It's silent outside the door. Good. I don't care where The Liar is. I gather my papers, get up, and run out the other doorway. There are stairs beyond. Once at the top, I run across the hall. Here another door, another chamber. Within are more stairs still. Fine. I'm almost running aimlessly. I don't know where to go or what to do anymore. I have to get these to Cosmos, but after that? After that I don't know.

The stairs have lead me to a grand balcony on the back of the Palace. There is a veil over the edge of the balcony, obscuring the view of the lands beyond. Behind me are rows of seats rising upward. An amphitheatre. And there, on the edge of the balcony, staring out at the veil is The Liar.

I turn around, but the stairs behind me have vanished. I am trapped here. And so I accept this challenge. If the time has come to face The Liar, then face him I shall. I sigh and remove my cloak. I wrap the dockets in it and place it on one of the lower seats, then advance toward this friend of mine.

"Ah," says the Liar. "You have come."

"Not of my own wish. I have no interest in this fight."

"Then indulge your old friend, because I have wanted this for a very, very long time."

"So it would seem. The question is . . . why? Why sell yourself to demons, jeopardize your everlasting soul, forfeit all . . . just to fight me?"

"You are so pompous! So full of yourself! You think I did all of this just to get at you? Don't be a fool, Previa. I joined Chaos because he's RIGHT. This, though . . . this is something else."

"What? This is madness, that's all I see."

"Look at you, Cid. I spent my LIFE fighting against things like you. Fallen angels that played at being Gods. Beings who strove to manipulate the lives of men. Yet you are worse than any Occuria ever was, for you play not with the lives of men, but with their souls."

"I do only as The Gods ask. Make your point."

"You claim to know enough about the art of war that you wager souls and histories on that bet. But have you ever tasted battle, Previa? Do you know the first thing about winning a fight?"

"Is that all this is? A test? I have no time for tests, Bunansa. I have a war to start."

"This is no test," The Liar says, a wreath of swords materializing around him. "This is a battle of wills, Previa. Our very own Dissidia. Your view versus mine. I wonder, now, after all the dissidias you have resolved over the ages, can you ever hope to resolve your own?"

The Liar's swords fly away from him in a flurry of steel and anger. Seeing the silver lightning streak toward me, I dive into the seats of the amphitheatre, narrowly avoiding getting skewered. The blades strike the stones around me, withdraw and return to their wielder.

He has a point, I know. All this time I've pitted man against man, wagering soul after soul, and never once have I really bothered to learn how to fight. Sure, I know how fighting works, goodness knows I understand all of this in theory, but the practice? That still escapes me.

Getting to my feet, I narrowly avoid another Sword Rain. I take off running as The Liar's laughter echoes throughout the amphitheatre.

"Give up, Previa! You're not even armed! That you carry no sword is proof enough! You don't know the first THING about war! I am the better Cid! It's not fair that I was cast out and you weren't! Do you hear me, Previa!? IT'S NOT FAIR!!!"

The blades fly in a straight line this time, exploding around me in an attempt to catch me as I dodge. Luckily, being frozen with fear has worked to my advantage. The swords fly back again and I try and run up the seats to the rooftop. Surely someone is there?

"Going somewhere, Previa!?" shouts The Liar, suddenly appearing before me. "Only one of us is leaving this balcony, Scholar."

"Fine. You stay here forever. I've an afterlife to get on with."

"Jokes will not save you now, my master!" the swords swirl around the Liar, then fly at me. One catches my arm, igniting a flare of pain and sending me falling back down the amphitheatre toward the balcony. The blade dislodges, and a moment later I am struck in the back by The Liar's foot, he having teleported behind me.

My body had almost forgotten what pain was like. I cannot decide if this is good for me or not. Is a man whole if he feels no pain? Men go for years without even the least amount of pain. Indeed, much of life is lived without it. Yet pain is still a part of existing, isn't it? One must know pain to know pleasure. How can you love the light if you do not know the darkness? What is love like without hate? Maybe we're right, maybe there has been a corruption.

"Come now, my old teacher, do not lie so still. We've a long way to go before you are damned." The blades rise above me, and all plunge at once. But as they fall I strike at the legs of The Liar, sending him falling backwards onto one of his own blades. He falls downward and, sensing a change in their master's position, the swords come following after.

I grab one as it flies by though, and the sword seems to shudder at first under my touch. But it soon bends to my will. "One thing has become clear to me," I say as The Liar dislodges a sword from his bowels, "I am tired of running away, and I am tired of getting my ass kicked."

Bringing the blade forward, I call out, "You want a fight, Liar? Come and get some."

The Liar's swords fly forth again, and as they do so, he vanishes once more. This time I am ready, though. He bursts into existence behind me as his blades rush forth, I drop down, letting the swords fly past. I am too slow, though, and the swords yield once more to him. I roll to my right and jump back to my feet. It's time to put my knowledge to the test.

Our blades meet in a flash, and their cries ring out amidst the thunder and lightning. Someone has summoned a storm, it would seem. The rains begin to fall around us, making slick the stones, and unsafe the higher parts of the amphitheatre. The remaining five blades of The Liar increase in rapidity and force. It is becoming increasingly difficult to deflect them.

"Would you like to know the reason I chose six swords?" calls The Liar over a bolt of lightning. "It's simple, really. Pollendina, Previa, Marquez, Kramer, Margrace and Bunansa are their names. Would you like to guess what they represent!!?" All five of The Liar's blades draw back and beat against mine in one blow. My arms seem to fail me for a moment, but then the swords draw back. They seem to have a limited length of time they can remain away from him for.

"Is it any wonder," The Liar says, using his blades as stairs to aide him in jumping some greater height, "That in some languages, the word Cid means Sword? Or that the name of The Highest is Cid as well?" He grabs the Kramer and jumps downward, bringing all of his weight into the blow. My arm gives way, but the blade misses the mark.

"Here's an interesting note for you: Did you know that every Cid who joins a Counsel is given a title? And you in your arrogance believed it was some trademark of yours! No, no, Scholar, have you never even thought about it? The Highest is a Cid! The Scholar is a Cid! And you see no greater connection here!?"

"As I have said before, I see nothing but madness here, Liar. I have not seen reason issued from your lips in ages."

"Then see it now! Chaos and Cosmos believe theirs is the greatest of Endless Cycles, but verily I say unto you: This is not the case! There stands a greater Endless Cycle still! The Cycle of Cids! We Cids are meant for greater things than the average man, Scholar! The God of the Gods of Gods is one of our number, and after this, one of us shall become the lowest of all Cids! Forever we will march on, enslaved by our own greatness!"

"Funny; I can't say I see what's so great about you!"

"See?" Asks The Liar, "You have been on the defensive this entire time. You don't know the first thing about striking, do you? Your talents with a blade are depressing, my master."

"Cut me some slack, junior. If you'd like me to stop going easy on you . . ."

The Liar is typically tickled by my display of arrogance. He throws back his head to laugh, to mock, and in doing so makes two very simple mistakes: he takes his eyes off the enemy and exposes his throat. A pity I've no knives nor training in ninjitsu.

Nevertheless, I charge and strike. My sword comes but inches away from The Liar's neck when his blades cross before it to form a shield. I step back quickly as they shape into a fan and swipe in an attempt to slice me in twain. As they miss I leap onto the blades and strike at my old friend again. This time he vanishes and his swords chase him to his new position.

"Very good, Previa! Perhaps you're not as bad at the art of the blade as I had thought."

"Yet you remain as stupid as ever. You've read Sephiroth's docket. Are you so unwilling to learn from his mistakes?"

"I fail to see how I can. You are no Cloud Strife, Scholar. Your best weapon is a book and your most well known for your white hair and garish red robes. A bad ass you are not."

"Granted, but a Knight-Class you never were, Liar. Nor, for that matter, were you much of a mage, according to your docket. How much longer do you think you can possibly maintain whatever power you are stealing now?"

"Stealing!? Again with your arrogance. No Cid could possibly be BETTER than you, could he? So I must be STEALING!? This power is my ANGER! My hatred! This is me, destroying you!" The Liar raises his arms and several more blades appear. Undoubtedly these are the Secondus, Haze, Highwind, Fabool, Randell and Orlandeau. It would seem my old friend is truly set on winning. A shame that I must rob him of that, too.

"It's high time this come to an end!" shouts The Liar, his eleven swords swarming outward at me. What I would not give to have a shield! Taking a deep breath, I run forward, striking at every sword that comes near me. The blades, I know, having been batted away, are gathering behind me. But I have just one shot anyway.

"Ready to give in?" taunts The Liar, "To admit defeat? Can you? Are you even capable of such a thing? I doubt it very much." Mere feet from The Liar I dive to the ground. His blades return to shield him from what he must have expected was a frontal assault. I roll out of the dive and come to a standing position behind him.

Back to back the battle ends, my blade driven through his chest. "Doctor," I say, "What shall I tell your son? What do I say to your Mid? Do you remember the promise?"

"P-promise . . ." chokes out the Liar, blood in his voice. "The Oath . . ."

"Yes. What should I tell your son?"

"Tell him . . . nothing. He lost his father long ago."

"Then have you nothing else to say?"

"Before I am damned for time and all eternity? No . . . ironic, isn't it? That I, of all Cids, should be bereft of a speech at a time like this?"

"Farewell, Cidolfas Demen Bunansa."

"Farewell, Cid Previa."

I draw the blade from my friend, and with one last cry, he falls to his knees. I have only seen one angel Fall before, and it was no one I knew. This is . . . so much worse than watching a man die. His wings burst from behind his back, and for a moment they remain outstretched. Then they burst into flame, and he begins to scream. His halo is next to appear, that aura of light. It burns red as his flaming wings, and then wreathes his skull. Last is his voice. The music of his soul begins to play, but breaks into a dischord of screams.

The fire forces him upward, and he turns to face me. A moment he stands there, flaming, and then the fires stop. Burnt and ruined are his wings. Blackened and charred his face, and hoarse and ill his voice. Then, even this is gone, his body turned to dust, washed away in the rain. At any moment he will awaken in some Circle of Hell or another, and his suffering will begin.

