A/N: Switching PoV forthis chapter.

Chapter 10

Fools.

The airship crashes around me. It is utterly destroyed in the last desperate attack of one man.

To be fair, I have rarely in my long existence come across a being with so much raw power at their disposal. Even my disciples would be hard met to go blow-for-blow against this grey haired fellow.

But he was old. With age, came sentimentality as well as weakness of the bone.

And whether it was his tactics or his fighting spirit, he was simply not fit to be my opponent.

I cancelled out his last strike with my All-Ultima. This is what caused the airship to fall utterly apart. I entered free-fall, along with the corpses of my enemies – a familiar scene to mine eyes. The old fool, the last of my standing enemies died within that free-fall without me even touching him. He had truly placed his everything into that blow, for what it was worth. And whether he died of combat wounds and exhaustion, a heart attack from the strain, or simple old age, I didn't know. Nor did I care.

I am unworried. I will praise these maggots for making me ascend to my battle form, but even though this skeletal body lacks the elegant wings I was accustomed to, I still controlled all of time and space herein. I was at no threat at all of falling to any damage.

All their efforts were so futile.

That swords girl took my blows with a fortitude that could make stone weep. The magician girl, whom I though little of at first, showed an ability to fend me off with a knightsword of all things.

And that cleric. That little girl.

Of all those humans, I knew her name alone… Alma.

My host.

Yes. What an impetuous girl.

I was surprised when she robed herself in 'Magic Barrier' and took my All-Ultima head on.

But when the dust settled, I even felt a chill as she managed to learn and use that 'All-Ultima' directly back at me.

I can only assume with the twisted laws of reality in this place, and her time fused with me… somehow, a strange coincidence of events was born from all of that, and she stole my technique.

Of course I killed her immediately. I simply couldn't have All-Ultima running around under another's command.

I put a hole through her chest with my skeletal fist. As her blood sank into the dilapidated wood, those foolish humans lost all reason.

It was really pitiful. This is why they are lesser creatures.

I will never go back to that 'humanity'.

But… one thing bothers me even now. As these freefalling corpses pass the point of no return, and I see the faint glimmer of the crystal essence of souls left behind…

I see it.

That one nagging loose end.

Face down in the inky black solidity that passed for this dimension's 'floor' lay an armored squire that lacked all forms of specialized techniques or authorities.

During battle, he appeared to hold only mundane martial and spiritual techniques. He used weapons and spells that anyone could learn.

Yet when I compare my enemies before and after he had left their side, it was akin to comparing a tiger to a cat.

A Tiger is still a cat. But there was a world of difference between the two, all the same.

I wondered what this mysterious boy's name was. He's Alma's brother. From what I recall from her memories… yes. Ramza. Ramza Bevolue.

The boy was a slightly above average soldier. But at the same time he was far more than a soldier. I recognized this in him easily because I had been the same, long, long ago. He was a leader of uncontestable morality. He could make sadness into hope. Weakness into strength. He could sow solidarity amongst the divergent. He could roar out against my pitch black darkness, and turn cowards into heroes.

A dangerous sort of man.

And I didn't see a crystal.

Therefore he was, barely, still alive.

I couldn't place this feeling. He was all alone, on the brink of death, lying at the bottom of my own dimension. But I… stepped forwards on weary legs.

I raised a hand tentatively. I didn't feel as if I should approach any further. I received a foreboding feeling that could have easily been a phantom fear related to my thousand year imprisonment.

I had no reason for this. Although I did consider him a dangerous man, it was because his strength was directly proportional to the power of his allies. Now his allies were all dead. I had seen their crystals myself. They plummeted through this pitch blackness even now.

If I had to say what it was, it must have been an instinctual fear.

It was nonsense but… I would cast my strongest spell instead. The spell that so easily sowed havoc in his allies ranks. A spell at the apex of all black magic. One created by a saint-turned-demon, in order to fight the god that had forsaken her. A power bordering on the divine, and therefore thoroughly heretical.

I prepared All-Ultima just to finish off this worm who was practically at the reaper's doorstep.

This slight delay was my mistake.

At that moment a small crystal crashed down upon that boy's head. Since it was the remains of one of his friends, having fallen an uncounted hundreds of miles, It was a rather incredible coincidence.

But that crystal, a solidification of the feelings and lingering life energy left behind when a soul passed on…

That crystal imbued the entirety of its last offering onto the boy. It held nothing back.

And he, the mundane boy and leader of men, stirred in the dark.

It was a strange coincidence.

It was almost like…

No. It wasn't quite on that level, for as a saint I had worked on that level myself – I knew of what it entailed. But still, I had the strangest inkling that it was almost like…

A miracle.

That was not a dream, I remind myself as I open my eyes.

I do not really 'dream'.

But I reminisce, sometimes. I recall things with such vividness it could have been a dream.

I sigh in weariness. It had been more than ten years now, since that fool had clashed blade and magic with my true power, and tore us both free of time and place.

