Fiendball
A Final Fantasy X Fanfiction by Sivvus
Blurb: Before the stranger crawled out of the sea, long before the Aurochs learned how to fly, Besaid had a far more deadly secret. The players came from across the land to dance with death, and once they played they were never allowed to leave. Fiendball: A dark sport played in the fiend-cursed ocean and lit by the pyreflies of the dead. W/L, Rated T
A/N: Many thanks to my wonderful brother for all the advice and ideas with this fic!
Introduction
Long before the stranger crawled out of the sea others had drifted there, lying face-down in the swirling tide. Their hands and faces were waxy, not with the cold but with the dull bloodless pallor of death. The ocean might have swallowed them whole, taking their grey remains into the blue depths, but for some reason they always seemed to drift to shore.
Sin, Wakka thought, has a sick sense of humour sometimes.
Or perhaps, out of all the innocents the fiends tore from the shores, Sin thought Blitzball players were the ones who were worth protecting. They never drifted unseen for long, and when they washed ashore their sendings were silent and short. Everyone knew how they had died. Why mourn them? So perhaps Sin gave them back as another lesson, another grim warning to the people of Besaid. Like the ruins of the wicked buildings of the past, their bodies were returned broken and decaying long after life had left them.
When the maesters asked how they had died, the people said that the sea-fiends had gotten them. It wasn't quite true.
Only the Fiendballers knew the truth.
If you catch a blitzball wrong you can hurt your hands. The grooves and bulges that make them easy to catch underwater can trap a fingertip if you're not careful.
If you catch a fiendball wrong, you can slit your own wrist.
There were stories of players losing fingers and thumbs, but in the underground leagues most catchers were too skilled to do that. Still, each game saw the players with new lacerations as the bladed balls ripped skin from their hands and tore jagged wounds into their arms.
After a few minutes the swirling copper in the salt water attracted the fiends. It always did. Skeletal fish and twisted, un-sent creatures swam closer, their baleful nicotine-yellow eyes rolling in hunger at the stench of blood, their mutant nostrils flaring in the merciless abattoir of the sea. A single vein, a single cut, and after a few more heartbeats you weren't just competing for points, you were desperately fighting for your life.
Fiendball. Under the thud of heavy music and the hoarse roar of the bloodthirsty crowd you could always hear the screams.