Darkness . . . all is darkness . . . so serene, the Void sounds. The ashes are washed away now, the Rains of Heaven denying even that much proof that Cidolfas Demen Bunansa was ever an angel. Yet he was. My friend once, my companion, most trusted of my counsel. For a long time we six wandered the Heavens, drifting from God to God, doing the work we thought we loved. Resolving conflicts.

But along the way I grew sour. I spent so long staring into the light, seeing the Gods war amongst each other, that I lost my self, I became blind, and I could never see what was coming. I sowed the seeds of our ending, and I reaped the first fruit of that wretched crop so long ago.

It was the duty, that day, of The Doctor to lead our group in it's discussion of warriors for another God's war. All seemed to go well. Our discussion was no more heated than normal, and we all reached a more or less unanimous decision. Or so it seemed.

The Doctor, it happened, had deceived us all, and taken a different Champion to this God. His intent was always to leave us that day. He had seen what I myself was not yet ready to admit: That we had grown as cynical as the Gods I so derided. He hoped to escape what he thought was our imminent demise as a group, and so took this name and presented it on his own.

That God lost it's war, and my Counsel was held responsible. When at last I understood what exactly had happened, I myself cast The Doctor from our presence. I called him a liar, and the name seemed to have stuck from that moment onward. He left us in shame, rather than rising above us. He was the member of a group of failures who had been deemed unacceptable even there.

Who, then, can I blame for this but myself? Whose fault is this, if not my own? Had I never cast him from us, The Doctor's soul would never have been damned. Had I never cast him from us, Kefka would not now be among the waking. Oh Gods, is there any sin here committed which is not in some way my own? What have I done?

"Scholar!" a voice calls . . . I cannot remember whose.

"Scholar!" The Chronicler shouts, shaking me back into reality.

"Oh," I say, "Chronicler, where have you been?"

"We've been looking for you."

"We?"

"Yes, we!" I look past The Chronicler to see The Messenger, The Wanderer, The Engineer, and The Warrior of Light standing at the other end of the balcony. They are smiling . . . well, except the Warrior, who seems rather pensieve. How can they smile? Don't they know . . . ?

"What has happened here?" The Messenger asks, "Where did all these swords come from?"

"The Liar," I say, getting to my feet. "We fought. I'm afraid . . . he's gone now."

Each Cid in turn bows his head, and all are silent a moment. What can they say? A friend has been damned forever here. And, unlike death, there is little hope of reunion. I began this Ministry believing that these wars did not matter. I am beginning to see otherwise.

"We have . . . good news and bad news, Scholar." says The Chronicler. "Which would you hear first?"

"I have had my fill of bad news," I say, "give me the good."

"The tenth dockets be in the Palace!" says The Engineer. "An' The Warrior 'ere'll take yer dockets to The Lady!"

"That is good news," I say, directing the Warrior to where the docket lays, still wrapped in my cloak. "What's the bad?"

"We don't have the last dockets . . . Mateus and the others do."

Ah, so here we are, then? In order to seal my sin, I must first face the sins I have already committed. Before I can unleash one last danger in the Heavens, I must confront those sins I indirectly awoke. Absolutely marvelous. Just the way to finish a day.

"Gentlemen," I say, "We are not fighters. We are not warriors. We cannot hope to defeat The Ten on our own. But we must have those dockets, and we must finish this job. We have never failed to complete a ministry, and we will not do so now." I wave my arm toward the blades, "So pick a sword, any sword, and stick your courage to the screwing place. The time has come to show Heaven and Hell that the name Cid does not just mean The Guy Who Made The Airship."

"Finally," Says The Wanderer, "ages beyond counting have I travelled with you lot, and only now do we get to kick some ass?"

"Since you've lost count," The Messenger says, "would you prefer we just keep waiting?"

"Scholar!" The Chronicler shouts, shaking me back into reality.

"Oh," I say, "Chronicler, where have you been?"

"We've been looking for you."

"We?"

"Yes, we!" I look past The Chronicler to see The Messenger, The Wanderer, The Engineer, and The Warrior of Light standing at the other end of the balcony. They are smiling . . . well, except the Warrior, who seems rather pensieve. How can they smile? Don't they know . . . ?

"What has happened here?" The Messenger asks, "Where did all these swords come from?"

"The Liar," I say, getting to my feet. "We fought. I'm afraid . . . he's gone now."

Each Cid in turn bows his head, and all are silent a moment. What can they say? A friend has been damned forever here. And, unlike death, there is little hope of reunion. I began this Ministry believing that these wars did not matter. I am beginning to see otherwise.

"We have . . . good news and bad news, Scholar." says The Chronicler. "Which would you hear first?"

"I have had my fill of bad news," I say, "give me the good."

"The tenth dockets be in the Palace!" says The Engineer. "An' The Warrior 'ere'll take yer dockets to The Lady!"

"That is good news," I say, directing the Warrior to where the docket lays, still wrapped in my cloak. "What's the bad?"

"We don't have the last dockets . . . Mateus and the others do."

Ah, so here we are, then? In order to seal my sin, I must first face the sins I have already committed. Before I can unleash one last danger in the Heavens, I must confront those sins I indirectly awoke. Absolutely marvelous. Just the way to finish a day.

"Gentlemen," I say, "We are not fighters. We are not warriors. We cannot hope to defeat The Ten on our own. But we must have those dockets, and we must finish this job. We have never failed to complete a ministry, and we will not do so now." I wave my arm toward the blades, "So pick a sword, any sword, and stick your courage to the screwing place. The time has come to show Heaven and Hell that the name Cid does not just mean The Guy Who Made The Airship."

"Finally," Says The Wanderer, "ages beyond counting have I travelled with you lot, and only now do we get to kick some ass?"

"Since you've lost count," The Messenger says, "would you prefer we just keep waiting?"

We bid farewell to the Warrior, who heads off in search of the Goddess. He does not seem exactly excited by this quest, but I can't blame him. He's just discovered that his life has been a total lie. And his afterlife. And soon, I am afraid, he won't even remember his afterlife. Yet another sin of mine, I am afraid.

Making our way toward the basement, where the others claim The Ten are, we size up our situation. Things look bleak. We five are Cids, thinkers, lovers, poets, builders. We are the arts and crafts kids, and we are about to go up against the kids who loved swords and guns in school. The enemy will throw their might against us, and thus we must depend solely upon our wits.

"What do we do when we get a docket?" Asks The Messenger.

"Get it to me, and then cover me. I'll score it and we'll get it signed afterward."

"Shouldn't we all score it?"

"No," The Chronicler says, "No, we have no time for that. The end is too near now. We have to focus on just getting it scored and signed and into Cosmos' hands."

After this there is quiet again. We march ever nearer to the battle, yet none of us are entirely certain how we can hope to escape unscathed. We've read these dockets, though, so maybe we can play to the weaknesses of the villains and get our last piece?

The Grand Cellar opens before us, a realm which stretches out beneath the plains surrounding The Palace of Order. Darkness seems to fill the area, with just faint lights here and there. The foe has chosen wisely, I see. But we have come this far, we cannot turn back now.

"Welcome, Cids!" calls the voice of Mateus. "You seek a tenth hero to uphold the madness of Cosmos? Then enter, and see if you have what it takes."

"Beware the choice you make," Ultimecia says, "for there is no mercy where you seek to go."

"Know this," The Cloud of Darkness calls, "There are worse things yet to come."

"Oh, let's not discourage them" Kuja taunts, "I'd rather like to see how they perform . . ."

"All of this," says Sephiroth, "Will end in sorrow, no matter the victor."

"See the blades they wield?" Kefka asks, "What do you suppose is funnier? Knowing The Liar has been damned, or seeing a pack of armed Cids?"

"Do you intend to fight us?" Golbez' voice demands, his presence terribly near, "Knowing we are your betters?"

"Or do you offer us blades?" Ex-Death creaks, like a tree snapping in twain, "Thinking we can be so easily bought off?"

"Do you think it matters what some paper says?" Jecht roars, a flame illuminating his presence, far off in the distance, "You will make the choice we know you will make. At this point, there is no hope of being free of us!"

"Okay, guys," I say as we advance, "Anybody have a light?"

"Yeah, I have one," says a voice from behind. We turn as one and stare into the face of Kefka. "Pretty soon, I'll have five more. How 'bout that?" Five flames appear in Kefka's hands, and without even warning, he flings them at us. The five of us duck into the shadows, narrowly avoiding immolation.

"Well now what?" The Wanderer asks, "they number us twice. We cannot hope to win with these odds."

"We jes need ter think on i'," says The Engineer. "Li', wha're these machines down 'ere? 'ow can they be used ter ar advannage?"

"Okay then. There are what," I shout for the enemy to here, "Hey Golbez, how many of those dockets do you guys have?"

A pause as the villains consider, and then, "Three. Just three." followed by a groan from Kuja. Good. Evil as he might be, Golbez is still an honest man. There's a kink in the armor, if ever I saw one. The problem, of course, is what kind of knife to stick in there.

"Okay, so they've got three dockets. There are nine of them, and five of us. Unless Garland is down here, too, and then we'll have some problems. We could split up, or we could stick together. You guys call it."

"Oh, hell," The Chronicler says, "This is the craziest thing we've ever done. I'll take Ultimecia and Mateus."

"Give me Kefka and Sephiroth, then," The Wanderer says, "Not that they can handle me, of course."

"I'll go for Kuja and Cloud, I guess," The Messenger puts in.

"Then I'll take Golbez an' Ex-Death."

"And I'll confront Jecht. I'd like a word with him anyway."

"Come out, come out, wherever you are, Cids!" Mateus shouts, "Otherwise we might just have to burn some dockets."

"See there, Ultimecia, my darling. The man who ordered your death."

"Komforting as that should be, Mateus, I understand many men ordered my death. It is the way of men: they fear women, our power and beauty. It drives them to rape, murder and destroy us. Such is the way of you men."

