Disclamation! Dissidia: Final Fantasy © Square Enix.
A/N: Let me just say right now that I am so, so sorry!
THE MESSENGER (featuring Your Favorite Enemies) – Takeharu Ishimoto
The Messenger
Chapter Nine :: A Promise Made in Blood…
"We must get moving soon," Kain said urgently. He was looking worriedly toward the wide glass doors at the front of the hospital; outside the sky was darkening steadily and the clouds overhead were dangerously thick.
"He's right," Kuja said softly. He pulled himself to his feet as if to further the sense of urgency; he wavered, but refused Terra's offer of assistance. "It's getting late and we have a long way to travel."
Firion nodded shortly and resumed his hold on the Warrior of Light. Zidane sat back from Bartz and watched quietly as Kain gently scooped him up, and then the blond bounced to his feet and shook out his arms. He was trying to loosen himself up, trying to shake off the weight of emotion, just long enough to make it out of the hospital and to whatever location they had decided on.
The lobby was in ruins; the crushed reception desk had the distinct imprint of a human body down its center, sparking cables dangled from the ceiling, broken light bulbs littered the floor with glass, and the ground was marked with pits and small craters. Here and there were gleaming shards of shattered crystal; no doubt these were the remains of the hospital staff.
Kuja and Zidane walked a few paces ahead of the others, pushing aside masses of rubble and clearing a path around the craters to the front door. Kain followed first with Terra shadowing him closely, worrying about Bartz's still-feeble condition, and lastly came Firion and Light.
It took a grueling amount of time to cross the lobby; each splatter of water from a broken pipe and every groan of broken boards underfoot caused the warriors to jump and scan for danger. They were on edge, their nerves were so frayed they were nearly nonexistent, and the addition of two compromised comrades was a heavy emotional stressor.
Jecht drove with a heavy foot on the gas and hands gripped, white-knuckled, around the steering wheel. His expression was set firm; the thin line of his mouth and a small crease between his eyes were the only indicators of his grim mood.
"Dad…?" Tidus said, quietly, cautiously. "Are you…all right?" They had been silent ever since Jecht had finished explaining their unique situation; Tidus had used that time to absorb all the information he'd been dumped with, to think it over and set it straight in his brain and then…it had all made sense. Even now, if Tidus concentrated hard enough, he could feel the faintest tingling of magic in his blood.
"I don't know what to expect when we get there," Jecht said stiffly, glancing briefly at his son.
Tidus nodded mutely and stared down at his hand, curling and uncurling it in his lap. He could almost feel something…tangible, something solid, waiting at his fingertips, but he wasn't entirely sure of what…
The automatic doors no longer operated, but that hardly mattered because the glass had been shattered. The warriors stepped through the empty frames and onto a plain of glass coated pavement. Kuja grimaced and watched his feet, still bare of shoes and socks, and suddenly he wished he'd bothered to reclaim his boots when he'd had the chance. But more than that, he wished he had the power to fly; he somehow felt as though he'd taken that particular ability for granted all those times he'd used it frivolously or thoughtlessly. He resigned himself to knowing there was nothing he could do to help his current predicament other than to grit his teeth and get by.
The soles of Kuja's feet were, for obvious reasons, very soft; he always wore shoes and he always flew wherever and whenever he could. Even in this strange, magic-less dimension, he rarely walked when he could help it; he supposed that if he were guilty of any sin it would be sloth. He was a lazy, indulgent creature and he was gifted with a partner who, despite all tough-guy bravado, allowed himself to be sweet-talked. With every step taken across the shattered glass, the more Kuja wished for one of three things: his boots, his ability, or his boyfriend to carry him.
Kuja gasped when a particularly large sliver pierced the arch of his foot and when he looked down a trickle of blood was oozing onto the pavement.
"Shit," he cursed; he was steadily becoming more frustrated and angry as the day dragged on and it was not ending well for him. "God damn it all."
Kuja reached out and grasped Zidane's shoulder, using his younger brother for support as he rolled his injured foot onto the side and continued to hobble across the pavement. His car, a decent sized SUV, was parked hastily in front of the hospital, waiting in a no-parking zone marked with diagonal yellow lines; Kuja had hardly cared for parking zones when he'd rushed Zidane to the hospital and it wasn't as though there was any real staff to get after him for it.
