Draco: Began writing on November 21st of 2014. Good Feymarch, I feel like an ass already. Underlining indicates Translation Punctuation, aka writing in English despite in-story being of another language. Royalty names not mentioned in storyline were intended for use in a past fanfic that has been suspended.

Dissidia Final Fantasy and its related Fantasies © Square Enix. Storyline inspired by A Christmas Carol, © Charles Dickens.


Flames From the Waters of Chaos: Phantasmal Girl

The being stood gravely, silently, menacingly before him. As the laughter faded, the Warrior tried to rise from his state upon the ground, but was unable to pass a kneel; for in the very air in which this being existed it seemed to scatter gloom and misery.

It was shrouded in a robe of icy blue, floral patterns adorning its sides, and though he made out a feminine figure from his state upon his knee, that was as much as he could determine. Her eyes were obscured by shadows blacker than their breadth should have allowed, her hair hidden in the hood of her robe, which extended so as to cover her feet and whatever wear they bore. Her hands were visible past the arms of her robe, the skin delicate and beautiful, the nails painted gold with flames in mystic pink; and between her lips painted crimson was the tip of a pipe fashioned for opium, from which smoke lifted that seemed to blur the air around it.

Even without sighting her eyes, the Warrior could feel her gaze looking down upon him, and he struggled to speak.

"You... I do not recognize your form, or your garments, and you bear no weapon I can relate to a manikin that survived beyond your cycle."

Laughter again, this time ringing with amusement at his unknowing; the Warrior felt he would receive no information as to her identity.

"I believe... you are here to show me what has not happened, as of yet, but what is to happen in time yet to come?"

Another peal of laughter, the amusement this time coming from his accuracy, as the robe nodded.

This was the only answer he received, as she raised one arm for him to rise, her body turning partly as though to lead.

By now he was used to beings not of this world. Yet something about this robe struck unbound horror into him; such that when he made to rise, that the figure might lead him, he nearly fell upon himself again. The robe took notice, and paused as he managed to rise to his feet, so as to ensure he would follow her. Yet the Warrior was all the worse for this - for the gaze of eyes that he could not see set a murderous curse of fright upon him, and though so many such gazes he had witnessed were from beneath helms, which bore likenesses to indicate, this was a gaze with no herald whatsoever.

"Phantasm," he forced, "you strike fear into me like no opponent I have seen before. But I understand you have benevolence in your actions, and I hope to take from it what lesson it bears. Will you not speak to me, that I might know your voice?"

The only response he received was laughter, this one bearing deliberate concealment; but a voice in laughter, of itself, has no identity, and the robe only swept a hand upward, beckoning for him to follow.

"Lead me," the Warrior murmured. "I know your time in this world is not to be wasted."

The robe stepped forward; and the Warrior moved to follow.

It was less that they left the sparring hall, and more that the hall seemed to vanish from around them. They arrived in a city that the Warrior recognized as Lufenia; voices in a language not his own echoed around him, yet he understood every word as though it were the streets of Cornelia - that is to say, he caught proper fragments of discussion, isolated words rather than jumbled nonsense; for the robe led him faster than a full sentence could reach his ears from one source. The day was overcast, though the comparative light told him it was only daybreak.

The robe fell still before a trio of Lufenian men, who seemed to be wrought with horror. Seeing the phantasm beckon to them, the Warrior slowly approached their conversation.

"I insist, I've no idea what caused it," one man insisted. "But he strikes as hard as he ever has - stronger still, if I'm not mistaken."

"How long since you encountered him?" asked a second.

"A fortnight, perhaps? He made not to strike me directly, though his blade severed a tree as warning."

The third shook his head. "What a horror," he murmured, "to think he's fallen so low."

They departed, leaving the Warrior in thought. Fallen? A blade that severs trees? That sounds awfully familiar...

He glanced at the phantasm for an explanation; the only response was a chuckle at his unknowing, and a finger pointed forward. The Warrior followed the indication to find two men coming across one another amidst the street.

"Morning," greeted one.

"How do you fare?" offered the other.

"Well for now," replied the first. "Can't say for long though."

