This is only my second fanfic, the first never got finished for various reasons. I hope you enjoy it, and respond if you have any suggestions of any kind.
Sabin continued to strike at the hardwood tree with his bare fists. The gouge was getting larger; pretty soon the small tree would topple and provide him firewood for the evening. It also gave him the chance to continue his Iron Hand training, toughening the knuckles and the entire hand. One day Sabin hoped to be able to do the same to solid stone.
The songs of birds and other simple forest animals sounded all around him, calming his heart and mind. His knuckles were covered with his own blood from hitting the tree all afternoon, but Sabin didn't notice at all.
In the nearly two years since Kefka's death, things had changed in the world, he knew. He'd spent several months helping Cyan rebuild Doma, helped Edgar restore Figaro, and even spent some time with Gau and Terra in Mobliz helping to teach the orphaned children that Terra had adopted. But nothing had satisfied him. There was no thrill in any of it. He had felt... incomplete. Sabin had thought that Kefka's destruction would be the crowning moment, that instant when he would make Duncan proud. But it hadn't been. Sure, he and the others were now the Returners, renowned throughout the world and rich beyond their wildest dreams, but neither the fame nor the fortune held any interest for Sabin. He felt that his life was empty.
Returning to Duncan had not helped much either. After only two months it was clear that Sabin had not only become his old master's equal, but his superior. Duncan had nothing left to teach his protégé, but at the same time it seemed as though he was holding something back, something he wasn't ready to hand over to his pupil. So Sabin had picked up his few belongings and returned to the wildernesses where he had spent most of his life. Hunting, meditating, and training took up his whole day, every day. Even this wasn't satisfying, but it was something to do while he thought on his life.
Suddenly, the tree began to crack. Sabin backed off. "Timber!" he called out for amusement as the tree toppled over. Sabin took out a cloth and wiped the blood off his knuckles. There wasn't much; most of his hands had callused over. He would take out a hatchet and cut some of the wood for a fire tonight so that he could cook whatever was in his traps. That was the next thing he had to check.
Suddenly a branch snapped. Sabin's head whipped around. His time in the wilderness had worked to hone his senses. He was able to filter out sounds and smells that he knew, and on the wind he caught the scent of something different. Human perspiration. Someone was closing in on him. But Sabin wasn't one to wait for something to happen.
Sabin slipped through the trees silently, like a great cat on the prowl. The man who stood twenty feet behind his previous spot was dressed like a hunter; in greens and browns with twigs and leaves sticking out from him in various positions. Sabin sprang forward; with one blow he knocked the man's bow out of his hand, with the other hand grabbed the man's throat, and then threw him up against a tree.
"Who are you?!" demanded Sabin, "What are you doing here? Who sent you?"
The man's eyes showed nothing but surprise. It took a few moments for the look to change to desperation as he tried to claw at Sabin's hand to get air into his lungs. But he might as well have been trying to move a brachiosaur.
"Sabin!" yelled a voice, back near his previous spot, "Sabin come out! I know you're here!"
The martial artist released the hunter's throat but promptly knocked him unconscious with a single punch. Then Sabin moved back into the small clearing. A single man stood there. He was rather short, but immensely broad; by all appearances he looked even stronger than Sabin. But Sabin knew that much of his amazing strength had come from the Espers he'd borne in the war against Kefka. This other man wore only a pair of earthen-brown pants and a pair of boots.
"Vargas," hissed Sabin, "I never thought I'd be unfortunate enough to see you again. I thought I took care of you the last time we met in the mountains."
Sabin kept himself composed, but inside his mind thoughts were whirling about. How could Vargas be alive? They last fought in the Sabil Mountains, where Sabin had joined up with Terra, Locke, and his brother. Sabin had finished Vargas off with a Pummel blitz that had knocked him off the side of the cliff. How the heck was he still alive?
His former rival sneered. "Yes, you would have thought that way. Always so arrogant, so sure of yourself. I don't know what my father saw in you. I can't imagine why he was so weak as choose you as his heir."
Sabin yawned, but remained wary. Vargas was incredibly unpredictable, and if his skills had progressed in any way similar to Sabin's, then he had reason to be careful. "Look, if you're about to go into this old battle again then say your say and leave me in peace. I was about to check my snares for supper."
Vargas chuckled evilly. "Oh no, Sabin. No, this is a completely new fight that you and I are about to begin. My master wants you. For some reason he has a personal interest in you; to have you as his slave."
Sabin's eyes narrowed. This didn't sound like Vargas. The Vargas he knew would never have called anyone his master. He had never even called Duncan by that title, only Father. "You'll never make me a slave to anyone, Vargas. The worst you can do is kill me. You can't force me to obey."
"Oh he can, Sabin," said Vargas with that evil smile on his face, "he can."