"Rape? Murder? I suppose. Destroy beauty? My darling, I don't see why rape and murder can't be beautiful as well."

"How you manage to see," The Chronicler interjects, "is beyond me."

I have lied to my team. I figure I've committed enough sins as it is, what's one more? I've got to run fast, but I'm going to be there as quick as possible when they find the villains. The Liar managed to teleport, maybe I can find a way to do that, too?

"How kuaint. Do you think you kan stop me, little Cid?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say he's little. Rather meaty, if you ask me."

"Ha! I'd rather be out of shape than look as bad as either of you! Who does style's your hair, Ultimecia, a Flan Princess? And you, Mateus, here's a hint as well: horns might look cool on Garland, but on you they look cheap and bland. And the nails? I mean come on, are you an Emperor or an Emperess?"

Good choice, Chronicler. Use their vanity against them. I'd have thought maybe it'd work best on Kuja, but then again, who can say? So far, these two look sufficiently nettled.

"What did you say? An Empress?"

"Sorry, did I say that? I forgot that you don't have a throne. I mean look at you! You're playing second fiddle to GARLAND of all people!"

"Do not listen to this worm, Mateus. He is trying to make us angry. Well it won't work on me, disgusting man!"

"Nothing ever works on you, my dear. That's why your the cold, barren freak you are today. You reached inside a young man's head and the best you could draw out was an imaginary friend! And not even a human one!"

"Shut up! I have no need for men to satisfy me!"

"Oh, well, I rather imagine you'd say that. Women love you so much they jump out airlocks for you. The only Sorceress you ever managed to bend to your will looked so much like a man that even after death, nobody was sure how to adress her!"

"QUIET!" Ultimecia raises her hands and fires forth several charges of Blizzaga. Amazingly, The Chronicler avoids. He hasn't even used his sword yet and these villains seem to be losing themselves!

"What a crude little man," Mateus laughs, idly twirling his scepter. "To think you could upset us so. Ultimecia, my pet, please, relax. Let peace sooth your soul. Look at this man. He's a Cid, my love. How many of them have ever amounted to anything? Did you know, Chronicler, that where I am from, I KILLED MY CID!?"

"Very impressive. I read you had to use an entire tornado to do it, though. I also heard you lost to Firion twice. Can you imagine? You sucked so bad, he had to kill you again. Why did you hold back in those battles? Where you afraid you'd crack a french tip or something?"

"Is this all you kan muster, Kronikler? Petty insults? Why don't you use that sword?"

"Is that all you can think of, Ultimecia? Combat? You afraid you can't match wits with a man? Speaking of which, what's all this about you two being an item? Come on now, Ultimecia, you can tell ol' Cid. It's cuz Mateus looks like a woman, innit?"

"THAT'S IT! YOU ARE DEAD!"

"Congratulations, Emperess of Nowhere! I am indeed dead, and have been for some time!"

Ultimecia tries to freeze time, only to realize that, given the four-dimensional nature of Eternity, Time Magic does not work well. Enraged, she fires a few more rounds of Flare with hopes of catching The Chronicler. Explosion after explosion seem to rock the area. Mateus summons a few comets, sending them hurtling every which way.

One spell careens into one of the faintly glowing machines. A sound like glass shattering is made, and then the light seems to flow out of the machine. A luminescent blue liquid covers much of the floor. This, for some reason, seems to please Mateus greatly.

"Ha-ha-ha! Behold, Cosmos' greatest secret! The Goddess of Order has been trying to grow Crystals! It seems Chaos is not the only one trying to beg The Gods' forgiveness! Tragic, isn't it?"

"Speaking of tragedy," Ultimecia says, "I am reminded." Suddenly Ultimecia lands on the ground, her image changing from that of a powerful sorceress to a young woman with long blonde hair. She is dressed in a red robe and nothing more. Her face seems to go back many years in age.

"I am a young woman, Kronikler. I live in the future you kreated. You and your SeeDs. You and your wife. All my life I have seen women taken to the chopping blokk, and one by one slaughtered in the name of Skuall Lionheart. A woman in the street passed her powers on to me. I have a lover, Kronikler. I am with child. My world has ended."

Ultimecia the woman stoops down and runs her hand through the liquid Crystal. She seems to sob for a moment, then lifts her hands and eyes toward The Chronicler. Her voice shaking, she cries, "Kan you feel nothing, Kronikler? I am the daughter of your making. Won't you save me from this future? Kan't you give me the chance to have a life? Please, my father of generations passed, why kan't I have the life you yourself had?"

"Would you like to know a secret?" The Chronicler asks, crouching down in front of her. "You are your own mother, witch. You gave Edea her power and took her body. Ironic, isn't it? You tried to change the past to give yourself a future, but wound up causing it instead."

"Then you do understand? I am but a child who has made a mistake. Give me a chance to make things right . . ."

"I don't think you understand, Ultimecia. You stole my wife's life. Where is her second chance? Where are the second chances of all those children you made her kill in the Garden Battle? That has always been your problem, Ultimecia: You think you are entitled to something. You are entitled to nothing. No one ever is. You have to earn everything."

Ultimecia begins to shriek in fury, but she is too late. The Chronicler brings The Kramer out of nowhere and strikes at her with it. There is a sound of steel striking bone accompanied by a horrible cry. Ultimecia is on her feet, standing now in some new and terrible form, faceless, and with unbelievably long arms. For a moment she just stands there and screams at The Chronicler, and then she's gone.

"Well, what about you?" The Chronicler asks, "Are you going to turn into some child to tempt me, too?"

"Look at my face," Mateus responds, "see how these stitches hold it together? I am a sob story even without guiling you."

"My heart is not moved."

"Worry not, I'll move your heart one way or another. Even if I must use my bare hands to do it." The Emperor lands on the floor in the liquid Crystal. He hisses softly, as though this pure chemical potential hurts him to the touch. The hiss turns from painful to pleasured, and the Lord of Pandemonium archs his neck, his body rocking with the feeling.

"Chaos and Cosmos war forever. Order and Madness, a battle as basic and primal as the urges which brought this pair together in the first place. All of it is Order, though. Cosmos imposes her archy, and Chaos, in retaliation, rallies the people to anarchy. The madness frightens the weak, and the weak seek sanity, becoming the new strong. Another Endless Cycle here stands. The Order of Order, and the Order of Disorder, either way all things stand in a pattern, for even that which is absolutely random is a pattern of a sort."

"Why do you say these things, Oh Emperor? Afraid to face a Cid in combat?"

"I am not finished! See my feet, see the left, which is twisted and vile, see the right, which is beautiful and clean. See how the liquid Crystal bathes them. Bathing in this, I can be anything! Touch the Crystal-blood, Chronicler. Take this potential up and save us all! Is that not the way of Light Warriors? Here is a Crystal, here is a foe. There is a Sword, and there is a warrior. STRIKE ME DOWN, CHRONICLER, TAKE UP MY CROWN! All things can be . . . yours. You have only to have the will to make a change."

"Don't mock me. I am no fool. I won't-"

"Hush, don't speak yet. Just consider. The Crystal is Unlimited Potential. Anything you want is gifted you. The power to change reality to suit your whims. Are you really saying you would deny that? Isn't that the very reason you earned your wings, halo, and harp? You want to become a God, Chronicler, the Crystal can make you one. Just reach out and take it."

You might be wondering to yourself, what is The Scholar doing? Why is he not fighting alongside his friend? Did Ultimecia really just shriek and die? Why is he just standing there? Can a pack of Cids stand against beings The Gods fear? WHY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HAS HE NOT MOVED!?

I'm sure those questions'll be answered at some point, but that most urgent one I can answer right NOW. A strong pair of hands seizes me from behind, pulling me into the darkness, throwing me up against the side of one of the Crystal Tanks before punching me in the stomach. Then another blow, and another.

"Well, well, well." says the voice of Jecht. "Poor little Cid. The Hell you think yer doin'?"

"Looking for you, of course."

"Yeah? That so? You gonna try and sweet talk me, too?" Another punch to the stomach, "Not gonna happen. I've made my choice, and that's that. I have nothing more to say to you."

"I don't understand, Jecht. What do you stand to gain from this?"

"My life back. I don't care if I'm a hero or not. Besides, you knew this was coming."

"What?"

"Your dockets, you've mentioned me before. You knew I'd go wrong before I did."

"I don't-"

"SHUT UP." A kick between the legs. Pain running through my entire body like lightning, a sound of cracking. The Crystal Tank won't last much longer, and, judging by the glow of Jecht's eyes in the darkness, I'd guess he's only getting started. "I don't care if you've got latent prophetic powers, or if Cosmos made you forget or whatever. You decided before I did that I'd join Chaos. You remembered the future, Scholar. You have no right to question my choice."

Jecht raises his fist and aims a blow at my face. The force of this blow sends me flying into the Crystal Tank, out of it, and through several more. My body lands on the floor of the Grand Cellar, and eventually skids into the wall. Jecht envelopes himself in flame, and spikes begin to grow from his body. Here is another mystery: How did Yevon find a way to make men Eidolons without having to be registered?

"Get up, you worthless Cid." Jecht fires several blasts of flare from his hand before dashing for me. I try to move, but the liquid Crystal seems to prevent it. I can do not but watch in horror. "I said GET UP." Jecht reaches out to pull me too my feet, and before I can react, liquid Crystal defends me, breaking his fingers as they come near.

"The Hell!?" he exclaims. "Heh. So you're going to use this shiny slop to protect yourself? Pathetic. You couldn't hope to defend yourself alone. Such is the way of the Cid. Always cowering behind the backs of others."

"The time draws ever nearer, Cid, and still you don't have those final dockets. What do you intend to do? Hmm?" I try to respond, but Jecht strikes my face. I allow it by holding back the Crystal. I won't be goaded into using these things. I'm still trying to figure out how I knew that Jecht would turn, and then forgot it. Is there anything else I recalled before I learned about it?