Ten years since he had landed his spirit within his past self. Like a bad joke, or like a cosmic trickery, my fate mirrored that of my foe. As we clashed strength evenly, so we were blasted to this time and space evenly.

Of course I landed myself in the closest proximity of a past body, for this dimension.

In the original timeline, as of this calendar date, the one called 'Ajora' existed as a transient specter trapped in the dimension I had fondly called the 'Airship Graveyard'.

That dimension simply did not exist anymore. We had cracked it open. That place was now a space and a time that did not exist. Would not exist. Did not exist.

And so on.

So my time-traveled soul thankfully did not anchor itself there.

Where I landed was quite ironic.

His sister. My one time host was my host once more. The sweet torture.

So close to my foe and so far all at once.

My host slept beside him every night. I could control her body easily.

Her 'sleep-walking' episode was nothing but I, myself.

I could reach over and strangle him any night, with perfect ease, from age two to twelve.

But I knew it was futile.

Because of that boy I was trapped. Just as his ancestors had sealed me away in my personal dimension, the boy managed to tie my hands completely.

This time, it was not a physical limitation. It was also not a spiritual limitation.

Ah, but I was no less trapped.

It was strategic. I was in a state of constant checkmate.

These are the thoughts that run through my mind as I consider the bandaged and all but comatose body of Ramza Bevolue, in the dead of night, sitting on a stool at his bedside like a dutiful sister.

I wanted nothing more than to smother the pest to death, but I could not.

In a future time, I had not lost to that boy, but I had not won. I could not win. Now that I can look back at the event, it made perfect sense. It was simply impossible for me to win. I knew this very well.

That's because I had been just like him. I wasn't always a fell goddess of death and evil. I wasn't always a reckless power craving, self-serving despot of unimaginable power.

I used to be a fool.

When I was young and starry eyed, I had been Saint Ajora. A devout Pharist. A pristine example of morality and justice. A soldier, a leader of men, and a silly little girl trying to change the world.

And I did.

I changed the world.

People might think that the dark and evil powers of the world are dangerous. Demons and such. But that's an incomplete statement.

The bright and good powers of the world are equally dangerous. It's easily enough to topple governments and conquer kingdoms. I had done it.

No, Light was at least as destructive as Darkness.

Two halves of a coin. Light and darkness. Day and night.

I knew what I was. I was unrepentantly evil. I wanted to rule the world, because I could. I wanted a kingdom of blood, unfairness, and above all I wanted slovenly levels of my own self-amusement.

I was now exactly the kind of character that I used to smite regularly, and against all odds, back when I was a real saint.

And Ramza was the genuine article. He was a saint, if saints ever existed.

Saints were ones with 'miracles' at their disposal. At least two, was the general rule.

I had seen one for certain. Ramza had matched strength with me equally, in a world in which I may as well have been a god, against all conceivable odds. It was as if fate had wrapped around the foolish boy like an armour and a blade, both at once. He broke all the rules, and aquired knowledge and power beyond normal limits.

It was inconceivable. That's why it was a miracle.

In fact the more absurd an event, the more likely it was to take place.

The fool boy is weak as a babe, wounded and under the vestiges of a powerful poison, but I do not strike.

If I reached out now to strangle this boy he would wake instantly to battle readiness, or someone inconvenient – though I couldn't imagine who could possibly inconvenience one of such power as I – would miraculously walk in on us, or a star would fall from the sky and smite me.

Who knows? I only know that something will stop me. That is what a blessed life means. It's not to say I have no options of victory. I could knock aside one or two falling stars. But I would be fighting at most on even ground. Fallen saint against active saint.

This made me quite upset. I did not believe in equality anymore.

What's more, I could do little about my predicament.

It's been a handful of days since Ramza was found half-dead in the dungeons of Bevolue Keep. The princess has hardly left his side. I, or rather Alma, has been the same. As if it were some form of contest to see who could be more uncomfortable they sit on hard wooden stools on opposite sides of his bead and await his recovery.

Although I am briefly taking control of Alma during her sleep, it is but to stretch and contemplate.

The events of the past few days were not my doing. My stupid disciple Adrammelech was to blame for it all. Those worthless followers of mine just couldn't sit still.

I am as ageless as I am powerful. Honestly, nothing would be simpler than waiting for Ramza to grow old and die. I was free from my dimensional cage after thousands of years. I could wait fifty or so more. It was of very little consequence to me.

I could not defeat Ramza, but I knew how to win. When Ramza inevitably passed, I would dane on his grave and this world would be my plaything once more. It was all perfectly simple.

A/N: I'm going to go back and put all the dream sequences in itallics.

Also, it's Alpha reader's fault that we're entering the climax arc. By the way, he sends his thanks for the prayers and well wishes.

We're not quite at the point of no return, but barring a change of heart from that Alpha reader we will be going in for 5-9 more chapters towards the end of the story. No helping it. I had thought up to the end of the dream sequence fights completely before I started this story, but I have absalutely no ideas what comes after. Will have to brainstorm.

It's very rare for me to give an update schedule, but if nothing changes on that side you can expect the next one 1-2 weeks from now.