Chapter Twenty-Five: Reunion

The last time Ramza had stood upon the stone ramp leading up to the Brigand's Den that had been a Death Corps hideout, he'd been a completely different man. Looking back, it seemed as though his time at Delita's side, a loyal and dedicated cadet of the Beoulve house, had been someone else's life. No longer was Ramza that young squire, and no longer did he possess the innocence that he had then.

The storm that had formed over Orbonne had followed in Ramza's wake, darkening the sky behind him as he dropped the reins of his chocobo, striding calmly toward the dilapidated fort. The thunderclouds seemed drawn to his internal struggle, giving voice to his grief and anger with each distant clap of thunder. It hardly did the hate in the Beoulve's heart justice.

Cool wind whipped through the fort, whining audibly against a structure that had hardly changed in the time since Ramza had last laid eyes upon it. It was barely habitable, nothing more than a rat's nest for brigands and thieves. Ramza noticed this in the back of his mind, and cared not for the architecture in front of him. No amount of stone and mortar was going to slow him down, nor would the man who waited within.

Ramza had made it only a few steps up the slope when his adversary appeared, stepping casually out of the gaping hole that once held a heavy door. Wiegraf looked the same as in the Dark Knight's memory, though now he wore the telltale uniform of the Templars. Ramza gazed at him coldly, his face giving nothing away.

"It's been some time, Ramza Beoulve." Wiegraf said. "It's ironic, isn't it, how fickle a mistress fate can be? As you took my sister from this world, I was so blessed to return the favor."

Ramza felt his blood run cold, his eyes narrowing at the Templar. It had to be a bluff, an attempt to get some satisfaction from his reaction. Ramza said nothing, instead opting to simply stare across the space between them, his stance calm and collected despite the turmoil inside of him.

"Aren't you curious what became of her, or do I remain the only man left in this forsaken kingdom with love for their kin?"

"Is Alma here?" Ramza said finally, his voice cold and hard.

"No," Wiegraf said, his light tone slipping. "She has been taken to Murond. It is just you and I here, young Beoulve. You didn't honestly think I would bring that slip of girl along, did you?"

"We have nothing left to speak of then, I'm afraid."

Ramza stalked up the slope toward him, not bothering to draw his blade. His gaze remained locked upon Wiegraf, as the Templar seemed to visibly tense. He'd likely been expecting Ramza to beg for his sister's life, and to have the pleasure of seeing him grovel. The bastard would have no such satisfaction.

"I've learned much since last you faced me, Ramza." He said, drawing his sword smoothly. "Do not underestimate me."

The Dark Knight had halved the distance between them before Wiegraf raised his sword above his head, mild concern touching his features. He seemed to suspect some deception, for why would any man walk straight toward drawn steel? Ramza distantly wondered if he could consider himself a man any longer.

"If you wish to die without incident, allow me to oblige you!" Wiegraf cried, slashing downward.

The Holy magic descended the slope, its brilliant light cracking the stone beneath as it crossed the distance between the two men in an instant. Ramza did not break stride, and walked straight into the spell as it reached him. Pain shot through his body as he was illuminated, lasting but a moment before the holy explosion passed over him.

Not breaking stride, Ramza continued unabated, as a look of shock and anger touched Wiegraf's features. He couldn't have expected Ramza would simply waltz through his attack as though it were a mild annoyance, and the Dark Knight's smoking armor was a testament to the very real damage it had wrought. Yet Ramza ignored the pain and heat, and drove onward.

Wiegraf brought his sword back, leveling a thrust as toward the younger man's midsection as Ramza's steady stride brought him close. The Dark Knight's hand snapped up like quicksilver, deflecting the blade to the side with his gauntlet, and stepping inside Wiegraf's guard.

He grabbed the Templar's collar roughly, pain and anger giving him the strength of a behemoth, and quite easily swung the larger man around. Dark tendrils danced, barely visible, around Ramza's arm as he turned, hurling Wiegraf behind him down the ramp. The Templar was flung, hanging in the air for a moment before crashing down to the stone, rolling away.

As Wiegraf quickly scambled to his feet Ramza stalked toward him, murder in his eyes.

Nanten soldiers surrounded Zalbag as he was escorted through the halls of Zeltennia, Agrias and her knights leading the way. He'd been stripped of weapons and armor upon entering the castle, yet the men around him kept their hands on the hilts of their swords. Given his reputation and affiliation, he could not begrudge them their caution.

Agrias glanced back at him often, her expression mixed between concern and worry. She knew too well the role Zalbag had played in the life of the man they now sought, and her thoughts no doubt mirrored his own. What would Delita do upon seeing him again after all this time, with the role he had played in Teta's demise?