"Hey, hey, pay attention Previa. You long-winded bastard. See this?" a large stone, the length of Jecht's arm appears. "It's a Yu Pagoda. That's fancy talk for beat the living crap out of you. Watch." The Yu Pagoda is driven into my stomach repeatedly, then it rams into my chin. "This is too easy. I'm not even trying."

"Big man," I spit, "beating up a Cid. What does that prove? Cids are nothing."

"You're damn straight you are."

"But you're forgetting something."

"Save it, Previa. Whatever I'm forgetting can come and bite me in the face. You're not going to distract me. I'm here to distract you."

A sword is driven through Jecht's chest, the tip of the blade coming dangerously near to me. "You villains never learn, do you," says The Chronicler. "The minute you think you're being played one way, you're being played the other."

Jecht grunts as he looks at the blade. "So, Mateus has decided to rally, huh?" Using his great paw, Jecht tosses me to the side, then pulls himself off of The Chronicler's sword. In his other hand, Jecht's blade appears. "Look at you fools, playing Light Warrior and wielding swords. What's next, are you going to try and get girlfriends, too?" Jecht's hair frosts over, turning white, his skin becomes a strange hue, and he let's out a roar.

"Fine then," he says, "You want to be the heroes? Then you'd better learn to fight the boss monster!" Jecht swings his blade and a hail of flame whips out at The Chronicler, sending him sprawling backwards, clutching something to his chest. The Chronicler has his hands on a docket!

"Hey Jecht! Do remind us! How is it you've managed to stay on your feet this long? You'd think all the liquor would have knocked you out by now!"

"SHUT UP!" Jecht roars, turning to face me. He tries the flaming hail trick again, but to no avail. I close the distance between us, and our blades meet like angry lovers preparing for vicious and empty sex. Jecht turns up the heat, channeling it into his blade, trying to melt through mine.

Out of nowhere, I am clocked in the head by a Yu Pagoda. The other one has been sparring with The Chronicler. It seems that this is how Jecht will be trying to keep us both busy. Not that he needs to. This man exceeds us in ways neither of us could ever feel free to discuss. This is Jecht. He is a Summon. You cannot Summon him. Live with it.

Annoyed that I have spent these many years doing nothing, egged on by that tiny voice of The Liar in the back of my mind, I get back to my feet. I strike again, but Jecht deflects. I duck under a Pagoda again, and slice again. For all the size of his blade, Jecht can move it quickly. I had hoped to use it's size against him. I will have to find another way.

"What do you think you can accomplish, even if you get the dockets, hmm?" Jecht asks over his sword, trying his best to force me back. I'm surprised I've stayed standing so long this time. The Pagoda seems incapable of hitting me now, and for some reason I haven't slipped in liquid crystal and landed on my ass. It's incredible.

"Look around you. All of this was built by Cosmos, by her actions and her anger. But Cosmos was built by another. The Sire, her father, instilled this love of the way things work in her, and now she is obssessed with the way things OUGHT to work." Jecht's hand comes around and another Flare throws me away from him and against the wall. This time, however, I slip my blade into the wall and manage to stop myself from crashing into it. My arms are in pain, but that seems to be it.

"Why do you think I am serving Chaos, Scholar? Because I am afraid of who I am, of what I did? Of the fact that EVERYONE I KNEW, AND MY ENTIRE LIFE BEFORE SPIRA, ALL OF IT WAS FALSE!?"

"I don't know, Jecht. Why are you selling your soul? And don't blame me. You made this choice. Omniscience does not preclude free will."

"My SON!" Jecht roars, flames bursting forth from within him, flying every which way, their heat literally melting the glass on some of the Crystal Tanks. The Chronicler, who has been busy fighting Yu Pagodas, is caught by this, and his shouts are heard in the distance. Explosions are rocking The Grand Cellar. Undoubtedly the others are also struggling against evil now.

"My son . . ." Jecht repeats, throwing his sword at my head. It takes a quick reflex to dodge, one that's almost instinctual. "I abandoned him as a child. I will do anything to have that back. I would damn Spira to continued suffering, just so I could raise my son. But why choose to damn Spira? With the Crystal I can raise my son and then we both may go and save Spira together. But you, you would take that from me! You are the enemy of hope, Scholar, and so you will BURN."

I try and strike Jecht while he is unarmed, but it's no good. He throws me off. Jecht walks over to the wall and retrieves his blade before turning back to me. "It's one of those Endless Cycles. The Father screws up, and it screws up his son. The Son screws up, and someday, when he is a father, he screws up his son, and so on until the end of days. On Spira, Yu Yevon chose to Summon me and my home. His decision to become Sin ruined his daughter, Yunalesca's, life. Jyscal Guado married a hume woman, and it cost the Ronso's many lives."

"Ah, so you want to raise your boy, huh? Tell me again, how is it wrong for Cosmos to ruin The Warrior of Light's life, but right for you to ruin your son's? He lived a full life and married a beautiful woman, Jecht. What's done is done. What is past is past. Enjoy your son now. If you want to know him, know him now."

"Shut up," Jecht says, tossing me to the side again. "I don't take advice from you. I'm going to do what I think is best, and you, for the first time ever, are going to fail to finish a job."

"You're right." I say, "Hey Chronicler!"

"Yeah?"

"RUN!!"

"Give me the docket," I gasp while we run.

"What?"

"The docket!"

"Why? We're being chased Scholar, in case you forgot."

"Don't care. Give docket. We're gonna do this crap on the run."

"Okay. There's no God-Letter, though."

"Gods be damned! Any God who refuses our champion is an idiot. Cosmos is growing Crystals, Chaos has offered nine lunatics the chance to change history, and the pair of them have stirred up more monsters than there is a right to discuss. Any God who denies us a champion is on his or her own."

"Right then," The Chronicler says, tossing the folder to me. "Say hello to Auron."

Name: Auron
Age: 35
Sex: Male
Species: Hume

Auron is a hard case to explain. According to the docket, he went on two Pilgrimages, one with Lord Braska, the High Summoner, and Jecht, of Zanarkand, and one with Lady Yuna, High Summoner, and Tidus, of the same Zanarkand. Auron was a religious man in his early life, serving what he believed was the one true religion in his world.

But as Cidolfas Orlandeau learned, while a religion can inspire hope and kindness in millions, the men who run it can be as foul and corrupt as the demons they profess to fight. Auron journeyed with Braska, disgraced already for not marrying a Priest's daughter, and they two of them made their way to Zanarkand, along with Jecht.

But in Zanarkand the truth was revealed: To slay Sin, Summoner and Guardian would have to lay down their lives. And, only after this sacrifice, did lady Yunalesca reveal a crueler, harsher truth: SIN, she claimed, was endless. Auron, his belief shattering, but his morals surviving, struck out at her, only to be dealt a mortal blow.

Following his death, Auron spent the ensuing years in Zanarkand, watching over Tidus, Jecht's son. The ability to travel freely from The Dream to The Waking World and back served useful, eventually allowing Auron to take Tidus from Zanarkand to Spira.

Auron was Jecht's friend, and a fierce warrior, having trained all his life to fight as a warrior monk. Despite this, much of what that training did was not accomplished until after Jecht died and, as with Aerith, this Report cannot make use of actions taken post-mortem, for the powers of the dead are not the powers of the living, and those who will fight in this war will be living, not dead.

Team Work: 4/10. Auron wasn't a team player. Though he knew vital information which would or could have helped the team, or at least informed them, he withheld it. Despite having been a trained Monk and having gone on two separate Pilgrimages, I don't think Auron would be apt to aide people like The Onion Knight or Squall. Conversely, I think Squall would readily take orders from Auron, for what that is worth.

Lethality: 7/10. Auron was a skilled warrior, and two treks across the world definitely helped that out. Modest though he was, Auron was a powerful and skilled Guardian. Though he did not directly raise Tidus, he did mentor the youth, and his ability to pick up a sword and use it speaks to Auron's knowledge of weapons.

Faith: 0/10. Auron was in this exact same situation in life. The minute Auron learned of the truth, he would seek a new means of resolution. Given his friendship with Jecht, I am betting that Auron would find out very early on.

Opposition: 8/10. Auron was Jecht's friend. Though at first they were foes, their journey brought them together, and ultimately, Auron brought Jecht's son to him. Given Jecht's intense desire to raise his son himself, it's likely he would be spurred to fight the man who DID raise his son. Likewise, Auron, knowing Jecht is a good man at heart, would be spurred to make that right.

"Done?" asks The Chronicler.

"Yeah, I'm done with this one. Two to go."

"Assuming we can trust Golbez."

"We can trust Golbez. He's got no reason to lie."

"We may have a reason to lie soon."

"Really, what's that?"

"That!" shouts The Chronicler, pointing to the massive blade which comes sweeping at us. We duck as one and avoid having our heads separated from our shoulders by A Masamune. This can, of course, only mean one very unpleasant thing.

"I've missed you . . . Cid," says Sephiroth. "We both have, haven't we, Kefka?"

"I'd say you missed them in more ways than one," Kefka cracks, walking along the side of a Crystal Tank.

"Not to worry. I won't do it again."

"I doubt it." Kefka says, "You know, when Ultimecia said you were compensating for something with that big sword of yours, I didn't think she meant your aim!"

"When this is over, I'm going to spear you and roast you like a pig."

"Me? But I'm all skin and BONES. Now, Chronicler their, he looks much much tastier."

"Then let's get on with it, shall we?"

"Certainly. You know, you ought to try Magic, never misses and it's SO much more civilized than the crude weapons cobbled together by man."

"If you insist," Sephiroth says, raising his arm. Kefka jumps down next to him and puts his arm alongside Sephiroth's. He turns his head to face Sephiroth for a split second, studies his expression, then turns back and copies it. It's hard to say if Kefka's trying to take pointers on how to look cool, or if he's mocking him. Either way there is a certain dramatic effect to it.

"All right," I say, "Two of the least most interesting Cids in the history of Eternity, up against arguably the most feared and respected horrors Chaos has attracted to his cause."

"If this were a book," The Chronicler says, "this would be so cool to read about."