It was time to end this monkey business. Sabin slid into a ready stance and beckoned Vargas onward. Vargas charged forward, and the two rivals clashed. Vargas seemed to be the marginally stronger of the two, but he could not hope to match Sabin's superior skill or speed. Like all their previous battles, this one would be fierce, but Sabin was clearly the finer warrior.
Vargas charged his fist with the fury of lightning and landed a solid blow into Sabin's stomach. Sabin could feel his body's desire to spasm as the lightning crackled through his body, but he forced himself to grab Vargas by the waist. He then leapt high into the air and reversed himself, bringing Vargas to the ground headfirst in the Suplex blitz.
The two fighters backed off and Vargas began spinning, focusing his concentration on the wind, hoping to blow Sabin backwards and pin him to a tree. But had Vargas apparently forgotten that this tactic hadn't worked the last time they'd fought. Sabin held his footing and then spun around, one hand slicing through the air, creating a blade of razor sharp air that flew into Vargas and opened up a wide gash across his belly.
But Vargas was foolhardy and ignored the injury. He charged, preparing a powerful left cross. At the same time, Sabin felt more than saw another attacker come out from behind him. Instinctively, Sabin spun to his left just as Vargas got to him. His rival's punch landed against Sabin's right cheek, but already into his spin, Sabin hardly felt the blow. His right leg flashed out in a powerful roundhouse kick that connected with the other assailant's head, knocking him off his feet and spinning his body feet over until he landed on his side. Before Sabin landed he kicked behind him catching Vargas where the airblade had struck and pushed him back.
Sabin landed with his fists up and was immediately ready for another attack. But Vargas was on one knee, breathing heavily. "This battle is far from over, Sabin. You haven't even begun to scratch the surface."
Without warning, darts flew at Sabin from six directions. He was able to knock several out of the air, but at least a dozen struck him all over his body. Instantly, his limbs began to feel weak, drained. Sabin wobbled unsteadily and fell to one knee. He began to reach for an antidote, but suddenly Vargas was on top of him, holding his arms down. Over a dozen other men came into Sabin's quickly blurring vision and held him down. He tried to struggle, and even with this knockout poison coursing through his veins, he was still almost strong enough to lift them off. But not quite enough.
Sabin couldn't see it, but knew the smirk was on his rival's face as Vargas spoke. "It's such a shame that the last memories you'll ever have will be you losing to me." Vargas' cackling laugh was the last thing Sabin heard as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Sabin continued to strike at the hardwood tree with his bare fists. The gouge was getting larger; pretty soon the small tree would topple and provide him firewood for the evening. It also gave him the chance to continue his Iron Hand training, toughening the knuckles and the entire hand. One day Sabin hoped to be able to do the same to solid stone.
The songs of birds and other simple forest animals sounded all around him, calming his heart and mind. His knuckles were covered with his own blood from hitting the tree all afternoon, but Sabin didn't notice at all.
In the nearly two years since Kefka's death, things had changed in the world, he knew. He'd spent several months helping Cyan rebuild Doma, helped Edgar restore Figaro, and even spent some time with Gau and Terra in Mobliz helping to teach the orphaned children that Terra had adopted. But nothing had satisfied him. There was no thrill in any of it. He had felt... incomplete. Sabin had thought that Kefka's destruction would be the crowning moment, that instant when he would make Duncan proud. But it hadn't been. Sure, he and the others were now the Returners, renowned throughout the world and rich beyond their wildest dreams, but neither the fame nor the fortune held any interest for Sabin. He felt that his life was empty.
Returning to Duncan had not helped much either. After only two months it was clear that Sabin had not only become his old master's equal, but his superior. Duncan had nothing left to teach his protégé, but at the same time it seemed as though he was holding something back, something he wasn't ready to hand over to his pupil. So Sabin had picked up his few belongings and returned to the wildernesses where he had spent most of his life. Hunting, meditating, and training took up his whole day, every day. Even this wasn't satisfying, but it was something to do while he thought on his life.
Suddenly, the tree began to crack. Sabin backed off. "Timber!" he called out for amusement as the tree toppled over. Sabin took out a cloth and wiped the blood off his knuckles. There wasn't much; most of his hands had callused over. He would take out a hatchet and cut some of the wood for a fire tonight so that he could cook whatever was in his traps. That was the next thing he had to check.
Suddenly a branch snapped. Sabin's head whipped around. His time in the wilderness had worked to hone his senses. He was able to filter out sounds and smells that he knew, and on the wind he caught the scent of something different. Human perspiration. Someone was closing in on him. But Sabin wasn't one to wait for something to happen.