Zalbag had often pondered that day, torn between where he had placed his loyalty. He had been forced to make a choice between the Beoulve name and the life of one who may as well have been blood. Common or not, Delita and Teta had been family, in their own way. They'd been a part of the Beoulve household almost as long as Alma had, and had done it more justice than he or Dycedarg had.

His only regret in life had been that one fateful day. It was wrong to sacrifice Teta, even if it meant the obliteration of the Death Corps, but Zalbag had made the decision with little hesitation. It haunted him how blind he had been to what really mattered.

Agrias shoved the doors ahead of her open, stepping aside to allow Zalbag to enter first. The Nanten escort remained outside, taking up a position near the door in case their presence was required in the room. The eldest living Beoulve found Delita waiting, his expression unreadable, as Agrias and her knights followed him in.

"Of all the people to request an audience with me, you were one of the last I would have expected."

"These are dire circumstances in desperate times, Delita."

The younger man set his jaw, hesitating as though he had something more to say, before he turned his attention to Agrias instead.

"I expect you have a sound reason for bringing this relic of a fallen sky to my castle?"

Agrias frowned, glancing nervously at Zalbag for a moment, then back at Delita. Lavian and Alicia shifted uncomfortably behind her.

"Ovelia… has been captured by the Templars."

"Agrias," Delita replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't waste my time informing me of that which I am already aware."

"You knew she'd been kidnapped?"

"Are you honestly that stupid? I knew what happened before you did. It seemed it was a mistake to let you remain by her side after all."

Agrias reacted as if she'd been physically struck, stepping back and dropping her gaze to the floor. Zalbag felt an uncharacteristic flare of anger at Delita's words, and stepped forward to draw his attention.

"It's not too late to save her, Delita. If you assemble your troops now we-"

"Do not speak to me of your desire to save anyone." Delita snapped, glaring icily at him. "You have not the right."

"There's time for us to speak of Ziekden later!" Zalbag shot back, snarling. "After we have rescued Ovelia."

"It's too late for that. By the time I have assembled enough men to mount an assault on Murond, Her Majesty will have been executed."

"You stubborn fool!" Zalbag shouted, causing the pair of knights in the room with them to tense up.

"How dare you!" Delita cried back, his emotions getting the better of him. "You should be bowing at my feet!"

Neither man expected Agrias to intervene. The woman took two steps forward, closing on Delita, and the sound of her palm striking his face echoed off the stone walls. He staggered; clutching his cheek as Agrias loomed over him.

"Who do you think you are?" She began, balling her fists. "You owe this entire kingdom to Ovelia, and to me, or are you so deluded to believe you would be where you are without us? You're not King, Delita, not yet."

The man stared at her in shock, as silence fell upon the room. It took Delita several moments to regain his composure, and he took a deep breath, staring directly into Agrias' eyes.

"Leave us." He said to the guards, who reluctantly removed themselves from the room.

"This is bigger than you and I." Zalbag said, his voice calm and controlled.

"What can I do?" Delita said, sighing. "The Southern Sky is spread across the land. There's no way I can gather enough men in time."

"We leave now, the five of us." Zalbag offered, to the shocked expressions of all present.

"Are you mad?" Delita began, laughing. "We're going to invade the heart of the Glabados Church with a paltry half-dozen?"

"Agrias, think on this for a moment, and you'll come to agree." He replied, glancing at the woman.

She pondered his words, frowning in contemplation, before realization seemed to dawn in her eyes. Agrias looked at him questioningly, daring to believe it could be possible.

"Most of the Templars have no idea what's really going on." She supplied, staring into Zalbag's eyes. "So the Lucavi are keeping their agenda very close. It's likely only they will be inside of Murond, with what few loyal servants they have converted."

"Precisely." Zalbag agreed, nodding.

"Lucavi?" Delita asked, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"As I said, this is bigger than you and I."

This was not the talented yet untrained boy that Wiegraf had faced before. Ramza fought like a man possessed, no finesse or elegance to his movements. He hacked at Wiegraf without restraint, forcing the Templar onto the defensive as he struggled to maintain his footing. The older man's face twisted with intense concentration, his full focus spent on keeping the Beoulve from slipping inside his guard.

Instead of tiring, Ramza seemed to gather more force and vigor with every stroke of his blade, relentlessly advancing without giving the Templar a moment's pause. It was though each slash stripped away more of the youth's mercy and restraint, granting him the strength and speed of the devil. Wiegraf couldn't fathom where this ferocity and skill had come from, and realized quickly that he was sorely outmatched. He gave up ground grudgingly, trying to no avail to clear the young man's attacks enough to bring his swordskills to bear.