The pair fires a round of Double Meteor at us. The spells fly quick and terrible, bursting several Crystal Tanks as they pass. Not at all confident, The Chronicler and I step forward, meet the meteors, and in a fluid movement slice the the two stones into four, leaving them flaming hunks on the floor of the Grand Cellar.

For a moment Sephiroth and Kefka are stunned. Then Sephiroth races forward and Kefka seems to disappear into the darkness above. As Sephiroth arrives, flames fall down on us from where Kefka must be. The floor explodes in place to place, sending massive chunks of rubble flying every which way. The resulting dust masks Sephiroth's approach.

The dust parts suddenly and swiftly, and almost too late we bring our blades to the fore. It takes both of us to hold back Sephiroth, and we know we cannot last long. Kefka laughs, and we are struck from behind by a great wind. Knocked forward and over Sephiroth's blade, we find ourselves closer than we'd like to be, but we're given an advantage. As Sephiroth tries to navigate his Masamune in the cramped space, Cid and I slide ours into his chest.

A moment later a knife emerges from my own.

A shrill cackle accompanies the incredible pain of living through a stab to the heart. Dead, and not buying The Cloud's story of death after death, I am ultimately only inconvenienced by this pain, but that's not really the point. The point is that it really hurts, and I let go of my sword. A moment later Sephiroth sends me flying across the way with a Gravity spell.

"Wakey-wakey, rise and shine," Kefka calls, disappearing into the shadows again, "It's stabbing time." A hail of knives issues from above this time, and The Chronicler is forced to run. "Oh, come out, come out, wherever you are, little Cids. Ollie, Ollie Oxen Free and all that!"

"Shut up, Kefka." says Sephiroth, removing my sword as I draw out the knife.

"You know, I don't think I will. It's a villain thing, I guess, needing to talk. But seriously, why don't you ever talk? You need to open up, Sephiroth. I mean, if being a badass means being an emotional void, well, how boring. I like to think of this as a service we are providing. Imagine the range of emotions people never experience without us. Why, if we didn't torture them, they wouldn't even be human."

I've only got the one shot. I have to time this right.

"A service? The only service I want to provide is cleansing the universe of life. These many germs and pollutants have made Eternity a filthy place, teeming with this bacteria. All I desire is to clean."

"Right, right, the end of all things and all that. We'll get there, we'll get there, but why can't we have a little fun along the way? That's all I'm saying. Everybody gets to die, we'll make sure of that, but can't we make sure everybody dies having experienced all of life's many emotions to the fullest, first?"

"I don't know, to do you care what the sand on your boots thinks?"

"Certainly. I say to myself. "Kefka, there's sand on your boots." "Why thanks Kefka, that's good to know. I wonder how that sand FEELS." "I don't know, should we ask it?" "No, I bet it feels just fine." "Well that's no good. What fun is happiness? Suffering and anguish are so much better." "You're quite right, you are." AHEM! THERE'S SAND ON MY BOOTS. Then the nice little soldiers wipe the sand off, and it has to suffer, knowing it once was going somewhere, and now will never leave. And then I start to think about the soldiers. "Kefka," I say, "How do you think THEY feel?" "Alive, I suppose." "Do they? What does alive feel like?" "I don't know! Maybe we should make them wish they were dead, so they'll more appreciate being alive!""

"I-" is all Sephiroth can manage. Instead he turns to face me. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Me? I was about to throw this knife at your head. I'm reconsidering though. Maybe it belongs in Kefka's."

"No," Kefka says, "it belongs WHERE I PUT IT." Another knife appears in his hand, and Kefka throws this, landing it in my arm as I turn. "No! No good! I'll just have to keep throwing until I get it in the right spot!"

I'm quite stuck. Nothing left to defend myself with, and no means of doing so. I can't fight these guys. I can't even use magic! What hope do I have? No, I can't think like that. Cid is the name of The Highest. I might not be a God, nor even a Seraph, but I won't go down like this. I just have to think. These two are absolutely mad. I must be able to use that some how?

Kefka fires another storm of knives, and Sephiroth lunges forward. Going on a gut instinct, I block my face with Auron's docket. To my amazement, the knives bounce off, as though the paper is made from steel, and not from . . . paper. Sephiroth arrives and slices down at me. Thinking quick, I block with the docket again, and Sephiroth is forced back.

"What the Hell?" Kefka exclaims, "You'd think he had a shield or something. Fine, if knives won't cut him down, I'll try a little flame!" A burst of flame, a flourish of fury, and a hint of rage signify Kefka flinging a Flare Star my way. Again I raise the docket to block. Again the slings and arrows of my foe are turned aside. And now they're getting mad.

"You think you have a weapon, Cid? Use it. Fight me. Oh, that's right," Sephiroth says, "You can't."

I roll up the docket in my hand, raise the other and motion for Sephiroth to move in. The Poster Boy for Falling Angels lunges forward, Masamune held out before him, I thrust with the docket and catch the sword inside of it. Deciding to see how far I can stretch the laws of physics, I turn my arm to the right. Sephiroth's sword is pulled along inside the docket and he crashes into a Crystal tank. Again the hissing, as though the liquid pains him.

Sephiroth gets to his feet and comes at me again. There is a terrible clash, as though two swords are striking each other. I pull the docket back and strike again. It's strange, really, knowing that I'm fighting one of these horrors I have studied, and knowing that naught stands between me and him but a rolled up folder of papers.

"Why do you fight me, knowing you cannot win? I am he who lurks in the nightmare. I am that which haunts your waking hours in a primal sense. I am your enemy, and you cannot hope to defeat me, so why do you press on?"

"Why do you fight against fate?" I retort, "Knowing full well that it has already come to an end. Why do you insist upon your freedom of will, in raping history, to the point of madness? You lost before, how can you make things better now?"

"Better? I don't want to make things better. This is personal for me. I don't care if I lose again, I really don't. I just want the pleasure of taking the other woman from him too. He was happy, even when I took away the woman he loved. I will go back and take away any and all women he loves. I will take everything he loves from him. If he cherishes everything, then I must take it all away."

"What is with you? Why do you obsess over this man?"

"Obsess? No. It's a simple thing, really. He is happy. I cannot let him be happy. It is our way. His happiness feeds me, makes me desire his sorrow more than anything else. As long as he is happy, I will continue to hunger for his sorrow. As long as he is sad, he will fight me. He will fight against me and his sorrow so that he can be happy. And when he is happy, I will come back and take it away from him again. Mother knew this. She would not cease until everyone was sad, so that she could be happy."

"You're mad!"

"Am I? Is it so wrong for me to desire my own happiness? Isn't that what you want, Cid? To be happy? You selfishly desire your own happiness, then deride me for craving my own. If anyone is mad, it is you! Why should your own joy and pleasure take precedence before another's? All I am trying to do is make one man sad, and one man happy! You, Cid, with your manipulations and schemes and conniving, you are the one who is mad!"

"Yeah? Me? Mad?" I ask, kicking Sephiroth, and watching, somewhat amazed, as he does in fact fly backward. "You want to see a Cid get mad, is that it, Sephiroth? Alright then. Watch and learn." Doing my best Kefka laugh, I turn to the nearest Crystal tank and punch it, the glass slicing my fingers as I do so. I take a handful of the liquid, and, as it spills to the floor and mingles with my blood, I drink it.

"He really is mad," Sephiroth says.

"You look like a fool," I say, leaping into the air. I come down at Sephiroth in a flurry of blows and swipes, each one defended against. "Look at you, dressing in tight black clothing, carrying a sword that's as tall as you are! And the one wing motif? Come ON. Everybody knows you have more than one, Sephiroth. Look at Kekfa, he's got six."

"It's true, I do," Kefka laughs, enjoying this sudden display of power on my part.

"Did I say you look like a fool? You are a fool. You're obsessed with one man's life. You think an insane alien from a world The Gods personally destroyed is your mother. Hey, newsflash Sephiroth: Your mom was just some crappy scientist like mine in the pay of a crappy nation, just like mine. The difference? I didn't spend all day worrying about what Zok the sage was having for breakfast."

Angry, Sephiroth tries to hit me with a spell, but the Crystal I'm on is too much for him. My leg comes up between his, and his eyes widen in surprise and pain. I smack him in the face with the docket. Twice. "How you have such a devoted following of demons escapes me completely. You aren't even your own person! You're the sum of Jenova's libido combined with Rufus Shin-Ra's fetish for leather with a dash of Hojo's giant forehead for good measure. If you aren't doing what Jenova would do if she were here, you're doing what Cloud wouldn't want you to do."

This time I simply grab Sephiroth and toss him aside. When he lands, a blast of Holy flies from my hands. Apparently, taking even the slightest dose of Liquid Crystal is very potent. I just hope it doesn't wear off, because Sephiroth is getting extremely pissed.

"Admit it! You've never had your own thought even once. You're a freak created out of curiousity and scorn. Hojo was horny and Lucrecia vindictive. Shin-Ra wanted to rule the world, Jenova wanted to destroy it. You couldn't even kill a Flower Girl without your so-called mother's help. Across the Heavens your will is lauded as a match for The Highest's, but I see you now, and I know the truth: You have no will, because there is no you. Sephiroth isn't. There is only the sum of Jenova, Hojo, Lucrecia, and Shin-Ra."

"And you?" Sephiroth asks, "What makes you so much better? What part of you do you call your own? What part of you is truly not from another? Avarice? Vengeance? Greed? Lust? I am not me because others have been so before? Such is the way of life . . ."

". . . as a human," I finish for him.

"Oh," Sephiroth says.

"Oh what?" Kefka asks, "What? He's just talking. Kill him already. He's just talking, Sephiroth. The Crystal he's consumed has probably even worn off. Get this over with already!"

But Sephiroth does not. He just stands there a moment and screams in anger, and then is gone. Kefka jumps down and looks around. He sighs, shakes his head, and groans. "I can't- of all the nerve! Stupid Sephiroth, where does he think he's going? You're just a Cid, and I'm not going to let you reason or mock or talk your way out of this. You didn't even answer his question. I can't believe it. I've gotta know, how'd you do it?"