"You all right?" Zidane asked, wrapping an arm around Kuja's waist for further support.
"Fine," huffed the silver brother through clenched teeth. "Keep moving."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
Kuja carefully but quickly put down the ball of his injured foot, feeling the jagged edges for more splinters slicing into his flesh, and took a long step forward with other foot regardless of the pain. Almost immediately he let out a sharp yell and would have gone to his knees had Zidane not been there to hold him up.
"Come on, I'll carry you," Zidane said insistently, maneuvering to scoop up his brother. But Kuja bit his lip and refused, expression stony.
"No, keep moving. We'll get there faster if we just keep moving." He tried to take another step, but the blond didn't move with him and hindered any potential progress.
"Yeah? And who's gonna drive if you can't use your feet?" demanded Zidane.
"I will," said Kain, skirting around them. "We need to keep moving." He strode briskly onward towards Kuja's car, Firion and Light close behind him; both were likely eager to put down their respective burdens and get to the safety of the country house. Terra came up on Kuja's other side and pulled his arm over her shoulders, she smiled sweetly and with such honesty that Kuja could bear to refuse her assistance. The Goddess knew he desperately needed it, even if he was reluctant to admit so.
With someone on either side, Kuja was able to reach his car and unlock it for the others. Terra and Zidane left him to sit on the hood while they went to help Kain and Firion; Kuja stared warily at the hospital and the surrounding lot, searching for any possible sign of danger.
"There are seven of us," figured Firion, "and the car seats five…"
"We can lay Bartz in the trunk, it's big enough and it's flat so it won't be too bad on his back… I'll sit with him to keep him steady," said Zidane authoritatively, taking charge quite impressively. "Terra and Firion will sit in the backseat, holding Light. Kain, you drive, and Kuja will have shotgun."
Zidane didn't wait for anyone to approve or disapprove of this plan, he simply went ahead and opened up the trunk, climbing in and looking expectantly at Kain. Kain lurched into action, gently laying Bartz down so that he lay diagonally with his head cushioned on Zidane's crossed legs. As they began to situate Firion and Light into the backseat, Kuja concerned himself with inspecting the glass protruding from the soles of his feet; some of the larger pieces could be easily removed, but others were embedded too deeply to reach without tweezers and would likely need stitching. Kuja bent his head and bit his tongue as he set to work removing what debris he could, concentrating all his energy on being as neat and efficient as possible so as to not further damage his feet.
And then the unthinkable happened.
The brakes screeched and the seatbelt tightened automatically over Tidus's chest, it served as the only thing preventing him from being launched through the windshield. Nevertheless, Tidus could feel the muscles pulling uncomfortably in his neck and he knew that once the adrenaline wore off, the whiplash would be unbearable. He snapped back into his seat, head bouncing against the headrest, and he found himself facing forward and with a plain view of what had caused Jecht to stop so harshly.
A dark funnel cloud, made black by the dimming twilight, had appeared in the middle of the road. As Tidus watched, the clouds and the wind seemed to convulse and condense and pulse like a tar-filled heart. The funnel began to thin suddenly, shrinking into a slimmer column and then taking on a human-like form.
"What is that?" Tidus asked. He wasn't nearly as surprised as he probably ought to be, but after hearing the tale of an epic war between gods from his father and especially after knowing the story was true, nothing was really surprising anymore. Tidus assumed this was one of those villains he'd been told about and vaguely wondered who this one correlated to. Still, he wasn't entirely sure how to react to this bizarre phenomenon.
Jecht grumbled curse words under his breath. More audibly he said, "I don't have time for this bullshit."
He pumped the gas and the car bulleted forward, tearing through the cloud and jolting only slightly as the hood struck the hazy, woman-like figure. Tidus flinched; there was a sound uncomfortably similar to that of something heavy rolling over the roof and when Tidus looked out the back window, a woman lay strew across the asphalt.
"Are you shitting me?" he said, incredulous. "You've been involved of the death of two women today."