He circled slowly, deflecting a hasty cut with the side of blade, back-peddling furiously as Ramza pressed the attack. Their swords met over and over with resonating crashes that covered the silence between the approaching thunder, each chime of steel on steel sharp and loud.

Wiegraf backed up the ramp toward the fort, rotating sideways to avoid the younger knight's perfect thrust. Even with the advantage of height, reach, and the slightly higher ground, Wiegraf couldn't seem to get any distance from the man. Ramza continuously charged into him, his intent obviously to kill, and Wiegraf was running out of options.

Desperation became his fuel, as the Holy Knight tried to capitalize in the slightly lapse in Ramza's attack. Despite his cold anger and all out assault, Ramza scarcely left himself open, and his next strike followed so quickly it was almost impossible to get a counter through his guard.

A horizontal slash, narrowly avoided, instantly turned into an outside thrust before Wiegraf could do more than move his own weapon to parry the blow. Ramza moved against him, slamming his shoulder hard into Wiegraf's chest, and followed up by bashing his forehead into the man's mouth, before attempting to drag the blade of that black sword across his foe's throat.

Wiegraf intentionally fell to his back, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth, and kicked out. He caught the Beoulve behind his knees, forcing Ramza to tumble to the stone slope, and began to scramble closer to the fort. Turning, Wiegraf stumbled up, grinning in triumph. He brought his sword up, preparing to unleash another holy skill.

Before his weapon could reach the apex of its ascent, an ephemeral blade of dark energy leapt forth beneath him. Having rolled to his feet and with but a flick of his wrist, Ramza had called upon sword arts of his own, catching Wiegraf off guard. The transparent blade tore through him, and he noted absently that he'd seen such draining magic before. Ramza had trained as a Dark Knight.

Wiegraf staggered, quickly retreating through the doorway behind him just inside the damaged fort, to gather his wits. He had underestimated how much Ramza's skill had grown since their last engagement, and more than that had misjudged his character. The Ramza he had fought before showed restraint, carefully tempering his swordplay to avoid unnecessary death. Cold fury and vengeance guided the man's blade now, giving him a strength and focus that Wiegraf had not been prepared for. Pressing his back to the wall inside the fort, the Templar fought down the burning pain in his chest, his breath catching.

"Wiegraf!" Ramza cried from outside, his voice full of venom.

It wasn't likely, even in his current emotional state, that Ramza would simply charge in after him. He was not fool enough to walk into a potential ambush, which would buy Wiegraf the time he needed to compose himself and figure out a way to beat him. He'd barely gotten his breathing under control when the Dark Knight did what he could have never anticipated.

Directly to Wiegraf's right, a mere hands length from his shoulder, an entire section of the wall was blown away. Dark energy swirled around the gaping, ragged hole, and Wiegraf realized to his shock that Ramza was unleashing his formidable skills against the very fort itself.

Not a moment passed before another wave of focused arcane might tore into the wall, shredding through the mortar as though he was simply throwing a stone through parchment. Wiegraf stumbled away from the wall as Ramza laid into the outside of the fort with blast after blast, further adding to the Templar's unease. Each attack was agony to the young knight, as was the price of a Dark Knight's ability, but Ramza did not let up for a moment.

Jogging away from the quickly disintegrating stone, Wiegraf took the stairs to the outer wall of the fort two at a time. If Ramza kept up as he did, he very well may bring the entire structure down upon the Templar's head. His reserves seemed unlimited, his rage fueling his assault, and he'd walked right through Wiegraf's potent sword art without breaking his stride. The former Death Knight had to find a way to get past his guard, before Ramza finally did what he came to do.

"Come out, Wiegraf!" Ramza shouted. "I'll end it quickly, I promise, which is more mercy than I showed Miluda!"

The Templar felt his grip tighten on the hilt of his sword, his own anger and thirst for vengeance overtaking the rational plans he tried to make. The bastard Beoulve dared to taunt him and had the audacity to even speak his sister's name? He knew the boy was likely baiting him, but he no longer cared. He would not allow this injustice to stand. Climbing the stairs, Wiegraf sprinted toward the low rampart atop the wall, raising his sword.

Alma knew it was useless to struggle against her bonds, but she refused to do otherwise. The chains clinked noisily as she pulled them taut, planting her feet against the stone wall and putting the pain in her wrists out of her mind. She'd been shackled, unable to do anything except stand or hang, in the small chambers. Aside from the Templars that checked on her hourly, she had seen no one since her arrival in Murond.

