A/N: Hey all. How are you?

I need a new title for this. I seem to have, accidentally and subconsciously, stolen the one I currently have from a Supernatural/HP story I was reading. Heh heh. Oops?

Any suggestions?

Anyways, here's the next chapter :)

Published: 11/20/2017

Warnings: None

Chapter 2

Leads and Shenanigans

Blank, for perhaps the hundredth time, rubbed his hands into his head.

"Why. Why, oh why, did I agree to come along with you?"

"Woohoo! Bath time!"

Blank twitched. Unfortunately, he should have moved instead of simply standing there and glaring at his rather boisterous companion, and as such was subsequently drenched in water.

Blank twitched again.

Why was he even surprised? They had found the stream only half an hour ago. Blank had helped Zidane set up camp while their huntress declared she would find them a fine meal.

If she brought back another damned dragon, Blank would flip his shit. The flesh was rubbery and thick and, while the taste wasn't half bad, Freya was far too fond of it. Or perhaps, she was too fond of killing them. She seemed to take a particular pride in being a dragon slayer.

Regardless, while Freya had gone off in a search for food, Blank had left halfway through their camp building to get water since they were running low.

Unfortunately, it seemed he either hadn't given himself enough time or Zidane had, once again, ditched the camp in a half made fashion in favor of the urge to go play in the water.

…

Blank had no doubt he came was still half done.

Although, part of that assumption came from being drenched as a cause of Zidane's enthusiastic cannonball.

Blank could only twitch after making his way back to camp and finding everything, somehow, impossibly, in complete order. If only Zidane had the same work ethic when cleaning his room back at the Prima Vista.

However, what really hit the nail on the head was Freya, sitting at the heart of the camp, happily roasting away at yet another bloody dragon.

Why had he agreed to come along again?

Garland, evidentially, took Kuja for a fool. Kuja's eyes darkened with complete and utter rage and hatred. Or, at the very least, the closest Kuja's broken excuse for a heart could manage to emulate those emotions.

It…

Just…

Wasn't…

Fair!

Had he not done everything Garland asked of him? Had he not done every task, followed every order, committed every sin, done each and every little thing that popped into his Master's twisted head?

Yet, it wasn't good enough.

It was never good enough.

Kuja was never good enough.

He could drown himself in an ocean of blood, time and time again, but such actions didn't seem to get him the result he so desired. They were superfluous, it seemed, despite being the actions he had literally been created for.

Kuja sneered.

Honestly, this whole Angel of Death business was oh so troublesome. He'd rather not deal with it at all. However, failure was not an option. Kuja liked having his soul, thank you very much, and if he had to kill over and over again to keep it then so be it.

Zidane, that weakling, hadn't had the strength or the resolve for such actions. Really, Kuja had done his precious little brother a favor by casting him down, yet he was painted as the villain in the farce?! Bah!

Regardless, it seemed history was about to repeat.

Oh joy.

How Kuja just loved repetition. It was his favorite part of the theater.

… Not!

Kuja eyes his so called sister with distaste. The latest of Garland's so called Angels of Death, floating about in a tank, eyes closed and her face so calm, so peaceful. Blond strands floated about in the air. Electrodes connected to her flesh, and every several seconds or so the machines around her began to beep to report they had new important information on the subject that you just had to see!

Blah.

She was younger, but not a mere babe like Zidane had been. Kuja assumed she would eventually grow. It seemed like Garland had decided that his best bet was to make a mix of his two former projects. An attempted fusion of Zidane and he with this girl.

She would have a semblance of a childhood, like Zidane, so she would not suffer the emotional stuntage that Kuja himself was afflicted with. Alternatively, however, like Zidane this would make her vulnerable to growing those pesky annoying little things called 'morals', which just doesn't do when your task is to kill a word.

That was likely were the accelerated age came from.

Unlike Kuja, she wouldn't be born fully grown, but enough to have a psyche undeveloped enough to be malleable to Garland's twisted wishes.

"Father, you truly are the Beast of the story. Worry not, sister," Kuja let one of his hands trail along the cool surface of the glass, "I may play the part of Garland's Destroyer, but I've no intent of following through." Kuja promised. "I will break him, and this world? I will rule it, and create an Eternal Empire. You make my words, sister, and I will make it so."

Blank couldn't help it facepalm hey again. Seriously. By the time this journey was done, he was going to have permanent marks embedded into his skin.

"... Why is he the leader again?"

At the very least, Blank had Freya. He didn't think his sanity would survive even for a second without the Burmecian at his side. No, it wouldn't last at all. Zidane would have shattered it into pieces, all while dancing around and laughing like a maniacal madman.

Blank briefly pictured a dancing clown, running about and tossing magic in every direction in a multicolored array of destruction before shrugging off the image. Zidane, fortunately, was not that chaotic, although his monkey tailed friend came pretty damn close.

"Come once it wasn't that bad." Zidane argued, a pout adorning the teens features. He was pouting at them. Actually goddamn pouting.

"You've framed someone else for a crime you've committed." Freya, despite having the face of a rat, could deadpan pretty damn well. "What's worse, you've framed a dangerous assassin for the crime, if the rumors we're hearing of this Amarant prove to be true."

Zidane rolled his eyes.

Blank wasn't sure whether his brother was brave and courageous, just plain batshit crazy, or both. For a second, Blank saw an image of Zidane wearing dark robes, trimmed in gold and red before shaking it off.

"All's he had to do was speak up for himself," Zidane shamelessly defended himself, despite his obvious guilt. "And, what does he do instead?" Zidane shook his head in disappointment, "he beats the rest of the guards to a bloody pulp instead of explaining himself! If anything, I did him a service by releasing his true disposition!"

With that little declaration Zidane turned to stare at the eternal darkness that as the sky of Treno, hand on his hips, nodding dramatically to himself as he struck a heroic pose.

Freya attempted to stab him.

Blank honestly could say he was surprised it took so bloody long for the attempted homicide to start again.

"...from a far off land. Beyond the Mist!"

Blank froze. Slowly, he spun about and noticed an old man trying to barter away with one of the many street merchants of Treno.

"What is this rubbish? Beyond the Mist? You're insane!" The merchant, an old crone of a woman covered in shawls and bumps running across her skin, snared at the old man before knocking something from his hands.

The old man hissed.

"This true! There are continents past the Mist, distant unexplored lands of wonder and myth!" the man protested.

"Fool! Past the Mist there is only Death!"

"Past the Mist are other lands, with their own marvels and inventions and arts!" the old man argued, snapping his finger at the crone as if she was being unreasonably stubborn. Then, he lifted his treasure from where it had been flung, a useless looking nicknack that even a klepto like Zidane wouldn't bother taking, and Zidane was worse that a dragon that was being presented something shiny.

"Look at their art! Dwarves made! Awe striking, eh!" the man arched an eyebrow, presenting the nicknack as if it were some sort of gift that had been bestowed upon him by angels that had descended from the heavens while singing choir music, and the merchant just had to see it's brilliant allure.

The merchant did not see the allure. Blank couldn't blame her. He didn't see it either.

"Begone with that trash! I'm tryin' to make a livin' here, you old fool!" she was very fond of the word fool, "Now, go before I call the guards!" she snarled, spittle flying from her mouth as she waved her arms about in annoyance.

The old man, realizing at last that it was a lost cause, backed away slowly.

This was stupid. It couldn't possibly get them anywhere. Just a waste of their time.

It was also the only fucking lead they'd found in over a year.

Preparing himself, Blank strode forth.

"Excuse me, kind sir."

As the old man turned, eyes glistening with undeniable greed, Blank fought back a groan. Seriously. The things he did for Zidane.