"Nor can any others," agreed the second. "Plans for today?"

"Just a moment's stop at the apothecary. Herbs for waking."

"Always handy to quicken the first hours. Good day to you."

Not another word. That was their meeting, their conversation, and their parting.

Given the robe's penchant of laughter, the Warrior was at first inclined to consider this an act of jest. But time was valuable for those not of this world, and regardless of her disturbing echoes, she would not waste it on amusement; thus, the Warrior took a moment to consider. The doubt of welfare lasting for any period of time seemed to speak of a time at war; indeed, he understood that times of war necessitated waking quickly by any means - herbs, sugar, a foul taste. He turned to the phantasm, who beckoned him forward with a light chuckle.

They approached a woman working in a stall that seemed to be selling beaded bracelets; though less familiar with Lufenian writing than spoken word, he made out terms such as protection and perseverance and reasoned they were charms of good fortune. As he watched, another young woman approached the stall, her coin purse in hand.

"How many for you?" asked the storekeeper.

"One and a dozen," replied the customer. "I've a company about to depart."

"Where to, at this time?" prompted the owner, as she began to bundle the charms. "Not many locales for Lady Luck's hand."

"Not for myself. My beloved is off to Cornelia's region with some allies."

The storekeeper came to a stop at that. "Good heavens," she murmured. "Divines bless them."

She set the bundled charms into a bag, handing it to her customer, who only bowed her head. "I thank you for your service, for one will not oppose him, and the other fell to his hand." At that she departed with great haste, and the shopkeeper sat back on her seat as though sighting ghosts.

Smoke draped across the city, and the Warrior made to defend himself before he realized that this was the phantasm's method of taking him elsewhere - such as Prishe had launched her five lights, and Kain had him grasp his spear. When it cleared, they stood upon water; a perfect likeness of harmony's throne room, with waters stretching for miles, and streams of light circling the battlefield.

"This is... Order's Sanctuary," the Warrior mused, astonished. "Has the war of the gods been resumed?"

The phantasm's laughter again bore amusement at his unknowing, and as he turned to face her she beckoned towards the throne.

But there was no throne. Upon the center of the battlefield, he saw himself, armoured, glowing with golden force; and his opponent was Garland, his armour darkened and his weapon massive once again. A scowl crossed the Warrior's face as he witnessed himself yet to come having been dragged into battle with the fallen knight himself. I knew that stalwart wasn't to be trusted.

Garland's weapon lashed towards the Warrior's horned helm; but the knight only stepped to one side, letting it slam into the water's surface. One sabaton landed upon its back edge as the other struck the side of the stalwart's helm; the ringing was enough to stun him as he spun from his perch upon the blade and lashed at Garland's own horns, tearing the helm from his head.

The demon's face revealed, the Warrior levelled his blade between Garland's eyes.

"I don't fall so easily, I'm afraid."

His voice was darkened by war.

Garland snarled, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "Ease is not the issue," he reprimanded. "I have not fought to win."

A moment's passage; then the Warrior leapt aside, and Garland drew his blade from beneath where the knight had only just been. The roar of waves prompted the stalwart and both Warriors to glance around, seeing great sailing ships pass at either side of the Sanctuary; the vessels circled the building before soldiers swung from the rigging, landing upon the waters with a roll and drawing their blades; and Garland rose to his feet, propping his sword against the ground once more.

The observing Warrior saw these soldiers standing ready, and he knew; Garland doesn't stand a chance.

Then from one ship emerged a main in officious garments, bearing a hand crossbow loaded and raised at the two combatants.

"Captain Garland, we've arrived."

The observer started. "What?!"

The combatant turned to face him, shield and sword in accord. "Are you of the mind that that will slay me?"

"It's worth a shot," the ranger prompted, "wouldn't you say?"

He aimed the weapon and fired.

Garland took that same moment to swing.

The Warrior beat the mighty blade aside absently with his shield, at the same time swinging his blade skyward to sever the bolt in two. He turned to Garland as the stalwart was still recoiling, and his shield was wrapped in a hellious golden glow. He hurled it forward, the battle plate stunning him, then lashing at his unarmoured helm once, twice thrice; upon the fourth blow it was drawn back, and the Warrior hurled it fiercely to send Garland flying.