None had questioned or threatened her, and that concerned her more than any torture they used against her. It was as though they didn't need her at all, and she was only the bait for their true objective. Closing her eyes, Alma bit down on her lip, pulling even harder against her chains.

"Ramza…"

With an audible click, the door to her room was unlocked, and Alma fell back against the wall. The door swung inward, and it only took the girl a moment to recognize just who the man entering was. The resemblance between father and son was obvious to anyone who had known Izlude, especially as well as Alma had.

The very thought of Izlude wrenched at her heart. She'd seen him fall, crumpled and bleeding as he tried to defend her, and couldn't keep the image from her mind. She held to hope that Simon was able to save him. The thought of any other outcome threatened to overcome her.

Staring into the eyes of her love's father, as Vormav Tingel stood just inside the doorway, wouldn't allow Alma to forget Izlude's face. The commander of the Templars simply looked her over for a moment, a small smile touching his lips. Alma was disgusted by his searching gaze, knowing without the man uttering a word what lie beneath his skin.

"Let me go." She ordered, glaring icily into his eyes. "I'm of no use to you."

"On the contrary, dear girl, you mean everything to me."

The voice outside of her room was familiar and yet alien, the source stepping into the room as Vormav moved to the side. Alma felt her chest tighten, as though a hand had clenched her heart in a vice.

"No…"

The woman who stood before her was Meliadoul, of that there could be no doubt, but something was inherently wrong with her. The Divine Knight's hair had darkened, and the warmth that once filled her gaze had been replaced with an analytic chill. She had discarded her familiar armor for attire that was more than immodest, flaunting her natural features and displaying more skin than most dancers in a seedy tavern would dare. What little she wore was a dark shade of blue, plate and cloth that left her stomach and legs bare, accenting the curvature of her form in a scandalous manner.

"You're sure she's the one we're looking for?" Meliadoul asked, her gaze leaping to the man that was once her father.

"Yes," Vormav replied, taking a knee and bowing his head to her. "There is no doubt."

"Thank you, Hashmal, that will be all."

The patriarch of the Tingel family hesitated, seething beneath the woman's condescension, before he finally rose and left the room. Meliadoul walked casually to Alma, her gaze travelling quickly over the younger woman's face. She finally came to a halt only a breath away, one hand slowly rising to delicately stroke Alma's cheek.

"Why, Mel? Why would you do this?"

"Love is a powerful thing." The woman replied, cocking her head to the side. "For love, one would gladly sacrifice their life for another. That fact is as true now as it was during my last visit to your world."

Alma frowned thoughtfully, turning her face away from the demon's touch. It only took a moment for her to realize the gravity of those words, though they gave her little comfort. Meliadoul had made a deal with the devil, and the only way she would ever have agreed to such a thing was to save her brother's life. Alma was torn between relief and despair.

"What do you want with me?" She asked, her tone even despite her internal turmoil.

"You are a vessel." The Lucavi said, absently rubbing Alma's hair between her fingers. "The only one that truly matters. My dear, sweet girl, you're one of a kind…"

"Ramza!"

The Dark Knight's gaze shot up as Wiegraf launched himself from the top of the fort, sword held high. Ramza's words had achieved the desired effect, goading the Templar right into his hands. Smiling in grim satisfaction, Ramza changed his stance, raising Shadow to meet him.

Their blades met with a tremendous crash, dark and holy magic blasting outward in opposition around them, tearing up some of the very stone beneath their feet. Ramza was forced to a knee, unprepared for such desperation and the strength it granted his foe. Wiegraf hammered down on his sword mercilessly, over and over, each blow forcing Ramza's weapon closer to his head.

Wiegraf had succumbed to the same primal fury that Ramza had maintained since their duel had started, relying on the pain of his own loss to empower him. Ramza snarled, bracing his sword with his other hand, timing each of the quick strikes, until the perfect moment.

The Dark Knight shoved his blade upward, forcing Wiegraf to stumble slightly, and rose to his feet. He caught the Templar's next attack on his handguard, as the two men fought for dominance. Ramza could feel his control slipping, anger and vengeance sweeping over his mind.

With a cry of defiance, he swept Wiegraf's sword to the side, quickly snapping his free hand up to backhand the man across the face. Wiegraf faltered slightly, as Ramza drove into him. A swift series of strokes kept the man off balance, as dark wisps of arcane energy swirled around Ramza's sword and arms.

The Beoulve fell back slightly, his rage consuming him as he raised his sword. That unfathomable blackness swept over his sword as he dragged it down, bursting forth to plow into the Templar at close range. Wiegraf was lifted bodily from the ground, flying back toward the fort as Ramza rotated his grip. He swung Shadow in a horizontal arc, a second wave of dark power catching Wiegraf before he landed.