"Meh," Jecht shrugged, still sour. "They were both bitches anyway. The world's better off without them."
Tidus just sat back in his seat and sighed.
The Emperor, body ragged and clothing torn, rose from the ground and wrapped a golden-gloved hand around Kuja's throat. He lifted the silver genome and threw him bodily away from the vehicle. Kuja tumbled over the glass and loosened chunks of pavement and then limply came to a halt, lying on his stomach with his forehead pressed to the ground.
Kain, Firion, and Terra yelled and scrambled from the car, moving into a defensive position; Kain in particular had his lance drawn and at the ready in the blink of an eye. A moment later, Zidane had extracted himself from the trunk and was rushing towards Kuja.
"No, no," crooned the Emperor, waving his staff lazily. A large sigil appeared in the air, inches from Zidane's face. Zidane stopped short and staggered backwards. He didn't know what this thing was, but he knew it could not be anything good.
"Don't touch it, Zidane," Kain instructed in a low, serious tone; he didn't take his eyes away from the Emperor. "What do you want?"
"Nothing," purred the Emperor. "Nothing at all. I just want to thank Kuja for a job well done."
"What are you talking about?" Kuja, hissing in pain, drew himself up into sitting position, resting most of his weight on his hip and one hand splayed out on the ground. He felt something tickle at his hairline and when he touched his free hand to the spot, his fingers came back smeared with blood.
"Why, this little set-up right here, of course," said the Emperor; his voice was like black silk, smooth and cultured and pitched just so that a lie could not be distinguished from the truth. "It worked out just as planned, didn't it now. We have successfully trapped six Cosmos warriors, ready for execution."
"Kuja wouldn't do that," snapped Zidane. The Emperor immediately set his sights on the blond genome.
"Oh, he wouldn't?" said the Emperor in a sickly, velvety voice. "Didn't you ever notice how…different he's been since he returned from 'college'? Have you not wondered about all the secrets he's obviously been keeping? Have you ever wondered about that voice in the background whenever you called him and why he always refused to say who it was? You've always known he never spent a minute of his time on 'college work,' but did you ever find out what he was really doing?"
Zidane's determined expression faltered. The Emperor was playing on every doubt Zidane had ever had about his brother. It was a type of manipulation that he had long since perfected.
"No…" the young blond whispered, so quietly he almost couldn't be heard. "I never did…"
"Of course not," continued the Emperor, alight with the sick pleasure of his trickery. "Why would he tell you his plans to entrap and destroy your friends and companions? Every minute that Kuja did not spend on his college education, he spent with me"—the Emperor glanced at Kuja with an almost sultry expression that made Kuja's stomach churn unpleasantly—"plotting this very chain of events. It all worked out very nicely, didn't it, Kuja. I am very impressed with your performance."
"You lying cockroach, I did no such thing," Kuja said harshly, but he was beginning to feel weak from blood loss and the stress was getting to him. He was losing his strength.
The Emperor laughed darkly. "There's no need to continue the act now, my pet."
Kuja's expression went slack; all color drained from his face. He couldn't believe this. He looked feebly to Zidane and the others and something shattered inside him. There was anger in the faces of Kain and Firion, sadness in Terra, but the utter betrayal shining in his little brother's eyes was too much for him to bear.
"Kuja…" Zidane murmured, hurt beyond measure. "Is that true? Did you set us up?"
"No," Kuja whispered, voice strained in his exhaustion. "Never."
Zidane's face pinched as he fought to contain a wave of tears, he shook his head and turned away from his brother. "I'm not sure if I should believe you…"
"Zidane, please—"
Kain scowled and said bitterly, "I can't believe I ever trusted you. I should have known better."
"Why would you believe him over me?" demanded Kuja. "What merit does the Emperor have that I don't?" When this garnered no response, Kuja pressed on. "I'm sorry I never fully explained myself, but you never asked. You never asked me what I was doing all those times. If you had, I probably would have told you, but I honestly did not think it was such a big deal."
"Silence, Kuja," barked the Emperor. "There's no need to twist their hearts further. Even I am not so cruel as to torment them in such a manner."