"Simple: I put him down. Turns out you guys have really low self-esteem."

"Well, isn't that just . . . special?" Kefka asks, slinking nearer. "Used your words to defeat the big, scary brute? No, no, I know that only too well. You see, I was pushed around by big meatheads all the time, too. You and I have so much in common, what with the madness and all."

"Except the part where you managed to become a God without going through the proper path."

"Oh, that? Yeah, I suppose that does separate us a little bit. But I was thinking more along the lines of how, when I was alive, I tortured and bossed a Cid around all day. Now that you mention it, though, I suppose we have that in common, too."

"Are you going to talk all day, or are we going to fight?"

"Well, I thought we might have a tea party, but then I remembered all the tea is still in your veins. We'll have to do something about that now, won't we?" A flail appears in Kefka's left hand, and a knife in his right. A sneer on his face and murder in his eyes. Wait, is that murder or mirth? It's so hard to tell with him.

"A flail, huh? No sword? What's that about?"

"Two reasons, really. First, flails break bones and generally inflict more pain than swords. Swords are made to kill. Flails are made to hurt. Second, watching somebody's face get crushed by a flail is bloody hilarious."

"Right then," I say, charging Kefka. Kefka vanishes, appears behind me, slits the back of my neck, then hits me in the head with the flail. Crying out in pain, I try to turn, but my body is still struggling to heal itself. You can feel pain, and your body, in infinite kindness, will heal itself perfectly after every woun.d. The dead could entertain Kefka forever.

Above me again, and Kefka launches a volley of knives. As I roll to the side, I ask that all important question: Where the hell is everybody? The Chronicler was with me. Where did he go? And what of The Wanderer? Wasn't he supposed to be taking care of this problem? Gods, if you want something done . . .

"You want to know what's funny?" Kefka asks, his flail narrowly missing my stomach. "What's REALLY FUNNY? I'll tell you."

"I knew you would," I say, thwacking his wrist, causing the knife to fall out.

As we continue our battle, Kefka speaks. "Love. Love is hilarious. Love is such a farce, a joke, a horrible thing, and yet you people cling to it as though it were a virtue. You know what love does? It brings too people together and makes them think they're happy. And then one of those people dies, and the other is left horribly alone. Love is the sincerest form of hatred conceivable. Love encourages people to do the craziest things, and these things they do for love make others fill with hatred. And that hatred goes on, unstopped by anything but love."

Kefka stomps, shredding his clothing and the floor of The Grand Cellar. His body is surprisingly much more muscled than it appears. "Curious, isn't it? Because my mother thought she loved a man, I was born. Because he did not love her, she did not love me. Because I was not loved, I did not love. Because I did not love, I deprived Terra of love. Because Terra was deprived of love, she hungered for it when she was free of me. When she found it, she defeated me. But because Terra thought she loved Leo, he had to die. Love begets hatred, and hatred begets love. From this, there is no escape!"

A shining light emanates from the core of the Rule Changer, and of a sudden, bursts forth. The light, like a blade, slices through the hanging darkness. The very fabrics of The Grand Cellar are torn along the seam illuminated by Kefka's Light. The air is filled with the stench of ether like before a lightning strike. A hole allows some dim light into The Grand Cellar from outside, which is odd, since we are underground.

Kefka tosses aside his flail and knife, which promptly evaporate, and hurls himself forward. And yet, it isn't forward at all. He moves like he should be coming forward, but he is in fact going backward. Kefka claws the ground as he flies upward, and then jumps backward at me. Here is the ability to change the laws of reality, even in the sanctuary of Heaven. Now comes the confrontation.

Yet as Kefka nears, he suddenly is stopped. From the remnants of his cloak falls the second docket, narrowly avoiding two shining blades that burst, one through his chest, the other through his head. The swords cut through Kefka toward each other, and then finish pulling through him, dividing the God in twain. The Half-Kekfa's scream, as others before them, then vanish. To where I do not know, for what reason I do not care. I am a busy man, and though the actions of villains ought to interest me, I cannot afford the time.

The swords, it turns out, belong to The Chronicler and The Wanderer. Their blades, I see, have been covered in liquid Crystal. It's comforting to know I'm not the only one who has noticed that the Crystals, however incomplete, are useful. I must remember to thank The Engineer for the idea some time.

"Ah, there you are," says The Wanderer, "I was beginning to think you'd gone home, Scholar."

"And I was beginning to worry you had gone somewhere worse, Wanderer," I reply.

"And in the meantime," The Chronicler says, "I can see that I am the only person who was trying to hold things together. Splitting up was a bad idea."

"It certainly does look that way. Who'd have ever thought, huh? We, of all the groups in The Heavens who are out there, picking champions, would be the ones who make the classic blunder."

"It was bound to happen some time," The Wanderer says, "as long as no one ever knows, it can't possibly hurt our careers."

"I suppose so."

"Well," The Chronicler says, "Let's not stand around here. Ultimecia, Palamecia, Sephiroth and Kefka may have disappeared, but at the very least, The Cloud of Darkness, Kuja, Golbez, and Ex-Death are still down here. Let's go find our friends, shall we?"

Name: Yunalesca
Age: 17
Sex: Female
Species: Hume (Summoner)

Yuna is an excellent choice. Though I loathe the idea of sending a Summoner to this battle. (I am, however, surprised to see so many Summoner candidates). Yuna has an impressive record of wins on her side, having triumphed against Seymour Guado, Jecht, Yu Yevon, and ultimately Shuyin, concerning whom I will speak in a moment. She is a varied and talented woman, though, whose skill extends beyond simply the realm of Summoning. In her later travels, Yuna mastered a wide variety of poiwers, ranging from black magic to psychic powers to swords-and-marksmanship. Here is a woman worth looking into.

Her father taken from her at a young age, Yuna shares much in common with Jecht's own son, their two father's having been on the same quest to strike down Sin and save Spira. Some small time later, Yuna was made a Summoner, and the quest began anew. Her fateful encounter with Jecht's son, though, changed the future of Spira forever.

She really is an excellent choice, it would seem. The man known as Seymour Guado (Whom I will also address in a moment) attempted to turn Yuna away from her quest several times, and each time Yuna and her guardians managed to defeat this man. When at last she met Jecht again, victory arrived once more, and, ultimately, Yuna defeated Yu Yevon and claimed her victory there, as well.

Two years down the road, at the end of her quest to find the man she loved, Yuna confronted Shuyin. Shuyin is . . . an interesting subject. According to the docket on Shuyin, he was present at the Jailbreak Gathering this morning when Chaos freed so many villains and gathered The Nine. Shuyin's desire to undo his own sins drew him to Chaos, but apparently something about Jecht made Chaos more interested. The Liar did not participate in this choice, so the answer is not explained.

Similarly, Seymour Guado was among those freed by Chaos. Here was a man who was perfect for the job: Twisted, mad, vicious and physically weaker than Garland. But Chaos picked Jecht instead. In fact, according to the docket, Seymour protested the choice, demanded Chaos choose him, and was thrown back into his cell.

There is some reason to wonder, then, why Chaos would choose the least likely of villains, rather than the most. I also wonder if perhaps it would thus be foolish to send the most likely hero against him.

Team Work: 7/10. Though Yuna was at first willing to die for her world, and twice saved it, she also turned her back on the planet that needed her guidance and leadership. Spira, lacking Yevon, needed a leader. When Yuna shirked this responsibility, a war began. Yuna's own negligence lead her on a quest which ultimately brought her love back, as well as reuniting Shuyin and Lenne, but also raised Shuyin in the first place. Had Yuna done what she was asked, danger would never have come into being.

Lethality: 7/10. A summoner, Yuna wields great power. Following that quest, her versatility only grew, as she obtained a vast variety of other abilities and techniques. Again, however, these powers did not rest nor spring from within her, and she was thus still a mere woman. She did free the world from a cycle of terror and horror, and laid to rest Yevon, but there's the manner of this being Jecht, not Yevon we are talking about.

Faith: 4/10. Yuna, deeply religious at first, eventually discovered the truth of Yevon and ultimately turned against him. The parallel here is evident. Outside of this, Yuna has a terrible habit of turning away from what she is asked to do anyway. No one may dominate her, and thus she will go out of her way to make her own way.

Opposition: 5/10. Yuna knew Jecht, and the two were, in some small and trivial way, friends. Never formally, of course, but rather a very indirect friendship. It is perhaps more accurate to say that Braska spoke of his daughter to Jecht, and this little lady reminded him in a way of his own son, and he was thus fond of the idea of her. Likewise, Yuna heard the tales of her father and Jecht's pilgrimage, and thought the best of him for it. Beyond that they share one other thing in common: Tidus. Here was a young man they both loved in their own ways, and, if possible, a battle could be fought over him. I cannot say for certain, though. Yuna is a maverick. I guess you could claim it came down to whether or not Jecht asked her to stay on Cosmos' side.

"Sin," says Golbez, "is like a beautiful flower. It grows and grows until it is so attractive that no child of woman ever born can resist plucking it. He blows on the flower, makes his wish, and sends it's many seeds flying, sowing seeds for future sins."

"Music!" Ex-Death barks, "Ha! Sound is a travesty in and of itself. I am ashamed of speech, yet make it I must. You wretched animals and your obsession with noise. If only you were more quiet, you would have fewer secrets. The less you said, the less you could lie, and the fewer demons you would have to lock away."

"Is it any wonder that man sins?" Golbez asks as we draw near, "Sin is nothing to be ashamed of. It is only natural. The problem is those who think they are better than nature. Nature is Sin, and Sin is Nature. All Creation is designed to encourage Sin. And sins are answered with sin upon sin. Why repent? Even your repentence will only cause more sin."

"I desire only silence," Ex-Death says, "And only truth. In the boundless expanses of Silence, there can be no secrets. This is why I hunger for The Void, that all may be made plain, naked, clear, honest, and above all else, Silent. That the clamor of existence may be shut up, and that the voices within me can make no greater noises."