Ramza rocked back, the toll of his abilities tunneling his vision, as Wiegraf was hurled against the wall of the fort. The man crumpled to the ground, his sword clattering away. Ramza took a moment to recover, clinging to consciousness, before he strode slowly toward the fallen knight.

The man's armor had been decimated, the dark swordskills having mostly stripped the mail and plate from his chest and arms. What remained was tarnished and smoking, thought it had proven enough to keep Wiegraf alive. Blood dripped from his scalp, and the damage Ramza could see to his body brought a sense of satisfaction he would have never thought he could feel.

"Gafgarion was right," He said quietly to himself. "You do begin to enjoy the pain."

Raising his sword, Ramza cocked his head to the side, his gaze locked onto Wiegraf's. The man stared up at him, a faraway look in his eyes.

"Damn." Wiegraf spat. "I'm sorry Miluda... I wasn't… strong enough."

Ramza was unaware of the tendrils of darkness that snaked around him, caressing his frame languidly as he aimed the tip of his sword at Wiegraf's throat. He wanted nothing more than to strip the man of life, to relieve his pain through Wiegraf's flesh.

"Holder of the Holy Stone… Promise me…"

Ramza's eyes widened, as Wiegraf reached into his shredded tunic, pulling Aries slowly out. Ramza did not hesitate, his hand snapping down to slap the stone from Wiegraf's grasp. It clattered across the damaged ground, far out of reach.

"I don't think so." Ramza said, snarling at the stone as the voice within faded.

The Beoulve suddenly became aware of everything going on around him, of the pain in his chest and the darkness that danced around him. His eyes widened, taking in all the destruction he had wrought in his revenge fueled rage. It still ticked there, in the back of his mind, begging to be released once more. He wanted to cut Wiegraf down, to watch the blood spill from his body. The desire to run him through was almost unbearable.

Remember what we're fighting for, Ramza. Remember who the real enemy is.

Alma's words echoed in his mind, instantly dispelling the loss and anger, if only for a moment. She'd spoken those words to him once before, as a reminder of what he was really after. Her voice, though imagined, grounded him. It took him out of the dark place his pain had dragged him, and it hurt to breathe for a moment.

"Just cut me down, as you did my sister…" Wiegraf said quietly, closing his eyes in acceptance of his fate.

"Do not make the same mistake she did." Ramza said, sheathing his sword reluctantly. "I offered Miluda quarter, she chose death instead, and I'll not give you the satisfaction of joining her just yet. You're taking me to Murond."

Author's Note: Vormav bowing to his daughter? Damn right. First I'd like to point out that Meliadoul's manifestation is very similar to Altima's, with a reason you'll see soon. Her initial form as seen by Ramza, like all Lucavi, is that of the demon. The Mel we see in this chapter is her human guise, though Shemhazai altered her somewhat, like Altima does. We all know just what Alma is meant to become, now it's just a matter of seeing if she is saved in time. Allow me to fight off my 5:30 AM weariness for a moment to try and recall what else I wanted to mention. The Ramza and Wiegraf duel was rather fun, seeing as they were both after revenge for their siblings, and I hope you liked it.

There will be more to the Delita and Zalbag issue, including another less 'shouting match' confrontation later. I didn't want to spend a lot of time with them bickering over it, and just had to include the Agrias induced slap-to-the-present. Delita definitely needed to be taken down to a notch, and there's an even bigger slice of humble pie in store for him in the future. In light of this chapter, it's going to be interesting to see what happens when Izlude and Wiegraf see each other again as well.

One thing I wanted to address was Mel's pact with a Lucavi. Rafa managed to bring her brother back from the brink without allowing a demon to have her, and I wanted to have a parallel to that with Mel and Izlude, along with the many other parallels in this story. However, the circumstances were definitely different. Lucavi seem to seek chinks in emotional armor; be they hate, despair, or greed. Meliadoul was overcome with anger and grief, lowering her defenses and allowing Shem access to her heart. I felt, given what she'd just seen, it was quite justified.

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, R-R appreciated, and you never know when your comment might spark some new plot device in me.

Insanity Lord: Mostly the PS1 version, yes. I've taken some liberties on names and places I preferred from the PSP incarnation though.

Caellach: There's definitely some Lucavi to be fought, but there are still a handful of very human foes that stand in Ramza's way, so plenty of conflict without the demons. Some of them might catch you by surprise. Maybe I should bring Algus back twice more to get killed, in a great Anti-Scrappy campaign.

Thanks everyone for the well wishes. Fatherhood is going to be... daunting, but it's something I'd looked forward to all my life.