"Cease with the noise," Kuja shouted. "I am tired of your drivel!"
The Emperor's expression went black with anger.
"What were you doing then?" Zidane asked, glancing only barely in his brother's direction. The hurt and betrayal was still visible in his bright blue eyes.
"I was with Jecht, Tidus's father," Kuja replied, grabbing his attempt to recover his younger sibling's trust. "We were trying to figure out how to help you without too much interference. I wanted you to do this on your own, because…really, it's something best done on your own."
"And was Jecht the voice in the background all those times?"
"Silence," hissed the Emperor, but Kuja paid him no mind and answered Zidane regardless.
"Yes, it was. That was him. Tidus probably told you he's been of shorter temper, but that's only because he's exhausted. We all are."
"If you won't quiet down, I will be forced to make you," growled the Emperor and without any further warning, he raised his staff above his head and then brought the butt end cracking down on the pavement. Seconds later, a wide sigil drew itself beneath Kuja's battered, bleeding body.
Kuja went numb. He stared down at the harshly glowing purple lines of the emblem and watched helplessly as countless violet orbs, gleaming with white-hot heat at every center, arose on the perimeter. And he knew he couldn't escape. He was too weak. The soles of his feet were in shreds and he was covered, head to toe, in cuts and bruises and he was certain that his ankle had been twisted when the Emperor threw him. He couldn't run out of the sigil; he couldn't even stand. He looked over at Zidane, standing with his mouth gaping and his eyes full of horror. The others stood behind him, conflicted, not knowing if they ought to save their comrade or allow a traitor to be righteously terminated. Kuja did not blame them. He understood that he had been secretive and he knew well the Emperor's ability to use words to play on others' doubts for his own benefit.
"Zidane," he said softly, with as much honesty as he could muster. "I am sorry."
Zidane did not reply and Kuja did not blame him.
He barely heard the screech of tires and the surprised yells of the others, he barely registered the familiar shape of the man he loved surging forward, and he barely noticed how the Emperor's tall form suddenly crumpled as the orbs around him exploded. All Kuja could hear or register or notice was the blinding white that encompassed his vision and the blistering heat that enveloped him.
Jecht screeched into the hospital parking lot in a rage; he didn't need any time to take in the scene before him to understand what was happening. It was just as he'd suspected, just as he'd feared, and damn it if it didn't piss him off like nothing else could! He tore the keys from the ignition without bothering to put the car in park; his focus was solely on the Emperor and the vindictive laughter in his eyes and his voice. As much as he would have loved to leap onto the sigil and attempt a heroic stunt to save Kuja, he knew it was impossible. The orbs were already glowing with pre-explosion heat by the time he'd arrived and as he made his move towards the Emperor, they detonated.
All Jecht could see was red.
The red hazed his vision, boiled in his veins, and infected his brain. Before he could fully think about what he was doing, he was gouging out the Emperor's throat with the teeth of his car keys. The Emperor crumbled to the ground clutching at his neck and slowly choking to death on his own blood. Jecht left him to die as the blaze of the explosion faded away.
He dropped his bloodied keys as he hurried to the place where Kuja lay curled on his side, clothing singed around the edges and skin burned to blackish red. Jecht went to his knees at Kuja's side and, as gently as he could, rolled the younger man onto his back. Kuja's body was smoking; the gray tendrils wisped upward and faded quickly.
Tidus crept out of the car and joined the others in their tentative approach towards Jecht and Kuja. Kain was stone faced and unreadable, Terra had her hands cupped over her mouth as she cried silently, and Firion was grim faced with sorrow. Zidane had sunk to his knees next to the back of Kuja's SUV, leaning against the rear tire; he felt hollow, drained of all energy. He couldn't even muster of the strength to react to the murder of his own brother; he just…couldn't.
Jecht smoothed the blackened hair from Kuja's burned face, even that feather-light touch stirred up a small cloud of smoke and he drew back immediately. He growled under his breath; he could kill the Emperor again a thousand times and he still wouldn't feel that Kuja was sufficiently avenged. That man was lower than the scum of the Earth and Jecht hated him.