"Ye're both bleedin' fools!" The Engineer answers, narrowly avoiding a poorly aimed shot from Golbez. "Silence? Sin? Ha! HA! HAW! Ye fight losin' battles! Ye lot of quiet sinners'll always be tormented by the laughter of they who stan' in the light! Fools! Ye wan' silence? Ye wan' us all ter be stickied in yer sins? I'll give ye silence! I'll give ye sticky!"

"Try then," Ex-Death says, "You horribly noisy thing. See if you can silence that which does not speak."

And of course, The Engineer, never one to put up with others, swings his sword fast and hard at Ex-Death. The fiend simply stretches forth an arm and lets the sword thunk into it. A hollow laughter comes from within the armor as Ex-Death punches The Engineer, sending him flying. Golbez appears behind him, strikes him from below, sending The Engineer upward, and then the two begin to bat him back and forth.

Oddly, The Engineer does not seem to mind. Despite the pain he should be suffering, his face appears strangely focused. Almost as if he were calculating something in his head. But what? What plan could this man have in store?

Golbez sends him flying on a chunk of Blizzaga, and at this point The Engineer makes his strike. He leaps onto Ex-Death and grabs his helmet. Quickly tossing it aside, The Engineer performs one fluid turn and snaps Ex-Death's neck. The villain shrieks in agony, and several demons seem to burst through him, flying toward the ceiling and on toward the Palace's roof.

"Ha! Who would have guessed you had the spirit of a killer, Pollendina?" Golbez laughs. "See how even you are not above sin? See how no man can escape Sin? How Sin and Man are one? How these terms intertwine as the night and the shadows?"

"Ar! Shut yer trap! 'Course I cinnae avoid Sin! No man can! Am I a God? Nay! Sin is somethin' all folks live with! Ye need ter learn tha'! I's risin' above ar sins wha' makes us good, no' revelling in em!"

"Fool. No one can rise above Sin, not even The Gods. Ere you have finished here, Pollendina, you will realize this truth. Cosmos sins constantly. Even He Who is Highest is a sinner. Sin cannot be driven from the soul, not even in the Sacred Nebula. Look around you. Cosmos grows a thousand crystals without knowledge nor permission from Above. Do you honestly think this is right?"

"D'ye mean to persuade me, Ceo? Look at th' armor ye be wearin'! Wha' ye're doin' is wrong! Plain an' simple! Ye hate tha' armor, yet there ye be, wearin' it anyway!"

"Believe whatever you want, Pollendina. I will not destroy your beliefs. Cosmos herself has done that for me. When all is said and done, not a single Cid across Heaven will stand by her . . . not freely, anyway."

"An' wha' d'ye mean by that?"

"Nothing, of course. All I have said is nonsense thus far, and all I shall say is nonsense here after."

"Many things you are, Ceodore Harvey," I say, stepping into the area, flanked by The Chronicler and The Messenger, "but a liar is not one of them."

"I suppose not. Nevertheless, I have made my choice for my own reason, and I do not expect you to understand."

"We can't understand," The Chronicler says, "without knowing your reason."

"What good would understanding do? You would not allow me to continue on this path, and now you could not. You have torn Cecil's soul in twain in your vain attempts to stop me, and you will not turn back. You are the Cids who have never quit. Why would you quit, just because one man asked you to give him a second chance? You don't even give those to your own, why would you afford one to a stranger? No, no, understanding would do no good. It is best you do not know."

Golbez motions to the body of Ex-Death on the floor. The botanical head raises to look at him. "Come," Golbez says, "Sephiroth and Kefka have wasted enough of there time. We will not."

"Indeed, says Ex-Death, replacing his helmet. "Though it is humorous that they came here seeking a docket, when we have none to give."

"Farewell, Cids. When I have changed history, perhaps your fates will be spared. We will see you again at your journey's end. Farewell."

We can waste no more time now. The Engineer does not even offer a greeting. We just march onward. The sounds of rumbling in the distance make it fairly clear where we need to go. The noise and light grow stronger as we reach the source. The Messenger is fighting for his afterlife ahead, and, knowing this, we break into a run.

When we arrive, Kuja and Cloud are entwined, Kuja's tail around Cloud's waist, her snakes around his body, their backs pressed together, their heads facing The Messenger, their arms slinging spells. This is, undoubtedly, one of the more perverse sights of the day.

"Ha! Another narrow miss, how troubling!" Kuja laughs. "Don't worry, fair lady, we'll get the bug soon enough."

"Don't talk," The Cloud says, "Just shoot."

"Better yet," The Wanderer says, "How about you come down from there and you and I have a nice talk about this? A beautiful woman should not waste her time shooting at things."

Taking notice of us, the naked pair break their clasp. Kuja hovers in front of the Cloud and smiles a charming grin. For a man, his face is astonishingly feminine. Especially his smile.

"Well, well, it looks like the others are done playing."

"They've come for the last docket."

"So give it to them, sweet-cheeks. We can't destroy it."

"We can destroy them."

"True, but it's easier to fight without having to balance the docket."

"What if this comes back to bite us?"

"Please, do you really think they're going to pick someone who can beat us?"

"If I give it to them, then can I crush them?"

"Of course, of course. Just give them the docket. If you do, there will be more fun to have later on."

"Fine." The Cloud of Darkness reaches over to one of her snakes, and places a hand before it. The Snake spits up the docket, and The Cloud reaches out, flicks her wrist, and sends it flying like a shuriken. The docket hits the floor and sticks to the ground.

I make a dive for the docket, and just as I do, Kuja and Cloud renew their efforts. This is it. The battle for the last docket has begun. After this our work is finished, and our freedom from this madness assured. All we must do is weather the beatings of these two. A worrisome thing, if you ask me. Kuja and The Cloud both showed no regard for Heaven's well being during their conflicts. What hope is there that they will now?

"All the world is a stage!" Kuja shouts above the sound of the crystal tanks shattering. "Or so I am told. And all plays must have an end! But what if they could go on forever? The greatest story ever told, all without an ending!"

I get my hands on the docket as the others spring into action against Kuja. The Cloud of Darkness seems to be hanging back. That's all well and good if you ask me. One at a time is a great pace. Just so long as they're distracted long enough for me to finish.

"I'm sure you guys have heard all manner of fancy talk today," Kuja says, "So I'll make this very plain and simple: I am my Endless Cycle. I am Eternal. I am created and creator. When I am gone, everything should go with me until I decide to come back. Life is raised again and again, always new things feel the need to be born, despite the fact that they're inevitably going to die. And as things die, people feel such pain, and so they surround themselves with new life. As things are born, others die, and as things die, others are born."

I continue to tug at the docket, trying to pull it out. Any moment now it'll come free and I can finish the task. I'm hoping this last candidate is impressive. It'd be nice to end my career on a high note. Because there is no way in Hell I am ever doing this again. I'll go to The Counsel of Cids, deliver my Report, and then I'm going home to see my family. I'll take up some instrument and play it for my children, and their children, and their children's children.

"I tell you know, gentlemen, that this is WRONG. Life and Death should not go on forever without me. What good is that? I am Eternity, and so Life and Death should follow me! ME! And if they will not do so willingly, I will make them do so."

One last mighty tug and the docket comes free! Ecstatic, I flip it open and begin to thumb through the pages. I have to finish reading before I can start scoring. Even so, I manage to hear Kuja.

"I am not vain," lies Kuja, "I don't desire dominion over lands, or any great increase in powoer, nor even the death of all things. I just want everything and everyone and everywhere and everytime to recognize how important I am. I am everything. I am everyone. I am everywhere. I am everytime. I am KUJA!"

Name: Shuyin . . .
Age: 17 . . .
Sex: Male
Species: Hume . . .

. . . What? Shu . . .Shuyin? Shuyin? I don't? What? How do I? Yes, Tidus is the Fayth's Dream Shuyin, their Perfect Embodiment of him, but that doesn't mean he WAS Shuyin. This does not make sense. I suppose I should explain my confusion a little more.

When Zanarkand Fell, Yu Yevon managed to pool the might of the Fayth to Summon Dream Zanarkand. An impressive and bizarre feat, Summoning an entire City, and when he did so, the Fayth dreamt of Zanarkand as though it were some kind of fable. Yet Yu, in many ways a God, managed to breathe life into these dreams. They seemed incredibly real, but still just dreams, until the fateful day that Jecht found himself in Spira.

As you no doubt are aware, Jecht is an angel now. He, and all souls of Dream Zanarkand, like the Genomes, were recognized as living souls by The Gods. Which is why I am confused to see Shuyin here. Yuna's docket makes it clear that Shuyin was AT the Cleft Prison this morning when Chaos called to arms his followers. This docket seems to explain that Shuyin turned back, however, because of Lenne.

What is not explained is why Shuyin is chosen. Jecht has no experience with Shuyin, and in fact, many of the souls of Dream Zanarkand are still ostracizing themselves from the souls whom gave birth to them. Shuyin has no history of outstanding battle, and certainly nothing in the way of defeating something like Sin. In fact, Shuyin's only combat experience prior to his death was in the Bevelle Zanarkand War, and he was not a soldier of any special renown, just an athlete who was the lover of a pop star. He was a celebrity. A Prince of Zanarkand, just as Sephiroth was a Prince of Midgar, though the cases differ in that Sephiroth's popularity was earned in battle, and Shuyin's in sport.

There is nothing here I can score. I mean, there's more here than for Ward Zabac, but there isn't enough to score. There are only two conclusions. Either Golbez lied, or Kuja deceived us.

There must be another docket.

"There must be another docket." I say, getting to my feet. The others turn to stare at me. Even Kuja ceases casting spells. "The other docket. Where is it? Do you think this is funny, Kuja? I've never been late before, I won't know. Even if I have to grab you by your monkey tail, rip it off and flay you with it. Where is the other docket?"

"Well, crap." Kuja says. "There goes the fun. Cloud, dearie, why don't you just take care of them, hm? I'm going to run ahead."