Another bolt was fired from the ranger's crossbow; yet without even bothering to recall his shield the Warrior lashed at it, severing it in two once again. The blade was wrapped in crimson as it parted from his hand, and the soldiers began to charge forward when they saw it circle him, leaving afterimages of bloody red in the air to surround him as he lowered it to his feet, then up above his head once again.

The sword's handle found his palm, and he slammed it into the waters as the phantom blades around him were propelled by forces unseen.

No sooner had the first blade connected with the soldier of fastest footing than the world was wrapped in smoke again; and the Warrior observing found himself standing at a set of jet-black iron gates; and the phantasm's laughter surrounded him, amusement born of his displeasure, as the robe beckoned him step through the gateway.

"Tell me, before I do as you bid," the Warrior struggled to say. "These shadows of things yet to come; are they shadows of things that must be, or of things that only might?"

Laughter at his pain.

"Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if preserved in, they must lead." His voice was wrought with horror. "But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me."

Amusement at his desperation.

"Please... tell me..."

The echoes faded into the night, and the robe beckoned again for him to enter.

With a heavy heart, he did so.

It was a graveyard, and blackcrystal forged each grave. At the far end stood a woman in golden dress, before a behemoth of a tomb; feeling this must be what the phantasm wanted him to see, the Warrior rushed forward to approach her. He recognized her, even from behind, at ten paces away, and his footfalls slowed to a stop at her side.

Princess Carol, he realized. Sarah's sister. What...?

She held in her hands a bouquet of black roses, and as he watched she set them down before the tombstone; there were silent tears in her eyes as she turned and walked away. The Warrior let his gaze linger on her for a long moment; then he turned to the stone, looking at the names carved into it.

KING ARYA ALDER CORNELIA

QUEEN JAYNE DIANTHA CORNELIA

PRINCESS SARAH CYNTHIA CORNELIA

The sight struck horror into the Warrior's heart; he nearly fell to his knees before the stone, one hand reaching out to set upon Sarah's name and support him as he tried to muster the courage to speak.

"He who allowed memories to consume him, the shadows of Chaos took first."

Where had he heard those words? He had not dreamed them.

"In time past and lost again, it was the stalwart who guarded the Princess herself."

There was a voice to them; a woman's voice he felt he should know.

"When that time was lost, the memories that consumed him were lost as well."

The voice was close - too close to be Carol who had already left the grounds.

"He who returned from Chaos with a heart of light bore memories of that lost time."

It had solid, physical form - it could not be the spectres of the buried dead.

"But when those memories consumed him, the Chaos took him instead."

And then he realized.

A blaze of fire seared upon his feet as he was turned, throwing him against the gravestone. The blaze reached the hood of the robe, throwing it back, and the phantasm drew the pipe from her lips, the tip caught between her teeth as her smallest finger pried the mouth from its end; and she caught the hollow tube in her grasp, as she would a blade.

"A false hero."

Raw magic the colour of ocean waves flared from the tip of the pipe that faced the Warrior, spearing through his heart like light and spoken word before it. The jade hair now dangled unbound around eyes shining with magic, and a pain like fire began to consume him as her gaze locked upon his.

"Warrior of Darkness. Pawn to Chaos, when once you slew him. This is your only fate, if you let memories of time no longer continue to plague your chivalry."

Reality began to flicker in his eyes, the world fading as the blade of Ultima continued to tremor in his heart.

"And when at last you are fallen, none will mourn your loss."

Resist as he might, for fear it would mean his end, the Warrior's eyes fell closed.

And then flew open again, to find his quarters dark of early hours, and empty.


Draco: Finished writing on November 22nd of 2014. When you know plotlines will take forever to come to fruition, you begin to place their elements within other stories if at all possible. Or maybe that's just me.

Terra's disposition within this stave is taken from my Kingdom Hearts fanfic Keys and Crosses, and the accompaniment fic Balance and Ruin. I will say no more on the subject, in case readers of this holiday story choose to read those fanfics.