A sharp intake drew Jecht's attention back down to Kuja. The younger man had opened his eyes and was gazing directly up at Jecht. He smiled faintly, his jaw dropped slightly as if he were attempting to speak, and tried to raise one hand; Jecht automatically took that hand in his. Kuja's skin dissipated like ash in his palm and the smoke drifted at a more constant rate. Kuja sighed softly and his eyes slid shut.
And then, all at once, his body dispersed and disappeared.
Jecht's now empty hand clenched into a fist. He let out an angry yell and punched his fist onto the pavement with enough power to leave a sizeable dent. Tidus approached his father carefully, taking slow, predictable steps; the last thing he wanted was to startle Jecht and accidentally cause his own demise. He crouched at an arm's distance from Jecht and kept his posture as unassuming as possible.
"He'll be back," Tidus said quietly. "Just like with Ultimecia. Just like you told me in the car. He'll always be back unless Zidane is the one who kills him." Tidus glanced back at the young genome, still leaning helplessly against the rear tire of the SUV. "And I don't think he's capable of that."
Jecht rose abruptly, unsteadily, to his feet and marched towards the Emperor's body; the man wasn't quite dead, he was still wheezing and choking and becoming paler with every failed breath. The larger man squatted ominously over him.
"You're going to die," Jecht told him plainly. "You're going to die and eventually, I don't know when, but eventually you will come back to life. When you do, I will find you. I will find you and I will kill you again and again and again and however many times it takes for me to feel satisfied. Because you don't want to know how fucking angry I am right now. And don't for a moment think that I am bluffing, because I'm not. I will murder you a thousand times over and when I'm done, I'll make sure you stay dead."
The Emperor's eyes widened in horror; he couldn't speak or protest or defend himself, he could only lay and watch as Jecht, cool and calm, wrapped a hand around his neck and began to squeeze. It was over in a minute. The smoke began to rise from the Emperor's body, primarily from the crushed remains of his windpipe and then spread to consume the rest of him and soon he, too, was gone.
Jecht wasted no time. He stood in a brisk, businesslike manner and wiped the blood from his hand onto the leg of his jeans. He realized what kind of sight he must be: bare-chested and dressed only in blood-soaked jeans. He was probably a fairly terrifying sight. He didn't care.
"Where's Bartz?" he demanded.
"Laid out in the trunk," Kain answered immediately, sensing the no-nonsense air about the other man.
"Someone go sit with him," ordered Jecht. "You're driving, I assume."
"Yes, I am," the dragoon answered promptly.
Jecht nodded curtly. "Make sure Zidane's all right. Drive behind me, don't lose track of my car, I don't care if that means you need to tailgate, just follow me." Jecht turned on his heel and marched back to his car, snapping for Tidus to hurry up when his son didn't immediately follow.
"Where are we going?" Firion asked nervously.
"The country house," Jecht said shortly. "It's the only place where Bartz can be treated properly. Now get moving!"
The others jumped into the action. Firion hauled Zidane to his feet and guided him back to his previous position with Bartz, and then he settled in the backseat with Light's head cradled in his own lap. Terra slid into shotgun, wiping the moisture from her eyes and was quiet while Kain opened the driver's door. He paused only for a moment upon realizing that Kuja had never handed over the keys, but he said nothing of it. Instead, he wordlessly went about hot-wiring the car and then adjusted the seat and the mirrors to his liking. The car was silent as Kain nudged the gas and followed Jecht out of the hospital parking lot.
In the other vehicle, Jecht drove with a heavy foot on the gas and hands gripped, white-knuckled, around the steering wheel. His expression was set firm; the thin line of his mouth and a small crease between his eyes were the only indicators of his grim mood.
"Dad…?" Tidus said, quietly, cautiously. "Are you…all right?"
Jecht didn't answer; he drove on through the night in a blaze of headlights.
Ring… Ring… Ring… Ring—click.
"Hey, what's up? …Uh-huh. …Yeah. …Hey, hold that thought, I'm not actually here right now, so leave a message and I'll get back to you A.S.A.P. so we can continue this wonderful conversation! Thanks!" Beep.