that haunted him every night.
Reluctantly, he got up, extreme confusion clouding his sight. He opened the door, peeking outside almost hesitantly.
The beautiful woman that was standing before him smiled nervously, looking at him with silent remorse. Her golden eyes had no sign of the flames that tormented him in his nightmares, and her smile was modest, almost shy, bearing no similarity to the lustful grin he remembered so well.
"Matron", he said tonelessly.