Sabin slipped through the trees silently, like a great cat on the prowl. The man who stood twenty feet behind his previous spot was dressed like a hunter; in greens and browns with twigs and leaves sticking out from him in various positions. Sabin sprang forward; with one blow he knocked the man's bow out of his hand, with the other hand grabbed the man's throat, and then threw him up against a tree.
"Who are you?!" demanded Sabin, "What are you doing here? Who sent you?"
The man's eyes showed nothing but surprise. It took a few moments for the look to change to desperation as he tried to claw at Sabin's hand to get air into his lungs. But he might as well have been trying to move a brachiosaur.
"Sabin!" yelled a voice, back near his previous spot, "Sabin come out! I know you're here!"
The martial artist released the hunter's throat but promptly knocked him unconscious with a single punch. Then Sabin moved back into the small clearing. A single man stood there. He was rather short, but immensely broad; by all appearances he looked even stronger than Sabin. But Sabin knew that much of his amazing strength had come from the Espers he'd borne in the war against Kefka. This other man wore only a pair of earthen-brown pants and a pair of boots.
"Vargas," hissed Sabin, "I never thought I'd be unfortunate enough to see you again. I thought I took care of you the last time we met in the mountains."
Sabin kept himself composed, but inside his mind thoughts were whirling about. How could Vargas be alive? They last fought in the Sabil Mountains, where Sabin had joined up with Terra, Locke, and his brother. Sabin had finished Vargas off with a Pummel blitz that had knocked him off the side of the cliff. How the heck was he still alive?
His former rival sneered. "Yes, you would have thought that way. Always so arrogant, so sure of yourself. I don't know what my father saw in you. I can't imagine why he was so weak as choose you as his heir."
Sabin yawned, but remained wary. Vargas was incredibly unpredictable, and if his skills had progressed in any way similar to Sabin's, then he had reason to be careful. "Look, if you're about to go into this old battle again then say your say and leave me in peace. I was about to check my snares for supper."
Vargas chuckled evilly. "Oh no, Sabin. No, this is a completely new fight that you and I are about to begin. My master wants you. For some reason he has a personal interest in you; to have you as his slave."
Sabin's eyes narrowed. This didn't sound like Vargas. The Vargas he knew would never have called anyone his master. He had never even called Duncan by that title, only Father. "You'll never make me a slave to anyone, Vargas. The worst you can do is kill me. You can't force me to obey."
"Oh he can, Sabin," said Vargas with that evil smile on his face, "he can."
It was time to end this monkey business. Sabin slid into a ready stance and beckoned Vargas onward. Vargas charged forward, and the two rivals clashed. Vargas seemed to be the marginally stronger of the two, but he could not hope to match Sabin's superior skill or speed. Like all their previous battles, this one would be fierce, but Sabin was clearly the finer warrior.
Vargas charged his fist with the fury of lightning and landed a solid blow into Sabin's stomach. Sabin could feel his body's desire to spasm as the lightning crackled through his body, but he forced himself to grab Vargas by the waist. He then leapt high into the air and reversed himself, bringing Vargas to the ground headfirst in the Suplex blitz.
The two fighters backed off and Vargas began spinning, focusing his concentration on the wind, hoping to blow Sabin backwards and pin him to a tree. But had Vargas apparently forgotten that this tactic hadn't worked the last time they'd fought. Sabin held his footing and then spun around, one hand slicing through the air, creating a blade of razor sharp air that flew into Vargas and opened up a wide gash across his belly.
But Vargas was foolhardy and ignored the injury. He charged, preparing a powerful left cross. At the same time, Sabin felt more than saw another attacker come out from behind him. Instinctively, Sabin spun to his left just as Vargas got to him. His rival's punch landed against Sabin's right cheek, but already into his spin, Sabin hardly felt the blow. His right leg flashed out in a powerful roundhouse kick that connected with the other assailant's head, knocking him off his feet and spinning his body feet over until he landed on his side. Before Sabin landed he kicked behind him catching Vargas where the airblade had struck and pushed him back.
Sabin landed with his fists up and was immediately ready for another attack. But Vargas was on one knee, breathing heavily. "This battle is far from over, Sabin. You haven't even begun to scratch the surface."
Without warning, darts flew at Sabin from six directions. He was able to knock several out of the air, but at least a dozen struck him all over his body. Instantly, his limbs began to feel weak, drained. Sabin wobbled unsteadily and fell to one knee. He began to reach for an antidote, but suddenly Vargas was on top of him, holding his arms down. Over a dozen other men came into Sabin's quickly blurring vision and held him down. He tried to struggle, and even with this knockout poison coursing through his veins, he was still almost strong enough to lift them off. But not quite enough.
Sabin couldn't see it, but knew the smirk was on his rival's face as Vargas spoke. "It's such a shame that the last memories you'll ever have will be you losing to me." Vargas' cackling laugh was the last thing Sabin heard as he slipped into unconsciousness.