"I don't think so! Where's the other docket, Kuja?"

"Where else?" Kuja asks, pointing off toward the light at the end of The Grand Cellar, "At the End of Your Journey, of course. Did you think we would relinquish full control? No, no. There's something you have to see, first. You have to CHOOSE to end this. But to make the right choice, you must SEE, first."

"Then show me."

"Maybe," Kuja says. "I'm going now. The Cloud will delay you." Before anyone can respond, Kuja vanishes into the air. This leaves five Cids and one Cloud of Darkness. We're going to need more Cids.

"I should kill you all," she says. "Just to watch you suffer."

"But you won't."

"No. Not right now. Someday, yes. I hunger for that day. I desire to know for certain that which I have guessed. I want to know for certain that of Destruction, Creation is born."

"An interesting theory," The Chronciler says, "But we must be going."

"You have already gone." The Cloud answers, "Everyone has already gone. Soon, I will go too. Why do we create, when all that is made must be destroyed? Why do we strive to destroy, when others will simply come to create? Why can we not simply lay down to rest in that Nirvana of the Void. Why can we not have oblivion? Must there always be something or the absence of it? Can there not just be . . . nothing?"

"Would you like nothing?" The Messenger says, as we slowly begin to shuffle away, "return to your Void. Your oblivion is not for everyone."

"That's illogical. You just haven't tried it yet."

"An' we ha' no innerest," says The Engineer. "Why can ye no see this?"

"Why can't you see what peace you would have, free from the constant need to create and destroy? Slumber is so calm, so refreshing, so pure and healing. As long as we all lay down together, all will be well."

"It's not worth it to be so lazy," The Wanderer pitches in, "Why sleep when there is so much we can accomplish?"

"Perhaps Ex-Death is right. Life is so noisy. You living things make noise constantly. You make noise when you are born. You make it when you make love. You make it as you eat. You make it as you sleep. You make noise and call it music. You make noise and call it speech. You are a noisy lot, you waking, living, creating things. In the Nothingness, there is no noise. Is this why you hold so desperately against it?"

"Are we the ones who cling?" I ask, as we take our leave, confused by the strangely serene foe, "Or are you? Who is the one who cannot change? We, who always make new and stranger sounds, or you, who refuse to make any at all?" We stand now, the five of us, at the base of the far wall. The Nine hover above us. The Cloud of Darkness is there, as though nothing has happened at all. She must move quickly and forget swiftly. It's hard to say how her mind works.

"Give us the last docket!" I call.

"Soon," Mateus says. "Soon."

"But first," Ultimecia adds, "First you must see your start."

"You must know how all of this," The Cloud of Darkness gestures at the crystal tanks, "began."

"One last twist of the plot, before the curtains close. Or is it open?"

"Behold the Sin of the Goddess!"

"Ready your screams, oh wretched animals."

"Here told is a joke. A real scream, if you will."

"Lower it," Sephiroth says, "I am tired of their hope."

The Light, a massive blue pod attached to the side of the wall, lowers downward. Kuja flicks a switch and the blue light drains from the pod through thousands of tubes, filling all the Crystal tanks, gushing out of the tanks which are broken. And there, frozen within, is the figure of a man.

I approach the pod and rub some of the dust off of it. The words enscribed make me recoil.

"Read it out loud."

Cid Prime. Cidian Lief, wellspring of potential. Cid called The Source. May he rest in peace as he serves his Goddess.

"Oh Gods . . ." I whisper.

"Yes," says Mateus, "Cosmos has been bottling Cid Juice to grow her Crystals with."

"The Cid of the First Act of Cosmos' eternal war, pickled for her own sake."

"The Crystal juice you drank," Kefka says, "Came a-gushing out of this body here."

"Do you see it," Golbez asks, floating near the pod, "The Sin of The Goddess? Do you see why she asked specifically for you, for your group, and not for any others?"

"Unlimited Potential," Ex-Death rasps, "Thus are Cids. From The Highest down to The Liar, every Cid ever born or waiting to be born represents unlimited potential. And what are Crystals, but the power to enact change through the infinite possibilities a Cid represents?"

"See now," Ultimecia adds, "How for each of us there is a Cid? How every time Khaos falls, a Cid is present? Know this: Akross eternity there are Cids without number. Note the great number of Cids born to Ivalice. See how Faram is now an Elohim. Are these things really diskonnekted? No."

"Give them the docket," Sephiroth says. "Let them now decide if they will serve this Goddess any longer, or claim their freedom."

Golbez produces the docket and lets it fall softly toward the ground. As it touches down, no one moves. We stare at it a moment, and then back at the Cid in the Tank. My stomach turns, knowing I have ingested some of this fluid. My mind reels as I stare at the man within the bottle.

The Source? What kind of title is that for a Cid? What is the meaning of this? This man served Cosmos in her very first war. He raised the Liefenish Culture to the Heavens, built Airship after Airship, and saved one for her beneath the sands. Then she let him be slain with the Liefenish Culture, and, receiving his soul into her arms, she puts him in a jar?

Maybe I was wrong? Maybe we have served the wrong side in all of this? Cosmos has trapped this Cid in a jar to make Crystals. She has injured the minds of those Warriors who served her and started her Cycle of Victory. Her war has woken Kefka and in response we have woken the Godslayer. Time itself is tangled in these choices, and in this war. There is so much here which is the wrong of Cosmos, and so much here which is my own wrong, and the two are trapped together.

"Scholar," The Messenger says as he rests a hand on my shoulder. "I know what you are thinking. What you are feeling. Take the docket, Scholar. Finish the job. We will repent of these sins after. Let us finish this. We will answer to The Gods, but let us answer with our minds clear."

"Yes," The Chronicler says, "Let's just put this to it's end."

And so I reach out, pick up the docket, and open it.

"We have nothing more to say or see here," Golbez says to the other villains. "The time has come for us to prepare. The Cids have chosen. Now we go and get ready to do that which we signed up for at the first."

"Indeed," Ex-Death says, "The War is set. A pity. I had hoped they would see reason."

One by one the villains vanish, and we are left alone in the darkness with The Source. I hold out the docket and say, "We can't be found here by Cosmos. But if we finish this, we do it here, in front of our fellow Cid."

"Then let's waste no time."

Name: Tidus
Age: 17
Sex: Male
Species: Hume (Eidolon, Single)

Here we are. This is the emotional punch I was looking for. Tidus is Jecht's son, and ultimately the reason why Jecht has joined Chaos. Oh I hope this kid is impressive, and I apologize ahead of time for the absolute lack of morality or fairness in my decision but if he's even half as impressive as Yuna I'm going to send Tidus. The father demands that he be allowed to raise his son, so I will send his son to stop him.

Diving right in, it seems that while Shuyin was given military training, Tidus never had such a thing. He received some training with a sword from Auron, but nothing so in-depth as a military course. While Auron must have been a great teacher, given Tidus' skill, it is fair to say they did not spend as much time studying the blade as Auron and his master did.

Nevertheless, Tidus was an athletic young man, having inherited his father's skill as well as having been dreamt to have the talent and might of Shuyin at his prime. He was swift, fleet, agile, and rather flexible. So while some persons, like Cecil or Cloud, might be brute might, Tidus would fit better with Zidane, who was also agile.

Tidus was a cheerful guy, at first rather irritating to others, because he was a pampered star, but in time he grew up a little and his companions warmed to him. In his heart there was a certain anger for his father, though, and while it diminished greatly, it never vanished entirely.

But Tidus may be considered a genuinely good and charitable person. Stranded in Spira, he ultimately chose to save this foreign world at the cost of his own. He realized that, no matter how real the people he knew and loved were, he must make final their fantasy. Choosing reality over fantasy at the cost of his very life, such was Tidus. Though ultimately he was awarded a second chance, not by The Gods, but by the love of Yuna, Tidus remains a man who turned against all that should have been expected of him and did the right thing.

Team Work: 10/10. Tidus, though not a soldier, was an athlete on a team, and continued to participate in sports after arriving in Spira. He managed to warm the otherwise cold hearts of Spira's depressed denizens. And, as is my tradition, he is automatically awarded full points in this category on virtue of having given his life for his team. To that same end, Tidus is someone I expect to get along greatly with all members of the team. Though some, specifically Terra, Cecil, Cloud, and Squall, might at first not get along with him, Tidus has a knack for getting people to like him. He may serve as a means of unifying the team at times.

Lethality: 8/10. Despite not being a trained warrior, Tidus was, in terms of combat, the second most powerful member of his team after Auron. His power is perhaps because he is an emulation of a perfect Shuyin, and since Shuyin was a soldier, it is not impossible that the Fayth dreamt that he was a mighty one. Regardless of how, Tidus was a skilled fighter by journey's end, having stood alongside Yuna as she triumphed over Seymour, Sin, Yevon, and of course, Jecht.

Faith: 2/10. Without even understanding what Yevon WAS, Tidus was against it. I do not think Tidus will accept Cosmos. He does not trust Gods. But, seeing the fate of my fellow Cid, I do not care. If Tidus turns against her and turns the others as well, I will not care. The other side is that Tidus won't be interested in changing history, he having made his peace with Zanarkand, with Jecht, and having beaten Sin and won the hand of Yuna.

Opposition: 10/10. Tidus is Jecht's son. The bond between these two is incredibly strong, whether either willingly admits it or not. Even after death, they maintain some small contact with one another. Jecht and Tidus are not enemies, despite the many times they fight. Yet it is their relationship, that they are not foes, which makes this opposition so perfect. There is also my own sick fancy invested in this. Jecht desires the opportunity to raise his son, and Tidus desires his father's peace. To make the son fight against the father's wish, which is ultimately for his son, is the cruelest of ironies, and fit punishment for the decision Jecht has made.

I am indeed a Would-Be-God. Perhaps I shall be like the Occuria at the end of this, stripped of my wings, trapped within a shell, and cast out from Heaven. If it is so, so be it. But when all is said and done, all shall know that I did not stand idly by during this, and it will be said that I did indeed finish that last and final job.